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Hey, I remember you...Jake, right? You came back, huh? Clearly you didn’t think I was full of shit last week. Yeah, I frequent this place a bit. Bad habit, but it lets me work some of my stuff. Make some people happy. So, clearly something made you believe me. What was it that I said I’d do? It’s been a week. Oh yes. I see it clearly now. Your cock. I’m still being too loud? No one in here is paying attention to what we’re saying. People come here to get drunk, not to eave’s drop. Calm down – I see you pants aren’t. So, let me guess. You left here after I did, wondering what type of bullshit I was selling. About…an hour or two after I left?...you started to feel a weird sensation. It was like you were in puberty again. That dull ache that seemed to be everywhere that you didn’t like then, and you don’t like now. Except you felt it in your balls. You started to have that feeling that your balls might be bigger, or something is going on in there. A day or two later, you probably were noticing that everything that bumped into you made your dick immediately hard, right? It was like being a teenager all over again. It was so horrible – but so awesome – you kinda wanted people to know that this was happening, but not in public. Let me also guess that you’ve been walking around all week, aware of your cock, but also thinking that your pants feel a bit tighter in the front. The wiggle room that you once had isn’t there any more. It’s not much, but it’s noticeable, amirite? Found yourself playing with your junk, pushing it around when you had those two or three moments of being soft, wondering to yourself if it’s all an illusion? Does it actually feel a bit thicker? Does it feel a bit longer? You don’t seem the type to measure yourself, but god damn you wish you started, huh? Am I making you hard, recalling the week? Let me keep going. Tell me where I’m wrong and how I was full of it. I’d bet that last night you went to bed and woke up to a bunch of spasming in your – well, how do you sleep? Boxers? Ok, felt some spasms in your boxers. Cum all over the place, no? Reminded you of entering puberty and having that first wet dream all over again, huh? Did you feel like the pulses were longer, harder, and thicker than normal? Did you find yourself cleaning yourself even more than usual? Yeah, I thought so. Let’s feel. Oh, damn, daddy: you starting to pack. Are you liking this stroking? You twitch every time I get near your thick head. Yeah, daddy, you like this. I’m curious what you’ll look like in an additional week? Can you imagine if this keeps going? Yeah, I’m still pouring those hormones out around you. You can smell them, can’t you? That desire to keep around me? You want me to grow you more. Ooo, your aggression is up, too. Yes, daddy, show me how much more of a man you are. Mmm. Oh, you wanted to see what I did to the other guy? He was here on Monday. I asked his number. Let me see…ah, he’s on his way. Would you like me to keep pushing yourself to see if I can get you to shoot your juice all over the place, right here, right now? No? Damn. Let’s give it another week. I have a feeling you’ll be impressed by my first experiment…to your knowledge… Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. The muscle man comes in. I’m happy with how he’s dressed. Look at that tank top on him – do you notice those traps? They’re far more defined than they were last week, huh? See them actually pushing up towards his ears? And those delts on him – the V is far more defined on him, huh? Can you see the thickness separating the three heads of the deltoid? Damn. His thighs are filling out those shorts a bit more – I see his quads separating a bit. Nice bulge in the front too. What, I could have packed him as well. And…ah, I feel you’re getting hard again. *sniff* Hmm, I think you might be liking what you see? I smell you leaking “fuck me papi.” Am I right? Yeah, you feel like I’m right. Do you notice those biceps on him? Yeah, they look more defined than they did a week ago, huh? Notice how his tank is clinging more to this pecs. They’re rounder, aren’t they? They push a bit more out, don’t they? Doesn’t his chest look a bit wider? Maybe his waist is a bit tighter, or maybe its his chest slightly larger? Yeah, you don’t get that in lifting in a week. You get that if you lift for a week, like a mother fucker, and you have some superior genetics going for you. I think I need to give him some more, don’t you think? Oh, you want to join me in talking to him? Sure. Jake, meet my young muscled friend, Christian. Christian, Jake. How are you doing? You look like you’re hitting the weights a lot more. May I feel your guns? I’m kind of a muscle queen. I gotta feel power. Damn. What are these up to? 14”? You look like you’ve been packing onto your arms a lot in the past few weeks. And those veins! Sorry – it tickles – but tracing your veins is just amazing. Shit, you feel solid. Damn, I must be nervous – muscle does that – cuz I’m getting sweaty around you. Sorry, I sometimes smell a bit…yeah, TMI, no? I don’t wanna eat up too much of your time. Just wanted to say hi and introduce you to Jake. I’ll probably see you around. Clearly the beer here does the body good. So, what did you think of Christian? Yeah, I was having a hard time not wanting to touch that chest. You saw those nipples pointing through the tank, huh? Made you want to run your hands on them, under them, squeeze them? Oh, look: he’s turning around. He’s clearly been also working his ass. It’s starting to form that nice bubble, don’t you think? Yeah, he swings your way. I’d imagine that that butt would be a hard thing to split open. Yes, I see your thicker sausage stretching again. Does this talk get to you? You seem to be leaking – yeah, I see your pants, right near your hip…damn. Could you imagine bending Christian over, feeling that broadening back leading to that slender waist, shoving that thick cock of yours into him? Do you think you push harder than his ass could resist you? I’m wondering. You’d like to try? The bartender here keeps the bathrooms clean. He’s pretty good, and as long as you don’t make a mess, he’s fine with you trying out the bathroom with Christian. Haha, you will? I’ll just be here. I’ll wait. … Damn, that was, how long? Shit, that smile on your face. I see Christian hasn’t come back yet…oh, he’s going to have trouble walking? Well, no shit Sherlock, you were in there for half an hour. Was his ass as glorious as we could guess it to be? It was? Fuck. How many ways you fuck him? Six? Shit. I see you’re still hard at the thought of him – feeling hornier than usual, eh? Yeah, I’ve been loading you with more hormones. It’s gonna make you harder, thicker, longer, hornier, and full of so much more cum…yeah, you’re leaking again. Well, go get him. I’m sure he hasn’t moved too far from where you bred him. Shall I see you again in a week? I’m sure you’ll have plenty to show off. Ok. I’ll see if I can make your little muscle boy even bigger for you. I have my ways.

Tunin tricks ain't that bad... actually it can be kinda fun. I mean, these little white dudes see my muscles and practically drive their cars into a lamp post. I act all nice like, "yo can I flex for you?" and grab my junk, wink, cheesy shit like that. Collect up front and suck 'em off for a while. Definitely make sure they got a good view of my big ass bulge. Tell em to get us a room if they want to see my cock. Again... collect up front. Once we're in the room, time for some fun... No more mr nice guy. Now you got em by the balls. No one in those motels give a shit if some dud is screaming bloody murder. I mean, what's little white boy gonna do? Run home and tell his wife? File a police report? So I take off the j-strap and let him worship my monster cock for a while as I flex. They'll suck it and lick it for a little while, not very well. I get off on the muscle worship, I mean I don't spend all that time bangin iron for nothin. Sometimes I'll oil up a little, shine a light on me like it's a show or somethin. I'll stash some posing briefs under my cap and slip em on. Get posers that are too small so they can't hold it all. Do my posing routine with my dick stickin half out. Make sure you catch em before they pop off, or they'll just leave. Usually by now I'm grabbing them and ripping their pants off. I hate using lube, but my cock is so fat I gotta. No John ever expects to bottom, I guess they think I'm gonna be their slut or something? Yea, this is where things get rough. Got em pinned down poundin like there's no tomorrow. They're screaming, sobbing, clenching their ass cheeks like its gonna stop me. God I love plowin these little fags. I'll flip em onto their back and and keep fucking so I can see their face... look down to see my thick ass cock stretching their asshole wide open, turning them inside out. I already got the money anyway, so I hurry up and finish, blow all over their face before they squirm away. Take the rest of the cash they got, then head back out for the next one.

Chapter One is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7118-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-one/ Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7668-with-a-little-help-from-magic-chapter-three/ Preface Finally. The concluding part. No growth here, but I just wanted to finish the tale about the characters. With a little help from magic, Chapter Four John and Aram agreed: It was a strange experience to remember two versions of Winter Break in bygone years. Both remembered the opportunity to spend a week playing hockey in the brief winter daylight, but their memories didn’t stem from the same reality. When one of them had enjoyed Winter Break, the other one had memories of dread. Winter Break was also one of the times of the year, when the difference between the garden suburb and the council flats became visible. Emma, Simon and Anderson were accustomed to go on vacation to the mountains, skiing, every year, while John, Carl, Aram and Peter never had the opportunity. Emelie disliked skiing, and didn’t go away, even if her parents could afford it. John’s family, though, had went to Thailand once, trying to escape the chilly February weather, and another year Carl’s family had managed to go on vacation in Majorca in February, for the same reason. It was usually easier to get vacation approved in summer. It had become one of Emelie’s traditions to arrange a party for those of her friends who remained in the city during the Winter Break, and this was not an exception. The winter sky over the suburb was red and purple. Snow droves formed small mounds by the side of the streets, and the suburb was more silent than usual, since so many families were away on vacation. Her parents understood her need for privacy, and were spending the evening watching Euripides’ The Bacchae at one of the theatres. ”This will be the last time we have this party.”, she observed, sitting in an old armchair designed by the famous designer Carl Malmsten, holding a glass of wine. Her parents didn’t regard it particularly offensive to break the law in that regard. A black-clad presence occupied one corner of the cream-coloured sofa, with three glasses of vodka before them: Her goth friends, the male one quite inebriated. Earlier, he had unsuccessfully tried to snog Emelie, and she had rejected his advances. He insisted to be called ’Moonsorrow Shadowpain’, but his actual name was Lars. Three SHARPs sat in another corner: Carl, John and one of their mutual friends: Three bald-shaven, masculine lads made of the right stuff, perhaps looking less intimidating since they had left their shiny boots in a tangle of bootlace by the door. Aram’s younger brother sat in the same corner, having found a new hero in Carl, who had defended him against Anderson in the past. The four of them shared a few cans of beer. Sitting in the remaining Carl Malmsten armchair, Aram was talking to Peter and four girls from class, who occupied the remaining corner of the large sofa, including two lambskin tuffets from one of the Baltic islands. Aram had filled his wine glass from Emelie’s bag-in-box, but Peter and most of the girls were drinking alcopop, with the exception of one of them, who was a member of the temperance movement. Since their tastes in music diverged so much, the sound from the loudspeakers had changed several times during the evening, but now something ambient was droning in the background. ”I can’t believe it. Time flies. What will you do when the semester end?”, one of the girls remarked. ”I will apply for art school.”, Emelie answered. ”Ooooh. Arty farty! An ordinary university education is not enough, for you?”, Carl exclaimed in friendly banter. ”I want to trail my own path.”, she answered. ”As usual”, Aram remarked, and looked at her with his warm brown eyes. ”As usual”, she answered him, with a smile. ”It isn’t a secret, that I will apply for medical studies.”, Aram said, as a matter of fact. ”And you?” ”I will probably apply for university studies later, but, during next year, I will probably serve in the armed forces. They have re-introduced conscription, if you remember.”, Carl answered him. ”I went to Selective Service, but as soon as they noticed my myopia, I was allowed to return home. I didn’t even have to make any tests.” ”They only select a few thousands each year. If you have any health issues, you are excused. I want to be one of the few and the brave.” ”You are one of the few and the brave in my book, even if they don’t send you a draft.”, John said, and gave Carl a hug. ”Thanks bro.” ”I will work at my cousin’s café during summer, and if I like it, I will probably remain at the café.”, one of the goth girls said. ”A higher education will always be useful later.”, Aram answered. ”Later, yes. That’s later.” ”I am worried.”, said Peter. ”I would like to repair cars, but haven’t found a place yet.” ”Are you sure? I thought unemployment was decreasing, especially for mechanics.” The small talk went on, until one of the girls in Peter’s corner asked: ”And you, John? What will you do, when summer arrive?” John still didn’t feel entirely comfortable, when all eyes turned in his direction. He was a half head taller than any of the other persons in the room, and the width of his shoulders caused him to occupy a significant share of the sitting space in his corner of the sofa. His legs were wide apart, struggling for space between Carl’s and the other skinhead’s manspreads. His burgundy braces kept his camo trousers up, and contrasted nicely against the navy blue polo. ”Actually, I have been thinking about several alternatives. Some of the mates at the gym have asked me to work as a temp there during summer, and they say they would pay 50% of the fee if I take a PT education, but on the other hand, I think I would make a difference, by becoming an officer in the Amphibious Corps.” The others reacted in different ways. Two of the girls in Peter’s corner cheered enthusiastically. Aram’s younger brother watched him admiringly, and could no longer decide who was the coolest kid in the room anymore. Peter bowed over the table in a way endangering the glasses, and grabbed his hand approvingly with a drunken smile. Carl looked unusually uncomfortable, and crossed his legs in an unfamiliar way. The drunken Moonsorrow Shadowpain started a long incoherent rant about violence, imperialism and capitalism, but was cut off by Carl, who remarked: ”And what have YOU done to make the world better?” While the rest of the company moved in the direction of the kitchen or the bookshelves, the argument between Carl and Moonsorrow became more heated. The goth was physically swaying to-and-fro because of his vodka, but the beer hadn’t affected Carl to the same degree. Moonsorrow tried to punch him, but Carl avoided the attack, and the goth tumbled with his face into the sofa. Carl watched him: ”I don’t fight men who are more pissed than myself. There’s no honour in it.” Then he turned around, heading in the direction of the bathroom, but the incoherent Moonsorrow didn’t give up. Struggling to get up, he staggered after Carl, exclaiming incoherent noises, trying to grab Carl’s neck with the inside of his elbow, which was a very bad idea, as it turned out. Carl avoided the grip, turned around, grabbed his opponent’s Adam’s apple, and pressed him to the wall. A small watercolour painting, depicting a boat, fell to the floor. ”Now. You. Keep. Calm.”, Carl said, staring angrily into his opponent’s eyes. He released his grip. The goth sunk to the floor, less because of Carl’s grip, than because of drunkenness. ”Idiots!”, Carl exclaimed, and entered the bathroom. Those who stood outside couldn’t avoid to hear the loud sound of pissing coming from the loo, but most of the guest were occupied in the kitchen. When Carl returned from the bathroom, his skinhead mate and one of the goth girls had decided to help the intoxicated Moonsorrow home to his parents, and two of the other girls had left. John awaited him outside the loo. ”He behaved like an idiot, but he was drunk, and I am able to defend myself.” ”I know, but I… I felt insulted. What has HE done to counter racism? What has HE done to raise money for human rights associations? What has HE done to debate injustice in society? And his pacifist tosh, when we have a dangerous unpredictable neighbour across the sea…” John towered over him, and kissed him on his forehead. A hug. This time it was more than brotherly. Testosterone flowed in Carl’s veins and in John’s. Comforting presence. Mutual muscular protectiveness… Camo-clad bulges pressing towards each other… ”You are cute when you are angry. Do you know that?”, John whispered in his ear. Carl emitted a low yelp in John’s ear. Emelie returned from the kitchen, noticed them, but didn’t say anything. Then her phone rang. A few words. A worried look in her face. She hang up. She thought for a few seconds. Then she called the attention of every remaining guest. ”It was Emma.” ”I thought she was skiing with Anderson?” ”Don’t interrupt. She is on her way home. They have quarrelled. She hasn’t told her parents, for some reason. She is on her way here.” An hour went by. Some of them tried to sober up by drinking coffee or energy drinks. Emelie and Peter competed in the kitchen for the right to make Emma a sandwich. Then, the doorbell rang. Emma, who usually never left home without using some perfume, was dressed in synthetic trousers, suitable for skiing, and a quilted and down-stuffed nylon jacket smelling of sweat and melted snow. Her makeup had melted in an unflattering way, because of tears. Aram, John and Aram’s brother wanted politely to give Emma some breathing-space and privacy, but the other guests at Emelie’s party preferred to express their concern by surrounding Emma. It was Emelie’s commanding presence, who caused the crowd in the hallway to part, and led Emma into the bathroom. When they returned outside, Peter and one of the girls were ready with a sandwich on a plate and a mug of hot coffee. Emma had a hickup, but her face looked refreshed without any makeup. This way, however, her black eye was even more obvious. ”I will kill him! I will kill the fucking wanker!”, Carl shouted, and, by the look of his face, it seemed like Peter was willing to assist Carl in the project, or even race to come first. Emelie glanced in the direction of the five remaining lads, raised an eyebrow, and said: ”Now. You. Keep. Calm.” It had the desired effect. The young men sat down in the sofa, while Emelie and the other two young women helped Emma and her mug of coffee upstairs. ”What do we do now? Just sitting here?” ”You know she was right. It doesn’t make Emma feel better if you two prepare an ambush outside Anderson’s door when he arrive home.” ”But we must do something.” ”Give Emma and the girls some time, upstairs. They need to talk. We would probably interrupt.” ”But we must do something.” ”Both of you have said that a couple of times, now. Take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.” ”More coffee?” ”I don’t drink coffee. I drink this.” Aram’s brother dangled a can of energy drink before them. ”Same here.”, Peter said. ”I prefer coffee. Energy drinks would destroy my workout results.” John returned with the coffee kettle of glass and filled Aram’s, Carl’s and his own mugs, and put the glass kettle down on a heatproof coaster. ”I am as upset as you, but the correct procedure is to let the police know. Anderson is 18 now, and he will become 19 years old in summer. He is responsible for his actions. The situation will not improve by any of us behaving like an idiot.” They heard the sound of a key in the key-hole, and the next second, Emelie’s parents returned from the theatre, dressed in a comparatively posh way. Emelie’s Dad peeked around the corner into the sitting room. ”Calm and silent here. What is wrong with teenagers today? Back in 1980 we knew how to party. Has some of you already left? You are welcome to stay as late as you want, but where is Emelie?” ”Something sad has happened, Mr. W. Emelie and the other girls are upstairs with Emma.” ”I thought Emma was away skiing the entire week?”, Emelie’s Mum interjected. ”And call me Ola.”, Emelie’s father added. ”You better speak with her, yourself, but I believe you’d better give them some time. Do you need the kettle?” ”No. Not this late. I sleep badly if I drink coffee after dinner, but thank you for your concern. I will drink some tea before sleep.” ”If there is anything left, I would like a cup of coffee.”, said Emelies Dad, and filled a small cup. His wife had disappeared upstairs, and a faint sound of an electric tea kettle was heard from the kitchen. He sat down in one of the Malmsten-armchairs, observed the serious faces of the young men, and said: ”Glad to see, that skinheads and Arabs are able to party together, but I would be more happy if some of you lads left that style behind.” Carl and Aram’s brother sighed in unison. Aram looked like someone had told him a joke. ”What did I say?”, Emelie’s Dad exclaimed in a soft voice, his eyebrows raised in a polite way. ”Sorry, Ola. We hear some of this all the time.”, Aram answered. ”Syriacs are not Arabs. We lived in Turkey, Syria and Iraq long before the Arabs arrived, and we are descendants of the first Christians. And when it comes to skinheads: Our friends here are anti-racists. I’ve heard from my mother, that most skins in your youth were racists…” ”At least the visible ones.”, Carl interjected. ”At least the visible ones.”, Aram continued, ”but skinhead sub-culture originally grew from an interest in Jamaican music. Oi! punk rock was added in the seventies. There has been a conflict between racist and anti-racist skins since the eighties, and some try to avoid politics entirely. There is nothing wrong with our friends here.” ”I didn’t know that. And I’m sorry about confusing Syriacs and Arabs. Didn’t read that in school.” He paused. It was obvious he tried to say something polite. ”Sometimes I am worried that you youngsters don’t get enough exercise, sitting with playstation and computer games all the time, but when I see you, it seems like you all exercise a lot, so I might be wrong.” ”Exercise is quite popular today.” Emelie’s Dad was obviously a nice man, but his attempts to small-talk became increasingly strained, and the young men’s thought went to Emma and the other girls upstairs. It was a relief when Emelie’s Mom returned with Emma and all the other young women, who returned to their seats in th sofa. ”Ola. Emma’s boyfriend has abused her, but she prefer to sleep here tonight. I will call her parents.” She disappered to the telephone in the kitchen. John wasn’t sure to which extent the presence of her friends helped Emma to cope with the situation, but he tried to be comforting. Peter showed an unexpected tenderness, and allowed Emma to lean her head against his shoulder. Aram and Emelie sat down in the same corner, with serious facial expressions. Aram’s brother ended up in the same corner as the two remaining girls, while John and Carl sat together. They talked for hours. - - - The tinkling sound of the bell made Madame Cremorna aware of the presence of a customer. It was that goth girl, again. Madame Cremorna returned to the transparent counter desk. ”And how may I help you?” ”Do you have anything to punish a bad person?” ”This sounds serious. Do you want a cup of tea?” After a brief hesitation, Emelie accepted, and they sat down around a small table. They were talking a long time, and when Emelie returned from the botanica, she brought a paperbag with a powder with her. Madame Cremorna had called it ’a minor working’. - - - Emma was of the opinion that ’she could change him’, and continued her relationship with Anderson, and refused to report him to the police, despit what her parents told her. Emelie had got her opportunity a few days later. She had refused to invite Anderson since the Winter Break, but changed her mind, and allowed Emma to bring Anderson with her to Emelie’s family’s house a Saturday afternoon, one week before Easter. Emelie’s parents had been conveniently away, buying new gardening equipment. Emma and Anderson had stayed fo a few cups of coffee and cinnamon buns, but the awkward strain between Emelie and Anderson had caused them to leave earlier, than when Emma visited on her own. Emelie had been able to put small amounts of Madame Cremorna’s powder in Anderson’s trainers. Emelie looked out through the window. Lemon-coloured sunshine filled the garden, but there were no leaves on the bushes yet. The grass was yellow and lifeless. Under the shadows of treetrunks, spots of dirty snow still covered the lawn. In a sunny spot of the lawn, white snowdrips were growing, their small leaves the only sight of green in the garden. She hadn’t heard their car, but her parents must have returned: Her Dad pushed a wheelbarrow with a few heavy sacks of something to the garden shed. She could hear her mother enter the house. ”We were not the only ones, who had got the idea to buy things for the garden. What queues!” The doorbell rang. It was three girls and a boy in primary school age. They were all dressed up as easter witches, and brought a plastic bag to collect sweets. ”Happy Easter!”, they exclaimed. ”Aren’t you cute, all of you?”, Emelie’s mother answered. ”Happy Easter! I shall see if we have something for you.” She returned with two bags of multicoloured egg-shaped sweets, and put them in the children’s bag. After the children had left, Mom disappeared to the kitchen, beginning to cook the lamb for dinner. - - - It was two weeks later. Easter Break had come and gone. The familiar sound of rushing steps and lockers. John and Aram agreed, that it was a relief, that Anderson wasn’t able to bully anyone, but they couldn’t avoid to feel pity when they saw him with his bandaged foot sitting in a wheelchair. Skiing accident. Anderson’s family could afford two vacations during skiing season, and Anderson didn’t think twice about bragging about the fact, but it hadn’t turned out well this time. Chemistry class in the beginning of the day. Mr. Gustavson brought good news. ”I wouldn’t worry for your chemistry grades, Aram. And that’s true for you, John, as well. Good work.” The hours of morning lectures were no longer dark. Honey-coloured daylight flooded into the room, and only a few gravel-mixed snow heaps were scattered over the schoolyard. They had noticed buds in the trees on their way in, and the air was mild. ”You do what?” They had joined each other at lunch break, and sat in the school cafeteria. Emma had just told them all, that she was breaking up with Anderson. No one seemed to disapprove. Peter patted her on her shoulder, and Emelie gave her a hug. ”How did you spend Easter?” Emelie was first to answer: ”Parents spent time in the garden. We had some relatives over. Haven’t seen Grandfather since Christmas.” She glanced at Aram. ”No. I will tell them.”, he said, as answering a silent question. ”Emelie and I are an item now. Just so you’ll know.” Cheerful voices. Congratulations. The buzz of the cafeteria in the background. Spring daylight through the windows. ”And I went to St. James’ with the family. And you?” ”Grandmother was over. I followed them to Bach’s St. John’s Passion in Holy Trinity on Good Friday, but I spent the rest of the weekend with Carl.” ”Punk concerts on Easter Eve and Easter Day. Good bands.” ”Any of you joining me to the gym tonight?”, John asked. ”You know it.”, Carl answered, and Peter also gave his assurances. ”No, I will spend time with Emelie, tonight.”, Aram answered. - - - John felt full of energy. Bench press: 200 kilogrammes. Dumbbell press: 70 kilogrammes in each hand. Peter couldn't hide how impressed he was. Carl expressed his appreciation later, in another way. They were in John's room again. The night sky outside the window was dark blue in a way it never is the rest of the year. Carl shivered in anticipation, and removed his polo shirt. His braces hang from his jeans. He hadn't removed his boots this time. They had both found, that they liked to make out with their boots on. John stood before him, his torso uncovered, and swole from the workout. John smiled confidently while he watched his shorter friend in his eyes. He did a double biceps. "Yeah. Watch this." And he did a crab, flexing his vein-covered pecs. Carl arose and took a few steps closer to John, and put his hands on John's pecs. John flexed his abs, and Carl eagerly let his fingers explore the hardness and power of John's abdomen. Carl yelped, and kissed John's biceps. John picked Carl up, and curled him playfully a few times. John could see the throbbing bulge in Carl's trousers, and lifted Carl higher, burying his face against the denim fabric of Carl's crotch. Carl moaned. John laid Carl down in his bed, and lowered himself on him. Carl's breathing increased, and the moaning sounds returned. "Fuck, mate. If you continue like this, I will blow before the rodgering even begins! It's like fucking the bloody Terminator!" Epilogue John found it hard to believe, that it was already ten years ago. He and Carl were back in their native city over the weekend, to attend the tenth anniversary since they left school, and they were now 29 years old. It hadn’t been that bad. It turned out, that Aram was a practicing physician now, and Emelie had got a job at an art gallery, but their relationship hadn’t last. They were still good friends, though, and had travelled together to Florence and Venice last year. Emma had married Peter, and they had already three small children. Emma worked as a receptionist, and Peter had succeeded in working with cars. They had enthusiastically told about gatherings for fans of old cars, and they attened several such gatherings annually. There was no sight of Anderson, but no one missed him. ”I would never had guessed that you were gay. Real men like you? Never. I’m cool with it. Thank you for not hitting at me at school, though.” It was Peter who commented in his usual blunt way. John and Carl had continued their relationship, and had a flat in another city, where one of the units of the amphibious corps were located. John worked in the marine, and Carl had, unexpectedly, become a PT, and worked at a gym. ”I read about your wins in bodybuilding competitions, John. That’s awesome.” It was Peter who continued to talk. ”I have another competition in December, Peter. Why don’t you come and watch?” After all, the school reunion had turned out well. He was now walking with Carl at his side in the old quarters of the city, trying to find a botanica Aram had mentioned. The two broad-shouldered buzzcut men walked side by side in the cobblestone alley. John could feel the bodyheat of Carl, and put his arm on his shoulder. In the warm summer weather none of them needed a jacket, and they were both dressed in snug polo shirts, which allowed them to show off their body shapes. Mighty pecs stretched the polo fabric to its limits. The tight shirts hinted at their defined abs. Houses plastered in lavender, yellow and dove-blue. Dentists, former bicycle repair shops. No traces of any bookshop. She must have left. It was all so long ago. It seemed like a dream. Was it a dream?

Hello all. Found this story on an old computer. If I remember correctly, it was inspired by a story about the wrestler Scott Steiner taking on a bodybuilder from the 80’s. I can picture the bodybuilder, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name. Anyway, here’s my story inspired by the theme. It’s way over the top and fantastical. It’s unfinished so feel free to add (and share) your own ending. Wrestler vs. Bodybuilder Scott Samson made his way to the ring with his trademarked air of utter confidence. Standing in the ring, shaking himself out, the renowned professional wrestler glared at the entryway, awaiting his opponent as he removed his robe to reveal skin tight, mid thigh length black lycra shorts. The man was massive. His fans roared their approval when he unveiled his hugely muscular physique. They could hardly wait for the spectacle of this huge man flexing and posing. His signature post introduction routine always drove his fans into a frenzy. This special exhibition match was going to be unique. Samson, arguably the greatest wrestler ever to prowl the squared circle, would be taking on one Matthew Robert Horn. Horn was bodybuilding's current Mister Olympia and had won that title consecutively more than any man in history. To make things even more interesting, The massive Mr. Horn was fresh off winning one of the year's major grand champion titles in Mixed Martial Arts, the first professional bodybuilder ever to do so. Horn appeared and a stunning sight he was. He appeared to be in the best shape a human specimen could be in, even bigger than most fans remembered. He wore black and yellow striped, square-cut posers and nothing else aside from a black, rubber wrist band with the slogan “No such thing as too big!” printed in yellow letters. Almost as wide as he was tall, the first thing that dropped jaws was the size of his upper arms. He had an enormous overall build, but his arms stuck out in particular, the triceps and biceps bulging out without even flexing them. His signature single biceps pose was so awe inspiring that it had earned him the nickname “Matterhorn” in the elite professional bodybuilding circles. Horn stepped into the ring and the two opponents glared at each other as the ring announcer made the introductions. Samson raised both his arms in a double biceps pose and as he’d expected, the fans roared their approval as the two guns peaked into their full physical majesty. Horn didn't flinch. He slowly raised his right arm and flexed his own massive biceps. A hush came over the crowd as the mass of his biceps and the thickness of the triceps combined to make an unbelievable sight. Horn smirked at Samson for having the nerve to keep flexing in the face of such sheer muscle size and power. Horn moved his forearm back and forth, accentuating his muscle and turning his wrist to add to the definition, expanding that massive forearm in the process. Samson continued flexing and the ref appeared in the ring, a tape measure trailing behind him. "Looks like these two have something to prove.” The fans loved this and roared with approval, the prospect of these two behemoths engaged in a flex off prodded them out of the stupor that the shock of Horn’s sheer size had put them into. The ref placed the tape measure around Horn's right bicep. The big bodybuilder steadied his flex at maximum so that the ref could get an accurate reading. The referee’s eyes went wide with shock. After a moment of being struck speechless, he managed to read the measurement aloud: “Twenty-four inches”. These were wrestling fans. Samson was their guy, but the sheer mass of Horn’s biceps stunned the crowed. Many were shaking their heads in disbelief. The silence was broken by Samson. He said nothing, merely clapping his hands slowly in mock applause as he smirked at Horn. The big blond wrestler then raised his left arm but rather than flex that massive biceps right away, he merely snapped his fingers to get the ref’s attention. Tearing his attention from Horn, the ref moved to measure Samson's left biceps which loomed huge even relaxed. Samson turned his wrist in and his forearm bulged huge with thick veins everywhere. He brought his wrist out straight and then flexed that muscle up high and huge. The ref wrapped the tape around the wrestler’s bulging upper arm and carefully took its measure. “I don’t believe it Ladies and gentlemen, Twenty-four huge inches!”, the referee shouted. “The Matterhorn has met his match!”. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and applause! Samson merely raised an eyebrow as he directed his gaze from his flexing biceps to Horn who was gaping at Samson's arm, then back at his own. “I-It’s as big as mine?!” Horn stammered, clearly shocked that a mere wrestler had been able to match him. “A tie”. He said, absolutely stunned. Samson’s expression changed to a slight knowing grin. “Nah, ties are boring.” Bearing down, Samson forced his biceps to bulge still larger. The tape measure slipped in the ref’s fingers from twenty-four to twenty-four and one quarter! Twenty-four and one half! Twenty-four and three quarters! When that awesome arm reached Twenty-five massive inches, Horn's jaw dropped. He slowly lowered his own arm, no longer eager to see the enormous muscle he’d spent years sweating for in the gym get ever more dwarfed in comparison to Samson’s As the wrestler’s biceps just continued to bulge larger, Horn shook his head in abject disbelief. “You’re...HUGE!” Blurted the big bodybuilder. He then glanced around, embarrassed that in his shock he’d exclaimed his awe aloud. Samson smirked at Horn’s dumbfounded remark and brought his right arm up, going into a double biceps pose. “Matterhorn, say hello to a couple of Mount Everests.” He laughed with smug satisfaction as he continued pumping those mountainous muscles larger, the tape measure reading inexorably increasing as Samson flexed. Twenty-five and one quarter! Twenty-five and one half! Twenty-five and three quarters! Twenty-six! Samson’s mighty arm was utterly dwarfing that of an Olympia class bodybuilder! Its sheer mass was making Horn feel queasy. He felt himself sway unsteadily on his feet. He had to concentrate to maintain his balance as he wiped at the cold sweat that had broken out on his brow. Samson smiled as he surveyed the massive peak that was straining the referee’s measuring tape . “Think I’ll stop right there. Looks like I'm making the muscleman go a little bit green around the gills, wouldn't want to make him faint dead away before the match even starts”. Deafening cheers drowned out the announcer who was attempting to call the measurements. The announcer moved for the mic. "And your winner, Scott Samson with 26 inches!” The crowd went wild as the announcer continued, "We know who's bigger now, how's about we find out who’s stronger”. Through his astonishment, an explanation for Samson’s impossible mass suddenly occurred to Horn. He'd seen it all in his career, the myriad of ways unscrupulous competitors used artificial shortcuts to achieve fake gains. Samson must have cheated his way to such implausible massiveness. Whether it was implants or some kind of injectable, Horn didn't know. The technique might have been flawless but faking size was one thing, strength was a different story. Horn was determined to crush Samson’s superficial bulk, arm to arm. He'd show this preening faker the power within true, hard earned muscle. The crowd roared their approval. The ref had an armwrestling table brought into the ring. As soon as it was set up the two muscle gods charged the table and crashed their mighty guns together. Samson pressed ahead three inches and Horn pushed him back to center. Horn tried an offensive thrust but Samson didn't budge, a big smile on his face as he held Horn, at bay. Horn sneered. “Get ready to have that stupid smile wiped off your face. I'm gonna give you until the count of three, then I’m going to snap this puny, puffed up arm of yours like the little twig it really is!” Samson smirked. “Not sure a muscle-head like you can count that high, so allow me.” Samson began to count aloud. "One", he called and he pressed Horn’s gigantic arm four inches past the neutral position. Horn’s mighty arm flexed to new heights as he struggled to regain lost ground but he couldn’t budge Samson’s enormous arm. "Two", Samson took Horn down 4 more inches, four inches closer to defeat, like the other man wasn’t even there, even as he increased his mighty effort to resist Samson’s powerful onslaught. Horn’s arm began to tremble, every vein and fiber of muscle present on the big bodybuilder’s arm was visibly straining in an all out effort to resist Samson. At that instant, Horn’s biceps seemed beyond the size that any human muscle should be able to attain. But Samson’s big, rock-steady, mountain of a muscle totally absorbed all the incredible power Horn’s massive, straining biceps could muster. Samson grinned cooly. Then, he flexed his mighty biceps up to new heights. The sheer size of it was astounding and the move demonstrated that he had been able to drive Horn to the verge of defeat with only a fraction of his biceps true power. Horn’s biceps quivered and quaked with strain as it was utterly dwarfed by Samson’s even larger muscle. Eyes wide, Horn could only shake his head in disbelief. In all his years of bodybuilding, he had never seen an arm so huge. He'd been sure such size couldn't be real. But the wrestler’s strength was all too real. He knew what was coming. “Three.” Samson declared and with almost casual ease, he finished Horn off, slamming his arm to the table with a loud thud that seemed to reverberate throughout the stadium. Samson’s huge biceps had put Matt`s massive peak down for the count, literally. "Your winner…..Scott Samson!" The ref lifted Samson's arm in Victory for the crowd’s approval. Humiliated, Horn hurled the table aside and charged. He was going to enjoy taking this smug bastard apart with his peerless MMA abilities. The two opponents started trading blows. And not just any blows. These were mountain crushing roundhouse rights that came fast and furious, each opponent alternately delivering one to the other. First Samson’s massive, balled fist plowed into Horn’s thick chest with a resounding thump. Then Horn let fly in return with his own haymaker that landed against Samson’s chiseled abs with a teeth rattling thud. A huge one from Samson pummeled Horn’s abs in return. Horn shook it off with a grunt and his careening fist pounded Samson’s bulging pecs with a sound like a sonic boom. Feeling his battle lust rise, Samson laughed heartily as his powerful body shrugged off Horn’s punches. He focused attention on that perfectly developed bodybuilder chest of Horn’s, wanting to pit himself against the muscleman’s strongest attribute. The two titans continued to take each other’s measures with probing punches, testing for weaknesses that could be exploited. Horn decided that it was time to take the wind out of Samson’s sails. Clasping both hands together into a club-like double-fist, he brought down a devastating blow just above Samson’s solar plexus. The plan was to stagger his opponent with the devastating hit, then follow up by pounding his vulnerable midsection, reducing him to a breathless sitting duck to be finished off at Horn’s leisure. Instead, Horn’s opening punch merely bounced off Samson’s chest as the wrestler anticipated Horn, flexing his pecs into the incoming punch. Those granite-hard muscles deflected Horn’s fists, the recoil causing the bodybuilder to stagger backwards. Horn struggled and managed to recover his balance enough to follow up with his planned assault on Samson’s exposed eight-pack but the way all his power had just bounced off Samson’s thick pecs unsettled Horn. The wrestler had to be putting up a front. No one could absorb such a blow without feeling it. Horn roared with fury as his powerful right found its mark, pounding Samson’s abs. Still roaring, Horn pressed his assault, landing one devastating punch after another against Samson’s gut. It was like punching a brick wall, but given enough time, Horn knew that even a brick wall would crumble before the titanic muscular power he’d worked so hard in the gym to acquire. Horn looked up to make sure Samson didn’t slip in a lucky punch and interrupt the rhythm of his onslaught. Horn expected to see Samson’s face contorted with pain, his limbs flailing uncontrollably as he was battered so relentlessly. To his shock, he was met by a big grin of amusement as Samson stood tall, bouncing massive pecs that made even Horn’s renowned chest development suffer by comparison. “Careful there Matt. Ya never know when I might decide to flex the old beer gut. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Horn struggled not to show his shock at Samson’s imperviousness to his punches. ‘Beer gut?’ Samson was mocking him, he may have been a mere wrestler but the man had abs that could hold their own on any bodybuilding contest stage in the world. And what did he mean ‘might decide to flex’, Horn wondered as he reluctantly marveled at Samson’s mid-section. Those abs...those obliques, the way his fists were beginning to throb with pain as his mightiest punches bounced impotently off them....Samson had to be at full flex. “Not...gonna psych me out. No way you can take much more of this.” Horn growled as he intensified his attack, strengthening his punches and increasing the speed with which they came. Samson's face changed, the grin was gone, replaced by cold glare. “Not calling me a liar now, are ya Matt?” When Horn drew back for his next punch, Samson put both massive arms behind his head and with a sneer of contempt at Horn’s puny punches, he crunched down hard, flexing his abs into super-defined columns of muscle that looked like a wall of cinder blocks. But cinder blocks would have yielded more beneath Horn’s fist. Horn’s battle roar transmuted to a howl of pain as his hand nearly shattered against Samson’s abs. Horn clutched his battered fist as Samson held his pose, flexing his impervious abs. The cocky wrestler even gyrated his hips, taunting Horn. “Why are you stopping muscleman? Thought you said this ole boy’s Bud belly couldn't take it. Surely you’re not gonna wimp out just because of a few bruised knuckles.” Horn gulped at the diamond hard cuts of muscle undulating powerfully over every inch of Samson’s midsection. He fumed at the patronizing way Samson kept using phrases like beer gut and Bud belly to describe abs that put Horn’s own to shame. “Or maybe you’re just mulling over some advice to give me; help me whip this gut into shape like you muscle show boys do.” The bodybuilder’s face burned red at the wrestler’s condescension. Even though Horn was currently in peak contest condition, his hyper-trained abs looked soft and barely defined compared to Samson’s astoundingly ripped abdominal display. Horn was becoming almost mesmerized by the wrestler’s undulating abs and obliques. The crowd was going wild. Samson seemed as though the cheers were a charge of electricity. He landed one of his own punches and Horn flailed back. “Snap out of it, boy, you're starting to drool.” Horn drew back to retaliate but Samson swatted away the punch with ease. His name was being shouted from the entire arena. He landed two quick, easy jabs, one to the right side of Horn’s square jaw and followed up by a left, the perfectly executed hits whipped Horn's head from one side to the other. Horn's arms fell to his sides. “Down goes your guard.” Samson narrated with a smirk and two more jabs that left Horn's body swaying unsteadily. “And there goes your balance.” Samson’s precise jabs seemed effortless, as though designed only to demonstrate his precision. But their power devastated Horn. “I could knock you out cold with these little love taps but I'm guessing this crowd wants me to show off a little.” Samson decided to put more raw power into a punch. “Let’s see how them mighty pecs stand up to a punch with a little more oomph.” Stomping the canvas like an enraged bull might paw at the dirt, he charged at Horn and let him have a haymaker of a right directly to the bodybuilder’s muscular, prize winning chest. The sheer power of it lifted Horn off his feet, catapulting his big frame into the ropes. The big bodybuilder struggled not to pass out from the devastating concussive force. He had never imagined that his mightily muscled body could be hurled through the air with such ease by one single blow. How could this buffoonish wrestler turn out to be so impossibly powerful. In perfectly timed anticipation, as if to confirm Horn’s fear of being out of his league, Samson planted his feet, put his hands behind his back and flexed his chest and abs into a wall of rippling muscle. The ropes had slingshotted the hapless Horn back toward the waiting wrestler and the big bodybuilder thumped into Samson’s muscles as he flexed them. Incredibly, Horn bounced off that wall of flexing muscles and back toward the ropes. His ears ringing and his vision blurring from the force of the impact. Samson charged closer and when the helpless, disoriented Horn careened off the ropes once more, he was again driven into Samson, who again flexed his pecs, bouncing Horn back into the ropes. Samson now stood toe to toe with Horn hemming him in against the ropes and with nothing more than the flexing of his mighty pecs and an expert sense of timing, Samson was pec-bouncing Horn senseless, hammering the bodybuilder into the ropes only to have them rebound Horn back against his flexing pecs over and over. Complete chaos erupted in the stands as the huge muscleman was bounced back and forth with each of Samson’s flexes like Horn was little more than a plastic ping pong ball. Being pummeled helpless by the immense power generated by the mere flexing of Samson’s thick pulsating pecs broke Horn’s will. “H-how can he be doing this to me? He’s gonna pound me to pulp...just by f-flexing”. There could be no doubt. The wrestler had him powerfully, even frighteningly outmanned, overpowered and outmuscled. Horn knew he had to get the ref’s attention, he had to concede before Samson killed him. But he was at the mercy of the wrestler’s mighty flexing pecs. Samson was watching Horn’s eyes closely as he effortlessly and repeatedly bounced the big bodybuilder off his pecs. When he saw the look of defeat there, Samson clamped a bearhug onto Horn on his next impact. He stepped back toward center ring with the dazed muscleman as he spoke close to his ear in order to be heard over the crowd. “Thinking about tapping out, muscleman? You wimp out on me and I’m gonna find you after the bout and I’m gonna stretch out on my back and instead of bouncing you off the ropes I'm gonna bounce you into the stratosphere, then into orbit.” As if to prove he could do it, Samson performed a slowly building flex of his pecs as he spoke that made Horn’s eyes go huge with disbelief. “Y-yer pecs…” Horn wheezed. “...crushing...me.” “Aw, I’m barely flexing, runt. Now man up and pay attention. Stay in the match and you stay alive. Got it? Otherwise I show you what happens when I flex these pecs for real.” Eyes wide with fear and awe, Horn nodded his obedience. “J-just please...stop f-flexing.” “Good boy.” Samson grinned and as a reward he briefly relaxed those dominating pecs. “Now, where were we? You made me lose count.” He released Horn but immediately pulse flexed his pecs, hurling the stunned bodybuilder across the ring into the ropes yet again, then bolted after him. The ropes stretched to an an almost cartoonish degree as the sheer power of Samson’s flexing chest drove Horn’s body into them with such force that the turnbuckles groaned with the strain. Unfortunately for Horn, the ring held together and the ropes snapped back, whipping him violently back toward center ring. He could see Samson sprint to a stop, halting his hugely muscled frame on a dime at the edge of the ring with a frightening degree of controlled athleticism for such a massive man. Clasping his hands behind his waist, Samson arched his back and presented those massive pecs as he waited for the impact of the hapless bodybuilder against them, a devilish smirk on his face just barely visible over the huge muscular display. “NO!” Pleaded the world renowned bodybuilder in the split second before, with practiced precision, Samson flexed into Horn’s impact. The thick torsos of the two men slammed together. Horn’s pecs slammed into Samson’s, flattening against the wrestler’s thicker, broader chest muscles which were expanding toward him. That explosive muscular expansion hammered Horn through the air like a baseball being blasted off the bat of a hall of fame slugger. Grinning, Samson alternately flexed each pec in an intimidating, rapid fire display as he watched the terrified, barely conscious bodybuilder ricochet off the ropes and hurtle back toward him. Samson bounced the Multiple Olympia title winner until Horn began to lose consciousness. "Gotta say Matt, I'm a little disappointed here." Samson sighed, as the repeated impacts of Horn against his unyielding pecs failed to even register as perturbations in his voice. "Didn't think I would have you this out-manned." Samson stopped bouncing his pecs, then with a big grin, flexed into a double biceps pose as Horn thudded to a stop against his chest and then crashed to the mat in front of him like a collapsing building. "Ohhhh!" groaned the announcer as he vicariously absorbed the punishment that Horn was receiving. You couldn't hear anything in that arena because of the sonic boom roar from the crowd and Samson's name being called out from every corner. The announcer tried to shout a commentary over the pandemonium but failing to be amplified over the thunderous ovation, gave up. Fans were even posing in a mock-Samson pose in the stands as well as giving Samson the applause of his life. Horn, meanwhile, breathed in the grit of the canvas as his face was ground into the mat from his massive frame crashing down. He couldn’t believe the power of Samson. Horn was arguably the most muscular bodybuilder on the planet, but Samson had pummeled him senseless just by flexing. As if to confirm his muscular superiority, Samson was hitting a flawless side-biceps pose as the ref ran around the ring pushing photographers away who had climbed up on the ring apron. Horn manage to sit up. Samson noticed and decided that he’d had enough posing. He moved to Horn and reached down for a handful of Horn's hair which he used as a handle to raise his dazed opponent to his feet. Horn returned his gaze with an open mouth and glassy eyes. “You’re tougher than I thought.” Releasing his hair, Samson held Horn’s eyes with a confident glare as the bodybuilder swayed unsteadily on his feet. Samson bounced the pecs he’d just used to devastate the big bodybuilder. “What I just did to you by bouncing these big boys was just a warm up, though. Ready for the main event?” Samson struck that unmatchable double biceps pose he was famous for. Horn swooned as those biceps towered over him. His eyes rolled back and his trembling body crashed back to the mat, his face eating dust again. Samson turned to the audience, giving them the best possible view of his unmatchable guns. “Guess I got too much muscle for the muscleman, huh.” He flashed a white-toothed grin as the crowd roared anew. The ref took to the center ring with his mic, trying to restore order. "I think Horn has had it, ladies and gentleman. Samson has, so far, out-muscled and out-gunned Horn!", shouted the announcer, relieved at being heard again over the din. "I've never seen Horn look like that! Samson is just too much for him!" The fans were in agreement as they shouted in approval. Samson agreed as well, and he continued flexing for the cheering crowd. Horn was showing signs of consciousness again. Again, Samson assisted the groggy Horn to his feet wasting no time, he sent him careening into the ropes. Planting his feet squarely in the center of the ring as he’d done when bouncing the muscleman off his pecs earlier, he waited as Horn rebounded. This time Samson raised his thick 26" gun, flexed quickly, then charged the oncoming Horn. The massive Samson arm clotheslined Horn and he flipped him into the air where he spun through 360 degrees! Samson kept his arm in the clothesline position and Horn fell from the air to land, draped across it with the giant biceps peak driving into his gut. Samson bent his arm at the elbow and flexed. In defense, Horn flexed his abdomen against the motion, abs against biceps. Biceps won. As his overmatched abs collapsed, Horn feared he was about to be snapped in half by Samson’s bulging arm. But Samson whipped the gasping man around into a bearhug. As he’d done with his abs, Horn desperately flexed his pecs against Samson’s chest to defend against their crushing mass. Samson smirked at Horn’s puny effort. He slowly increased the flexing of his unstoppable pecs as he spoke. “We already know you don’t stand a chance against a real man’s chest, don’t we runt?” Samson’s point was reinforced by the relentless way his bulging pecs were flattening Horn’s chest, considered one of the greatest in the sport of bodybuilding, but totally outclassed by the mighty wrestler. “I said ‘don’t we runt’!” Samson shouted, ramping up the bulging expansion of his pecs. Horn felt his torso being deformed painfully as it conformed to the rock-hard curves of Samson’s burgeoning chest. “Y-yes,” gurgled Horn. “please...y-your chest. Can’t...breath…” Samson laughed. “Well, well, well. I guess it’s time for the best chest in bodybuilding, to say hi to the best biceps in wrestling.” Relaxing his mighty flexing pecs, the wrestler rotated the bodybuilder in his bearhug so that Samson’s right biceps was bulging directly against the center of Horn’s battered pecs. “Flex ‘em up, boy.” Samson goaded as he began to tense his right biceps against Horn’s chest. “But your b-biceps, I...I can’t win.” Duval virtually groveled. “You're...too much…” But he flexed down as hard as he ever had in his life, afraid of defying Samson’s command. His thick pecs bunched up into a rock-hard shield against the slowly flexing peak of Samson’s impossibly massive right biceps. “Tell ya what, wimp, I’m gonna give you a fighting chance here. Not gonna squeeze ya, just gonna drive my fist into my palm and flex. All you gotta do is contend with a little bit of bulging from the flexing of my biceps.” Horn gulped with something like relief as he felt Samson’s bearhug go slack. With a glimmer of hope, he flexed his chest even harder, maybe he could still show Samson what a world class bodybuilder was made of. Neither the relief nor the hope lasted very long. Samson tensed both biceps and Horn’s eyes opened wide in sheer awe. The wrestler’s left biceps expanded at his back. It felt like being pressed against a giant unyielding anvil. The hammer was Samson’s massively peaked right biceps. The iron of Horn’s desperately flexing pecs was overwhelmed instantly. Horn managed a desperate, breathless groan of pain as he was slowly crushed between those impossibly hard, huge biceps. “What’s the matter Matt? Stuck between a rock…” Somehow Samson flexed his guns even larger, “...and a hard place?” Horn felt his ribs all but fracture, but he couldn’t make a sound at this point. As Horn began to pass out, Samson relented. “Yeah! Biceps win, huh, Matt?” He cradled the swooning bodybuilder in his left arm as he flexed up his right in a single biceps pose. He then draped Horn over his flexing arm again and began to pulse flex the giant muscle up and down. Horn’s entire body rose and fell along with Samson’s flexes. Samson noted Horn’s silence. “What, not convinced? You wanna try again?” The idea of that terrified the gasping bodybuilder. He shook his head desperately and finally managed to speak. “Buh-Biceps...w-win.” He concurred. “Biceps...win.” He repeated to make absolutely sure his surrender was understood. “YEAH they do.” Samson crowed, nodding his head. He seemed to be saying "Oh, I’m not through toying with this wimp." Plucking Horn From his flexing biceps, he slung the huge man over his shoulder and then pressed him overhead, using the massive bodybuilder like an exercise barbell, Samson pumped him up and down with absolute ease. Manhandling Horn’s mass with no sign of strain, Samson brought the bodybuilding champion around in front of his chest and, maintaining his grips at Horn’s left knee joint and neck, Samson started curling him for rep after rep. Samson never showed the slightest sign of slowing or tiring, but the motion alone was enough to make his 26 inch biceps pump up to their unbelievable max. Samson seemed to grow frustrated with the lack of challenge presented by curling Horn like an oversized dumbbell. “C’mon Matt, you need to put on some real muscle. It’s like curling with a toothpick .” Samson hoisted Horn high overhead with one arm and then slammed him bodily to the mat like a discarded paper cup. The impact bounced the ref off the canvas. He managed to come down on his feet but he had to steady himself on the ropes. Samson scooped up Horn like a ragdoll. He wedged the struggling man’s head between his left biceps and forearm, then climbed to the second rope at one corner of the ring. Samson stood balancing against the top rope and suspended Horn over the crowd by hitting a single biceps pose and dangling the muscleman with his head still trapped by that flexing biceps. Horn clawed at Samsons steely arm, trying to free his head as his feet flailed in the air. “Aww, that big mean ole muscle too hard on your poor noggin?” Samson teased. He grabbed Horn by the neck and held the man high, showing him off like a trophy. When the cheering this induced died down, the wrestler flexed his mighty right biceps once again. The crowd cheered more. They never seemed to get enough of those god-like arms. Then Samson folded Horn almost gently over his flexed arm. With a mighty grunt of effort he flexed his right biceps with such speed and power that the explosively expanding muscle catapulted the defeated bodybuilder high into the air. Laughing, Samson watched Horn fall back toward him. He flexed up his left biceps and twisted at the waist so that Horn crashed back down onto that mass of bulging muscle. “Gotcha!” Samson called out as Horn’s big frame slammed into the even bigger muscle, where the bodybuilder once again lay limp, folded over the wrestlers arm. The feat stunned the crowd to silence. It didn’t seem possible to be so far above other men in sheer size and strength. There was a single sound that could be heard in the awed silence. “No...m-more.” Pleaded Horn as he slapped weakly at the wrestler’s huge biceps. “S-someone...someone...help me.” Samson laughed. “Who’s gonna help you, runt? One of yer muscleman pals?” The wrestler flexed his left biceps again with unimaginable speed and force. The bodybuilder was hurled high again almost to the ceiling of the facility before plummeting back down to thump bodily against the wrestlers insanely powerful flexing right biceps. “Bring ‘em on, I say. The more the merrier.” They watched in awe as Samson flexed again and again, bouncing an Olympia worthy bodybuilder from one mighty biceps to the other like a child toying with a rubber ball. “Might be fun pumpin’ these big ole biceps like this, only juggling you and Priest and Wheeler and Yates. HAW HAW, now THAT might even be a challenge. See how many of you Olympia types I can keep in the air at once.” At this point the crowd was actually starting to flee the arena out of fear. The ref was watching Horn bounce off Samson’s biceps repeatedly in a stunned trance, oblivious to the pleading, half conscious looks the helpless bodybuilder managed to affect after each impact with one of those omnipotent muscles just before being heaved skyward to new heights by the next unstoppable flex. Finally, Horn slammed into the multi story high roof of the arena after one of Samson’s phenomenal biceps flexes. “Oops.” said Samson with an almost sheepish grin. “As tempting as blasting you through the roof might be,” Samson explained as Horn’s huge but limp body slammed back down onto his massively peaked left biceps. “the owner is a pal of mine.” “P-please…” Horn managed, gasping for breath. “I’ll do...anything. Just...no more.” Samson laughed, flexing his left biceps larger and sending Horn higher. “I think it’s safe to say that I got the muscle to make you do what I want, with or without your cooperation.” He reached with his free arm and grabbed Horn, wrapping a thick, powerful hand around the traumatized bodybuilder’s neck and lifting him off that mountainous biceps. Samson wrapped his arms around Horn and pulled him against his bulging chest. “So your offer don't mean much, does it?” Horn was in no position to argue the point. At his back, forearms like sequoia pinned him against the impossibly huge, muscular expanse that was Samson’s pecs, while on either side of him, like massive planets poised to collide, the wrestler’s gargantuan biceps threatened to pulp him between them with the merest flex. “Please.” Horn pleaded, gasping. He was aware of his powerfully developed chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. The mere sight of this never failed to elicit slack-jawed stares of awe in the gym after an intense session. But against Samson’s vastly thicker, denser pecs, his frantically heaving chest was like the beating of butterfly wings against the steel hull of a battleship. “Your muscles...you’re super...human. I never...had a chance.” Samson tensed his pecs ever so slightly. Horn’s body was compressed between those two burgeoning slabs of muscle. “Guess you shouldn’t have challenged me then, huh muscleboy?” Horn struggled futilely to free himself, but Samson responded to the big bodybuilder’s efforts by flexing those awesome pecs to such massive proportions that Horn’s entire torso began to be wedged into the cleavage between them. “NO! God no! I'm...stuck between...you gotta stop.” Horn pounded futilely against the surging, titanic slabs of muscle that were Samson’s unstoppable pecs. “You...can’t keep flexing bigger...you’ll flatten me!” Laughing, Samson released the bearhug and placed his hands on his hips, holding Horn in place between his pecs with nothing more than the crushing force of his flexing chest. “Flatten you? Such a drama queen for one of the mightiest pro muscle dudes on the planet.” Samson grinned wickedly as he continued flexing those mountainous pecs slowly larger. “

Hello guys! This is my firat time writing full story and post it. This story is one of the alternative story line that could happen in growbar world, from my comic. Also please letme know if there are some mistake on the grammer and word sellection.Also please comment so I can improve the next chapter. Thanks guys! **PROTOTYPE 60 GROWBAR (PT60G)** Eatable and Shapable Grow Bar **Character List**: Max Blaine, Researcher, Gym Buddy (45 Years old, Vega Company) Luke Kent, Father, Freelance Artist (46 years old) Newt Kent, High School Student (17 years old) -*Luke Perspective* *GYM, Saturday, 5:00 PM*- Newt and I went to Gym to do our regular gym stuff, Cardio, Weight, Zoomba, and other. But Suddenly someoneshout to me “Hey Dude, What’s up! Long time no see!!” I look at the source and I see Max Blain. Max, a Researcher at Vega Company, Human Biological Innovation Division. His current job is to Research about muscle development, simply put “How to get ripped easily.” Even though He’s only a scientist, he’s still the sexiest scientist I ever see. With those broad shoulder, deep pecs and abs separation, those killer V line and don’t forget those veiny roadmap on his Biceps. “Yo! Still huge as always! rare to see you this hour” I Greet Him warmly while huffing on the Treadmill. “Yeah Usually went in the morning, but duty calls” max answerandjump to treadmill next to me. “Still can’t get away from the gym huh?” “Dude, I need to keep this kingdom firm and ripped” Max answering while giving me a double biceps pose “Huh, said the dude who can make people grow instantly” “DUDE, It’s company secret I can’t use it on public” “But you still try to offer it to me” “Hey you know, I’m just helping a friend in need, so do you want one?” “Later Max, maybe when i have to move the house” “Well call me when you need it okay, and i will send it to you ASAP” “Thank you Max” “Still Stubborn as usual luke” “Still lusting for sex as usual max” We chuckled a bit and continue work on our cardio. Then, Newt walk towards me. “Dad, i’m hitting it early today want to meet mike later. Oh, Hi Mr.Blaine! how are you?” Newt said “Yo Newt!i’m fine, Starting hitting the gym I see” Max Replied “Yeah trying to build a better body” “Well good luck and always remember consistency and Hard work is everything” Max reply and encouraging Newt with two thumbs up “Thanks for the tip Mr.Blaine, So Dad...” IReplied “Okay, just be safe, and if something happen just called me.” “Don’t worry dad, were just going to play abit at his house. Bye dad!” Newt reply while walking to the locker “Also when you’re doing it, Make sure to use protection” I yell to newt, trying to hit up one of my cranky dad jokes. Newt quickly blitz to the locker room while looking away from me. "Your joke still the worse" Max said We chuckled again. We finished our cardio session and start to move to the weight area. "By the way how long has he been hitting the gym?" Max Asked "about a month ago" I answer “Hmmm…, Yoursonhave a great potential but he still have a long way to go." "Yeah, it’s still a long way" "You Know there is a quicker way" "No,i’m not letting you test your Experimental dildo with my son." "Dude, First off, the Mixture work, Second, the dildo is the past we are expanding the product design, now you can eat it and shape it to your will." "Dude…i’m not sure…" "Come on dude, i know you. Imagine what your kid could become, I know you always want your own personal muscle boy. I’m Telling you this is your chance, before he move to uni and becamerebelious like his dad" Fuck, imagenning Newt having those big, firm and ripped pecs and biceps make me hard. I mean he also receive some benefits from this right? It’s not like I’m turning him to a freak right? i mean he will be happy right? if he get big and muscular? “Is the product safe? are there any minor complaint?” “it’s safe, complaint? JusthighTestosteron, adrenalin and libido level and wanting to jerk all the time.” Max answer with a cheery voice “hmm… How muchis it??” “dude accept it done. Just send the pics of the growth and the growth data.also meet me at my house at 8" "okay, 8 At your house?" "Thanks dude."Max Said "Thanks Max" I reply After that we went to separate machine and work it out. after finishing my session i quickly tell newt that i will be late and went to Max house. Even though Max is Only a Scientist his house is pretty big with high ceiling and high class architecture design. I knock on the door but nobody answer, i knock again but still no response. Suddenly a the lock on the door unlock and someone pushed me inside from behind and shove me to the wall. Turn out it’s max all along. “Fuck Dude you scare me” I shout at him “Sorry dude it’s just it’s been a long time… doing this again… together.” Max reply softly with his innocent eye looking at me “Well what are you waiting rip my shirt off” “Dude i can’t wait to suck off those juicy tits of your’s” “Wait before that hold on, I present to you P60Growbar which currently shaped like chocolate bar.” “shit dude, you’re already a big guy” “big but not huge enough,alsoi need to proof my client that it works, so one product demonstration coming right up.” He pull it out of the wrapping and chew half of the bar down quickly. Than, He pull my head to his chest. I could feel the body responding to The Growbar. his body is getting hotter and hotter. I can feel his muscle tensing and shacking. then the golden moments have come, I could his Fucking sexy Biceps and Glutes muscle expanding and thickening. His arms and neck are also thickening. Those muscle feels so hot and so Firm. “Fuck dude I think this is more potent that previous Growbar” Max Said “Well that’s a Good improvement” I Replied “Haha BEST IMPROVEMENT, COME ONERIP IT YOU SON OF THE BITCH, RIP MY FUCKING TANKTOP” Max shout, So I Quickly tried to rip the tank, but Max pushed my hands away “I’M NOT TALKINGTO YOU! I”M TALKING TO MY PECS!!! COME ON MAKE IT RIP!!! COME FUCKING ON!!!” Max shouting louder and louder with full of lust anger in his masculine face. His tight tank are now Stretching and Stretching. compensating his pecs who are still growing, expanding, and struggling for room in his tanktop. Finally Growth after growth, his tanktop starting to give up. Then His Tank suddenly rip up making more room for the growing pecs. a couple minutes later the growth are now finally over and with one swipe he ripped his tanktop. “Fuck Sir, I think my pecs need your emergency kisses and reward because they are almost died of suffacation” “my pleasure sir.” I kiss those pecs in every region that i know. Touching it and Feeling those firm hard hot muscle. Fuck, it feel so hot. i Squeeze and punched it and those firm muscle doesn’t budge. I punched it again and not a single dent. Max give out a little giggle and said he doesn’t feel anything. I tried again and than i give up. Because it’s feel like his pecs are being made from a solid pieces of titanium. To reward those humongous pecs for it looks and feels, i suck both of those nipple, tasting their juicy and sweet cent and lick every drop of sweat on his pecs. I lick from the end of the pec valley to the sweetness of the adam’s apple and ended on the juicy and bitey lips of Max. “I think there’s also someone down there that you need to say thank you ” “I Think I will”i Go down, but on the I kissed every Abs muscle island that i found. “Siri thinki found eight island and what appear a huge ten inch tower Should i proceed captain?” “Proceed” Than, I lightly kissed and tease his dick head and then lick it and play it like a melting on ice cream. after cleaning it up i sucked it as long and deep as i can. i start slowly and start to move rappidly until… “Fuck dude I’m CLOSE!!!” “FUCCKKKK” MAx Scream And then herelease it into my mouth and i try to eat, lick and slurp everybit of it.“Fuck Yeah, Next time bring your son along okay so we can have much more fun!.’“I’ll try, also Max can i do the ussual?” “Sure,i’m waiting for you to ask withexitment, I jump over his body put my body Place it between thode deep pecs valley and start to fuck them hard and fast until… “Fuck I’m Close” I shout “FUCK” I shout again “I shoot every loadthati got into the valley and on to his face.” “Thank you forthehelp” I said to him "Don’t worry I also need that, Fuck that’s the best suckingi have ever receive" Max Compliment me "Thanks dude" I reply while liying on top of mark feeling both our body touching and exploring. "also dude before youleaveremeber to pickup those five big bottle of P60GB, I wonder how will you use it, without him noticing?" Max Asked "I don’t knowbuti think i’m going to shape it to…." -COMING SOON: CHAPTER 2

Previously: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12573-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-1-2/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12587-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-3/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12662-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-4/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12823-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-5/ Sorry for the slow continuation, summer is a busy time! Chapter 6: The Press The next morning my buddies and I gathered with interest around our computers to watch Coach's first press conference since he grew to gigantic proportions. Normally these pre-game press conferences were fairly bland. Lot's of boring discussion full of coach-speak on how we will stop our opponent's offense and break through their defense, along with updates on the health of the players. However, obviously today would be very different. The live stream cut in and loud buzz could be heard. Obviously there were far more reporters there than usual as word had leaked out that something extraordinary had happened to our captain. Instead of taking place in the media room in the athletic offices, in which Coach would obviously not fit, the feed kicked on showing the field house. In the background I could make out Coach's living corner, complete with crude, gigantic wooden benches and a bunch of mattresses spread out on the ground. After a couple of minutes the Dean walked up to the podium and began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. As many of you know, there was an accident on campus earlier this week in the physic lab. Thankfully there were no major injuries but one of our staff was affected by the incident. As I'm sure many of you heard that person was our beloved Coach Wood. I can assure everyone that Mr. Wood is in fine condition...” the Dean paused before continuing “...in fact, he may be in better condition than anyone. Before we bring him in to speak with you I have invited the head of the physics department, Dr. Phillip Martin, to explain the situation in more detail. Dr. Martin if you would.” Dr. Martin made his way up to the podium and explained what happened to the best of his knowledge. He started off explaining how a crossed electrical wire sparked a small fire and an explosion. He continued explaining, “...during the small explosion which severely damaged much of our equipment, our prototype ionic photon accelerator beam escaped containment. The beam itself is invisible to the naked eye and so Mr. Wood unknowingly stumbled into the path of the beam as he was rushing to our aid after the explosion. I witnessed Mr. Wood fall to the floor unconsciously as soon as he cross into the beam. Thankfully we were able to shutdown the beam immediately and administer to Mr. Wood. He regained consciousness very quickly and seemed to be fine. As you all know he was taken to the hospital as a precaution. Several reporters' hands flew up and they began to shout questions. “What were the effects of the energy beam?” “Is Mr. Wood going to be able to coach the team on Saturday?” “Is there any danger to any of the players?” Dr. Martin raised his arms to indicate he was requesting silence. Once the room had settled enough Dr. Martin spoke again, “The Dean has only brought me here to discuss the accident. I will answer your questions as best as I can. As far as I can tell there is no imminent danger to Mr. Wood or his players. The effects of the energy beam were...extraordinary. We would have surmised that the the energy beam contacting most humans would have been fatal, yet it seems Mr. Woods' body was able to absorb the energy and convert it into normal human tissues. I surmise it was because of Coach Woods' exemplary physical development and strength that he was able to not only withstand the bombardment of energy particles but be able to make use that energy.” Once again the crowd of reporters erupted raising their hands and shouting out questions. “How was Mr. Wood able to use the energy?” “Is the physical threat to Mr. Wood over?” “Please, Mr. Martin, we have reports that Mr. Wood has grown to double his size. Is that true?” Dr. Martin looked over at the Dean who then nodded back to him. “Well, ladies and gentlemen perhaps its best if we allow you to speak with Coach Wood directly. Dr. Martin turned around and looked back toward the garage door at the end of the field house. A roaring silence emanated from the anxious crowd as the camera panned the side to frame the 40 ft. garage door. And then it happened. A titanic figured appeared behind the door, almost as wide as the opening itself and obviously taller. Coach ducked slightly down, his handsome grinning face blessing the crowd of reporter ahead and far, far below him. Gasps and whispers erupted from those in attendance. Coached ducked, stepped through the down and rose up to his full, proud 50 ft. height. He was wearing a huge blue tank top, obviously the theatre costume department had been able to whip something together for him. Even so, there has no hiding his overdeveloped musculature. Technically, the tank would pass as a shirt, but his pecs were so wide his nipples extended past the fabric and were exposed. About the only thing the giant loose tank hid were his rock hard abs. It reminded me of one of those stringer tanks you sometimes see the pro-bodybuilders wearing. And truthfully that's what our football coach looked like: A colossal, off-season, un-shaven professional bodybuilder. His shorts, socks, shoes, baseball cap and whistle still were holding strong, having grown with him. I suspected he wanted to keep these items on as much as he could in case he grew again. Coach continued to smirk down at the awestruck crowd as he slowly sauntered forward. Even on camera I noticed a handful the reporters get up and walk away and he walked toward them, obviously fearing the brutish giant. Coach reached the podium and stood there, letting the crowd and the world take him in, knowing his masculine superiority could never be more evident. Eventually he spoke. “I WOULD CROUCH DOWN AND USE THE MICROPHONE BUT I'M SURE YOU CAN ALL HERE ME JUST FINE WITH MY BOOMING VOICE.” He joked, but could still sense the tension in among the crowd. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LET ME ASSURE YOU THAT YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR. I KNOW I WILL HAVE TO BE CAREFUL AT TIMES BUT I HAVE NO INTENTION OF HURTING ANYBODY. I'M STILL THE SAME 'OLE BALL COACH YOU HAVE INTERVIEWED BEFORE, I'M JUST BIGGER,” Coach chuckled and quickly brought up his naked arms into a quick biceps pose. “I DO APOLOGIZE FOR BEING A BIG UNDER DRESSED. IT'S A GOOD THING I'VE GOT NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF, BECAUSE AS YOU CAN GUESS CLOTHING HAS BECOME A PROBLEM.” Coach grinned down at crowed again, “NOT TO SOUND ARROGANT BUT I DON'T THINK ANYBODY WILL HAVE A PROBLEM WITH ME SHOWING SOME SKIN EITHER, HEH HEH.” He then crouched down gave the crowd a quick crab pose, all this muscles exploding in sinewy vascularity. He relaxed the pose, smiled warmly and spoke, "WELL DON'T BE SHY, THIS IS A PRESS CONFERENCE. FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS." Finally the crowd began to relax and began to engage him. “Are you still growing?” one reporter asked. Coach glanced down at Dr. Martin and shrugged his massive shoulders. Dr. Martin stepped up to the podium right in front of the coach. The camera zoomed in to Dr. Martin as he spoke who was completely dwarfed by two muscular calf muscles flanking him on each side. “I'm strictly working off of conjecture here, but I believe the beam that struck Mr. Wood altered his physiology to be able to absorb energy from outside sources rather than simply ingesting sustenance, or eating and drinking. I believe Coach Wood's growth has been contingent on the amount of energy his body has absorbed. He grown twice now, first to approximately 25 ft and now to nearly 50 ft.” Gasps again erupted from the crowd as they learned Coach's staggering height. The doc continued, “Coach grew during the end of his football practices. From what I understand he was shirtless both times. Since it was been especially hot this week, I believe Coach Wood's body was able to absorb energy from the sun's rays. When he exercised via push-ups at the end of the practice after soaking in the sun's energy, that extra internal effort was the catalyst for the energy to be transformed into bodily mass, thus causing him to grow.” “But is Mr. Wood still growing!!” one of the reporters jumped up and repeated. “The good new is that every time Mr. Wood grows he will then require more energy for that growth to manifest itself again. Based on the square-cube law and my calculations, Coach Wood has grown so much that he would have to lay outside and bathe in the sun for four to six days straight to absorb enough energy to grow again.” A relieved sigh could be heard from the collective crowd. The camera had zoomed out again to capture most of the coach in view, and he clearly smirked when the crowd learned it was unlikely he would get bigger. “It would take a tremendous amount of energy for Mr. Wood to grow again. He will continue to absorb energy from the sun and various microwaves that permeate our existence but are invisible to the naked eye, but the majority of that energy he will expel through normal activity.” Coach then looked down and added, “ALTHOUGH, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DR. MARTIN AND I BELIEVE SOME OF THAT ENERGY IS STILL BEING TRANSFORMED INTO BODILY MASS. I KNOW MY BODY VERY WELL AND I CAN TELL THAT I AM SLIGHTLY MORE MUSCULAR SINCE I'VE STARTED GROWING.” To demonstrate, Coach looked down at his legs, pointed his feet outward and FLEXED his quads, filling his shorts to the bursting point with giant, dense leg muscle. “THESE SHORTS WERE SLIGHTLY LOOSE A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO, AND NOW MY LEG MUSCLES ARE ABOUT TO TEAR THEM OFF. LOOK AT THE SIZE OF MY LEG MUSCLES!” Coach cockily grinned and scanned the awestruck crowd who were staring at his freaky legs causing the shorts fabric to be taught, which had the double effect of accentuating his bulge. The female reporters swooned and the men had never felt so insignificant and out-manned in their lives. Coach then stood back up to his full height and brought one arm up into a triumphant single biceps pose. He smiled at the enormous ball of muscle peaking toward the ceiling. “I KNOW MY BICEPS WERE ALREADY MASSIVE, EVEN WHEN I WAS A SHORT GUY AT JUST 6 FT 6, BUT I CAN TELL MY ARMS ARE JUST SLIGHTLY BIGGER, MORE DEFINED AND HARDER!” Coach reached his opposite hand up and proudly rubbed the inhuman ball of muscle, grinning happily the whole time. “Where did you find clothes to fit your giant frame, Mr. Wood!?” another male reporter shouted up to him from far below. Coach relaxed his pose and made eye contact with the reporter. “WE'VE DISCOVERED THAT MY CLOTHES ONLY GROW WITH ME WHEN I'M WEARING THEM, SO I SHOULD PROBABLY STOP FLEXING MY MASSIVE THIGHS TO KEEP THESE SHORTS INTACT AS LONG AS POSSIBLE. I ALREADY LOST MY SHIRT, BUT THE THEATRE DEPARTMENT HAS STEPPED UP AND CREATED THIS TINY TANK TOP FOR ME. WE SINCERELY APPRECIATE THEIR EFFORTS IN HELPING KEEP ME CLOTHED." Dr. Martin spoke into the microphone once again. “We aren't completely sure the mechanisms for why the Coach's clothes grew with him. Perhaps the close proximity or even his sweat permeating his clothes is what allowed them to grow as well. Frankly, this is completely uncharted territory and we are very much learning as we go. Thankfully Coach Wood has been very cooperative in letting us monitor him.” “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I KNOW WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME IS SPECTACULAR, BUT LET'S TRY TO REMEMBER THERE IS A FOOTBALL GAME ON SATURDAY,” he spoke, now trying to steer the conversation toward the team. It was a valiant effort, but I suspected it wouldn't last long. A few the area sports reporters were able to refocus and began asking the normal questions on the health of the team. Such as which players to watch for, who's injured, etc. I was thrilled when he mentioned me, “I THINK EVERYONE IS GOING TO BE SURPRISED BY MASON JACKSON, A FRESHMEN CORNERBACK. I THINK HE'S GOING TO BE VERY SPECIAL IN THE YEARS TO COME, POTENTIALLY EVEN AND NFL PLAYER.” I was floored when he said this, did I really have that much potential? Soon another reporter asked, “Mr. Wood, will you be coaching from the sideline this weekend?” “OF COURSE I WILL, WHY WOULDN'T I?” The little reporter seems to shirk in fear at seemingly being rebuked. He added, “Well, Sir, I was just wondering if you still even fit in the coach's box on the side of the field and I-” He stammered before smiled and cut him off. “OH YES I SEE. YES, LITTLE MAN, I WILL BE ABLE TO FIT IN THE COACH'S BOX. ALSO, WE HAVE VERIFIED WITH THE NCAA THAT I WILL NOT BE BREAKING ANY RULES BY BEING SO...MASSIVE. IN FACT IT WILL BE A BIT OF HINDRANCE FOR OUR TEAM. MY VOICE IS SO LOUD AND BOOMING IT WILL BE DIFFICULT TO COMMUNICATE WITHOUT ALLOWING THE OPPOSING COACHES TO HEAR. THANKFULLY, WE DO USE MANY HAND SIGNALS. BUT, OUR AUDIO DEPARTMENT IS ALSO WORKING ON A MICROPHONE THAT I CAN WEAR AND WHISPER INTO.” Coach then looked right at the tiny camera at the back of the room and addressed the team's fans. “I'M ASKING OUR FANS TO BE LOUDER THAN EVER TO HELP MASK MY CONVERSATIONS WITH MY FELLOW COACHES AND PLAYERS! HELP US OUT, BRUTE NATION!” Coach punctuated this statement with a colossal most-muscular pose, filling the frame of the camera shot with huge manly muscle. “I DO FEEL SORRY FOR THE FANS WHO HAVE SEATS BEING ME. MY ENORMOUSLY WIDE BACK MUSCLES ARE PROBABLY GOING TO BLOCK MUCH OF THE VIEW OF THE FIELD. I WILL TRY TO STAND IN DIFFERENT LOCATIONS DURING THE GAME IN AN EFFORT TO ALLOW EVERYONE BEING TO SEE AS MUCH OF THE GAME AS THEY CAN.” Of course this action once again steered the questions toward Coach's development. Another reporter, whom I instantly recognized as the weaselly man from the Channel 11 news, the one who had been bothering me and my teammates, Chet Howard, spoke up, “Just how strong are you, Mr. Wood. Do you think you might be a danger to society?” Coach spotted the little man who asked him the question. He had his hands on his hips in a powerful relaxed pose. The side of his mouth curled up into a half grin. “I WILL NOT BE A PROBLEM, BUT I WILL DEFEND MYSELF AND MY PLAYERS. BUT, TELL YOU WHAT, MR. HOWARD, WHY DON'T YOU FOLLOW ME OUTSIDE AND I'LL WILL SHOW YOU HOW POWERFUL I AM.” Coach then stepped around the podium and slowly sauntered to the opposite end of the field house. I noticed a reporter near the edge of he crowd, close to where Coach was walking, shifting nervously in his chair as our captain's massive sneakers planted on the ground next to him. The camera shifted over to view Coach Wood smirking down across his shoulder at the nervous crowd far below. Once he had passed the crowd and was out of the view the reporters themselves then got up and followed after him. The camera field we were watching was suddenly cut off. My roommate flipped on the local Channel 11 news who also had a live feed running via a shoulder-mounted camera, so we began watching that. The camera turned on to see coach bending over to step outside on the end of he field house that faced the street. The man holding the camera followed and stepped outside into the bright air. Once it had refocused we saw Coach standing on the grass between the field house and the street lined with news vans with his hands on his hips, watching as his little subjects stream outside to watch the events unfold. “I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A STRONG MAN, BUT NOW I'D WOULD SAY THAT IS THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR, DON'T YOU ALL THINK?” Our leader surveyed the intrigued and nervous crowd below. He picked out and pointed to a reporter. A beautiful, blonde, busty woman that I recognized from the Channel 13 news. “YOU. MS. KING OF 13 NEWS...” Coach winked at her and I suspected that he had previously fooled around with, probably often based on how gorgeous she was. “...WOULD YOU MIND HELPING ME DEMONSTRATE MY STRENGTH?” Vanessa King, the lead reporter at Channel 13, looked around nervously. She was biting her lip, obviously conflicted between her fear and intense lust she was feeling for the sexiest, biggest man on the planet. I wondered if she was also nervous that others might find out that she and coach had been together and jeopardizing her journalistic integrity. Perhaps, though, that was why coach picked her out because he knew she would trust him. She looked up at Coach Wood's hot masculine face, composed herself and stepped forward, standing barely shin high to the huge muscle man in front of her. “Sure, Mr. Wood. How may I help you?” Coach grinned, leaned forward and squatted down. “MISS, IF YOU DON'T MIND I AM GOING TO PICK YOU UP WITH ONE HAND. I PROMISE I WILL BE GENTLE.” I imagine Coach had told her that before in the bedroom before plowing her with the biggest cock she would ever have. Vanessa lifted her arms and Coach reached forward and wrapped his thigh-sized fingers around her torso and slowly lifted her into the air and stood up to chest level. “AND YOU ARE LIGHT AS A FEATHER TO ME, MS. KING. I CAN SEE YOU LOOK NERVOUS.” Coach then softened his voice as much as he could and spoke directly to her, “THERE IS NO REASON TO BE NERVOUS, VANESSA. YOU ARE IN THE SAFEST HANDS IN THE WORLD. WITH ME PROTECTING YOU, NOTHING BAD COULD HAPPEN TO YOUR RIGHT NOW.” With Coach lowering his voice his words came even more sultrily and sexily than anyone could imagine. There was an audible female groan from the other reporters and they absorbed his low rumbling, protective words. Any of the other female reporters would've given anything to switch places with Vanessa King at that moment. Vanessa was breathing heavily but it wasn't from fear so much as lust. Coach knew the effect he had on women and he smirked sexily down at the tiny voluptuous woman in his hand. “AS YOU CAN SEE, I AM MUCH STRONGER AND MORE POWERFUL AND THAN ANY OTHER HUMAN ON THE PLANET, AND IT'S NOT EVEN CLOSE.” Coach flexed his biceps with his opposite arm and the enormous split peak erupted upwards, stretching his skin. “WOULD YOU LIKE COP A FEEL, MA'AM?” Vanessa eyeballed the biceps muscle up and to her left. A muscle so big she could practically live inside it. “Um...yes, sure Coach Wood,” she replied. “OK. JUST REMEMBER I WON'T LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU.” Coach then raised up the excited reporter and set her down on his biceps! She sat with her butt on the peak and her legs dangling over toward the front. “SEE! I AM SO BIG AND MUSCULAR THAT YOU HAVE PLENTY OF SPACE UP THERE, MISS!” “Oh my, yes, Mr. Wood. You are certainly an impressive man. Your biceps feel like warm stone underneath me!” We could see that Ms. King was shivering, either from excitement, lust, or a fear of heights, possibly all three. “OK, THANK YOU MS. WOOD. I WILL SET YOU BACK DOWN NOW. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR HELPING ME.” “Oh, it was my utmost pleasure!” Vanessa replied excitedly as Coach gently grabbed and set her back on the ground. “SINCE THAT WAS SO, EASY, I DON'T THINK THAT WAS THE BEST DISPLAY HOW TRULY STRONG I AM.” Coach then turned and stepped over toward the street, leaned down and gingerly picked up a news van! He put one hand on the front and one on the back and lifted it up to chest level. We could see was the Action 5 news van. The crowd gasped at his display of power. “AND MAKE NO MISTAKE, THIS LITTLE VEHICLE HERE IS LIGHT. IT FEELS LIKE I'M LIFTING UP A TOASTER. IN FACT WATCH THIS.” Coach then shifted one hand under the van and rested the toy-like vehicle on this palm. He was holding it now with just one hand! While it was still light for him, the weight of the van caused the sinews of his deltoid to erupt in further relief, Meanwhile, he grinned cockily and brought is free hand up into a single-arm biceps pose. The awestruck reporters were beside themselves. “DOES THIS GIVE YOU LITTLE PEOPLE SOME IDEA OF HOW POWERFUL I AM. LOOK AT THIS. LOOK AT MY ENORMOUS BICEPS MUSCLE AND AS I HOLD ONE OF YOUR TINY VEHICLES IN MY OTHER HAND!” Coach then began raising and lowering the news van up and down above his shoulder as if it was a light dumbbell. “I COULDN'T EVEN GET MUCH OF PUMP FROM LIFTING THIS SMALL VAN, HAHA,” Coach chuckled. “DOES THAT ANSWER YOUR QUESTION OF HOW POWERFUL I AM, CHET?” Coach glared at Mr. Howard, who gulped at being spotted and addressed once again. I then noticed, even through the camera feed, what seemed to be an evil glint in Coach's eye. He motioned to set the Action 5 news van back down, next to Chet's Channel 11 news van. As he stepped over to the street, vehicle in hand, Coach kept his eyes on Chet and spoke. “I WANT TO THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING OUT TO DISCUSS THE RECENT DEVELOPMENTS WITH MYSELF AND THE TEAM...” Coach spoke, eyes still locked on the Chet, not watching where we was stepping. Then it happened. As he stepped over the empty car space his foot came crashing down on the Channel 11 news van! The sneaker easily crumpled the roof of the van down to its chassis. As more of Coach's muscular weight bore down the tires popped and gave way as more the metallic vehicle was smashed to the street. A horrendous sound of broken glass and twisting metal pierced the warm summer afternoon. Some in the crowd shrieked. Coach quickly lifted his foot up and metalic debris fell from the treads of his sneakers. He set his foot back down on the grass. He quickly then set down the un-damaged Action 5 van. “OH MY GOODNESS, I AM SO SORRY. I GUESS I SHOULD'VE BEEN WATCHING WHERE I STEP. WHEN YOU ARE A HUGE MUSCULAR GIANT LIKE MYSELF I GUESS I WILL HAVE TO BE MORE CAREFUL AROUND YOU TINY PEOPLE AND YOUR TOYS!” Coach found Chet again in the nervous crowd and addressed him, with a slight sneer. “I AM SO SORRY MR. HOWARD. YOU CAN SPEAK WITH DEAN WHO WILL REIMBURSE YOU FOR THE DAMAGES. I DOUBT YOUR INSURANCE COVERS YOUR CAR GETTING STEPPED ON BY A GIGANTIC FOOTBALL COACH, HAHA!” Chet nervously nodded his head up to the giant masculine man. We all knew it and few in the crowd who new of Chet's methods did as well, but Coach was clearly punishing Chet for bothering his players. All reporters made instant notes not to cross Coach or his players. “WELL THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING.” Coach's face and tone then turned stern. “NOW, I HAVE TO ASK THAT YOU ALL LEAVE MY PLAYERS ALONE. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME HAS LITTLE TO DO WITH THEM. DO NOT BOTHER MY PLAYERS, THEY NEED TO FOCUS ON SCHOOL AND OUR UPCOMING GAME. IF YOU WANT TO SPEAK WITH ME MORE YOU CAN TALK TO THE DEAN AND MAYBE WE CAN SET UP SOME INTERVIEWS.” The crowd of reporters then erupted again, shouting out questions at the titanic man. Coach simply smiled warmly and raised his hands to quite the crowd, which instantly complied. “THANK YOU ALL AGAIN. I HOPE YOU WILL COME OUT TO CHEER ON OUR TEAM AT OUR GAME ON SATURDAY.” Coach then stepped around the group of action figure sized people, leaned over into the field house and shut the garage door. The feed cut off and we wondered where things would go from there.

Here is a very rough draft I was working on a few years ago. Thought I would share. For visual reference, here is an example of how Randy looks to me: The trailer shook as if a small earthquake was rolling through the ground. I lost my place on the book’s page but felt no alarm. I knew it was Randy coming to get me for some chore. I felt him slow his pace as he shimmied sideways down the hall, his massive muscle gut audibly brushing the vinyl wood-veneered walls of the double-wide trailer. “Hey boy, I need you to do me a favor” he said as his gargantuan frame filled the doorway, hairy gut partially protruding into the room. I looked over to see him shirtless, in nothing but the custom briefs I made for him and his trademark aviator sunglasses. The outline of his swelling cock was obscene. Randy wasn’t even close to full-mast but his dick sat plump in the elongated front pouch at a heavy 11 inches and thick as a beer bottle. It rested high and dropped off of two mango-sized testicles, the whole package straining the white fabric to near transparency. I knew what he wanted; I’d be coaxed into emptying his balls to help relieve the pressure. “It’s been close to 24 hours now. I ain’t gone this long since the first time I ever came” My body was shadowed by the bunk above me, and I felt safe here in my small room. It was only big enough for the bunks and a dresser. It was a crammed little space for sure, however it had one critical feature: the door frame was too small for Randy. The narrow entrance framed his gut, hairy chest cleavage and some of his traps, while the rest of him extended far past the threshold. Going in sideways did not work – his muscle gut and pecs projected off of his body to such a degree that he could not squeeze through. “I’m feeling tired and I really don’t want to clean all that up, Randy” “That’s alright. You can just swallow all of it this time” he smiled. We both knew that was not going to happen. Randy had a problem – he produced semen at an absurd rate, outpacing a normal man by 50 times. He needed to be relieved at least 3 times a day to not be in pain. Despite having numerous clients on the Strip each night, and pumping out a couple of ounces each time, he would usually wake up in a warm pool of his own sticky load meshing and tangling his hairy belly and bush. His clients almost always took care of emptying him through the night, but I was around to handle the morning cleanup – as well as a host of other responsibilities. “How come you don’t just stroke it yourself Randy?” “We out of towels boy. This is gonna be big dump too, I need your help. Don’t want to clog the fucking toilet again either” I was going to stand my ground. I did a lot for Randy, and though I was always turned on by his body, I did not want to deal with the mess tonight. My routine for him was already grueling: I would wake him up each day, him stinking and covered in his own cum from several wet dreams. I’d help him in the bathroom, which was designed like a wet room for a person with disabilities. The room was essentially a large shower (bigger than my room mind you) with a mirror, sink and extra-large toilet. It was a light yellow-cream color and the entire floor slopped to a drain in the center. A flexible hose with shower head attachment plugged into the wall. I would take off his cum soaked briefs and through them in the corner with a heavy slap. I would then proceed to wash off his body, scrubbing off the thick semen with a cloth, being sure to clean his 9 inch soft cock and bull-like balls. “Randy, the answer is no. Just use one of the empty milk cartons” “Come on now. You know I can’t jerk it and hold something in front of my dick at the same time. I need you boy” he sounded more serious. After washing him, I would then help him dry off and put on a clean pair of briefs. He would adjust his massive package to a comfortable angle. The coffee would have been brewed by now and I would immediately begin his breakfast. First the shake, which was easiest. Whole milk, oats, 6 cups of protein powder, cottage cheese, yogurt and some peanut butter. It was gross to be sure, but it was nearly 300 grams of protein. A “quick snack to start the day” he would say. As he stood behind me, naked expect for the briefs barely capable to handle his bulge, I would cook his 10 eggs, full pack of bacon, 12 pancakes and jug of sliced fruit (my idea to help him keep regular). “Go outside then” I said turning my attention back to my book. He grunted like a bull – I was winding him up. He enjoyed watching me cook while he drank his shake and coffee for some reason, only sitting when I had finished and placed all the food on one large platter for him. He would eat like an absolute pig while I cleaned up the kitchen, saving myself a tiny portion in comparison to satisfy myself. Usually Randy would finish before I was done cleaning and would swagger up behind me, leaving his plate and fork by the sink. His big gut would brush up against me in the small space, and many mornings he would grab my plate of food and inhale it in a few bites, not knowing (or caring) that it was reserved for me. I would pause to help him slide on some shorts (again, custom made by yours-truly) and he would squeeze out the front entrance to lift the weights scattered about the trailer roasting under the hot Las Vegas sun. He would be out there for at least 3 hours. During this time I would handle the remaining cleaning duties. “Boy, if you don’t watch yourself, I’m going to do it right here and cover this floor” I would clean the rest of the kitchen and then head to the bedroom to strip the bed and remake the sheets. The fitted sheet and mattress pad would be congealed with his cum, and I would have to separate the fabric from the plastic sheet underneath. This layer was critical for keeping the king sized bed salvageable. It was a laborious task considering the size of the bed and cramped space. With the bedding balled up and sticking to me, I would place it in the washer, always making sure to grab his briefs that were now crusted in the corner of the bathroom. Several servings of detergent was necessary to clean the load (no pun intended). With the wash started, I would then scrub the plastic sheet and tidy up the rest of the trailer. Then I would begin preparing lunch. “Please, let’s not do this tonight” I replied meekly. “Come on, I am exhausted” “That ain’t what I pay you for, boy” Yes, I am essentially Randy’s full time care-giver now. He just couldn’t keep up with the tasks of taking care of such a hulking body alone. At an even 6’0 and 430 pounds of bulging muscle, Randy was an absolute giant of a man. He consumed 20,000 calories a day, went through several changes of clothes and had to figure out some way of disposing of the copious volumes of cum he ejaculated throughout. He needed help. “Randy, taking care of you is more than a full-time job. I need a break every now and then” “I understand that boy, but you need to help me out right now. I am in pain” Randy and I first met a while after he developed his “condition”. He rang up the private, at-home care dispatch I worked for saying he needed someone discreet and willing to work a messy job for good pay. I had been with the company for some time by that point and had seen it all – paraplegics, old-timers, mentally deficient, you name it. My boss trusted me with any client so I was an obvious choice. But I had never had a gig like taking care of Randy. “You know, when we started this whole thing, we had a contract. Eight hours a day, 15 days off a year, and reimbursement for travel. I don’t get any of that now” I said, obviously frustrated. “I pay for your gas!” he replied, as if that remedied the situation. I will always remember the first day I had pulled up to his double-wide trailer, some dump tucked away in the only remotely industrial part of Las Vegas. As I pulled up in my car, I was immediately floored by the colossal man lifting weights in the front “yard”, shirtless and drenched in sweat under the hot sun. He wore sunglasses, cowboy hat and jeans that were ready to burst from the size of his legs. At this point, Randy was only 320 pounds. He stood up to greet me when I exited my car, my hand dwarfed and encased by his sweaty, calloused palm. I was in sheer awe and he could easily tell. His pecs sat like heavy slabs of beef on his torso, casting twin shadows over his hairy belly. Randy’s body glistened with sweat, a stream running down the crevice of his massive chest down to his gapping belly button. I had never seen a man that size before and something in my gaze made Randy smile. “Randy, it ain’t happening so just leave me alone” He was scowling now “boy…you think these flimsy little walls can keep me out?” He informed me then that his testosterone production rivaled that of a large bull, a condition that had randomly begun in adulthood. He told me that he had always been a big guy, but in only 2 years he had gained a remarkable 60 pounds of pure muscle. Our working relationship began slowly but soon spiraled out of control to the situation I find myself in today. Originally I was cooking his meals and helping him with simple chores like laundry. Now I am officially his personal chef, maid, grocery shopper and tailor (a skill I'm still working on). As time went on, Randy kept getting bigger. Though he sports a massive hairy gut, it tougher than iron - a caress while blind-folded and you would swear you were rubbing a marble statue covered in fur. And in spite of his gut's titanic proportion, his chest has kept pace and still exceeds his gut easily with a measurement of 78 inches. His nipples are constantly plump and would be clearly obvious in any shirt he would wear, that is if he still wore shirts. Randy spends about 90 percent of his time shirtless, his hairy belly, bulging pecs and basket ball sized arms on display, usually in a film of sweat that I am expected to towel off. "Little boy, you have one more chance to get off your ass and come drain these balls or I'm going to get in here and pump you full of cum" he growled. His voice dropped a few octaves and I actually started to get butterflies in my stomach. He seemed pissed. Being gigantic is intoxicating for him, and he is always talking about getting bigger. But his size no doubt creates numerous challenges, aside from what I have already groaned about. For starters, Randy is a spectacle no matter where he goes. He typically wears a stringer tank top when he goes out and they hardly cover anything. His burly chest, fat nipples and the top half of his power gut are on full display. The bottom portion of the tank top clings to his gargantuan gut and is tight like a drum over his gaping naval. As for pants, he is always in shorts - fortunately, clothing for the obese fits him well so covering his nether regions is no problem...until you consider his manhood. I turn to look at he strips offs his briefs and proudly allows his veiny cock to enter my room. He is now sporting an erection at 15.5 inches and nearly as thick as a bottle of wine. His cock head features an obscene piss hole which can pump out thick streams of hot cum. The bull is ready. I basically plead with him to wear underwear. Otherwise, his cock and bull balls tend to flop all over the place and sometimes even drop out from the bottom of his shorts. I can still vividly remember us together at a buffet several months back and him standing up too fast - his shirts had ridden up his legs and his colossal hairy balls dropped out of his shorts for the whole restaurant to see. He didn't even notice as he swaggered up to the buffet for the eighth time. All eyes stared as his big balls bounced in the shadow of his gut. Now, the downside of the custom briefs I have made for him is there is no hiding his plump and protruding bugle in public. I routinely see people's jaws drop as they scan his body and focus in on the fruit basket straining his shorts. Randy's baseball glove-sized hand takes hold of his python and he begins to stroke with a smirk. Only his hands are large enough to wrap around his cock. Mine look like a child's next to his erect phallus. "OK boy, you had your chance. I'm dumping this load over you and this little rat hole you're hiding in!" I plead with him to stop now. It'll take me hours to clean up the sticky mess he'll leave behind. No luck. His smirk has turned to a full grin as he pumps his cock harder, preparing to unleash more cum in one go than he ever has in his life. His dick is rock hard and the veins run down his shaft in thick snake like patterns. His hairy bull balls hang low and are swinging with the motion. "HERE IT COMES BOY!" he laughs. I get down to put my hand in front of his cock, and in an instant I can feel the force of his ejaculation as he roars in releif. It stings my hand as if being shot with a high pressure hose and soon my hand, arm and most of my front half is doused in thick ropes of sticky hot semen. I cover my face as I feel it flow into my hair; it runs down my forehead and gets in my eyes. A pool of the stuff forms before me as Randy's heavy grunting slows and he catches his breath. I open my eyes and we both look at disbelief at the volume of cum that Randy has just unloaded on me. He can't even believe it. His semen is all over me and the floor. He begins to laugh in a big booming voice. "I warned you boy! Now clean yourself up and get me a protein shake!"

Thanks for this, really. There are so many ways you can go now. Jon with this body going intoa orgy with the Dothraki, figthing their strongest and then fucking him. Jon agains a Jaime who is De's prisioner (i dont believe he is dead) and Jon avenging what happened to Brann. So many thinks. This was a great addtion, my man

I thought of a continuation. Hope it lives up to what some wanted. --- Jon had some, well, pent up aggression towards this Reek. It was a little messy, when his cock grew so thick that Reek’s jaw cracked – the teeth didn’t hold up so well and were snapping out of their sockets – and Jon took that as an assault on himself and his family. He could feel his anger and frustration…along with this strange sensation of channeling giant beasts of the past…into his body swelling up more by more. Perhaps he should have wondered if death was going to happen when it appeared like Reek’s lips were being stretched and perhaps starting to tear. His cock was so thick – at least as large as the palm of his hand in thickness – and rather than focusing on pain, Jon felt himself pushing himself into Reek. His cock seemed to know what he was thinking, and it pushed further and further into his mouth and forcing itself into Reek’s throat. He felt the tip pushing through the esophagus, reflexively wanting to force this ever growing snake out. Reek’s muscles, as they were, closed in on the cock, but they were no match. Jon’s python kept pushing further and further into the throat, expanding, ripping lips, snapping more teeth out of place, and pushing further into Reek. Reek’s face was starting to turn slightly off – how long had he been pushing into him? – but Jon still felt a pulse pushing against his cock, so Reek wasn’t dead yet. Jon kept on growing into him. The monstrous tip felt some resistance at last – it was as though he reached the end of the throat. From days hunting with his father, Jon knew that this was the stomach. It was usually filled with bile, and it burned when it poured out. Reek’s heart, positioned just in front of the throat, tried feebly to push against the monstrous limb that was skewering its owner…and Jon felt every pathetic push. It felt so good and powerful…Jon urged his cock to continue. As his beast pushed into the stomach, teeth snapped out of the jaw and blood was pouring from the corners of Reek’s mouth. It was so much wider than his palm now; he wondered how it would look from the side, pushed through Reek’s pathetic skull, neck and chest… Stomach bile started to flood around the head – however big it was now – and as much as it burned, Jon felt a coolness wash over himself. It was as though he was resistant to such dangerous liquid. But…Reek’s face was starting to look pretty bad, color wise, and Jon could feel the pulse drop. Eh, the fucker didn’t deserve to die yet. He wasn’t fond of fucking a corpse…although his anger probably could get him to fuck Reek dead. Standing straight up – and up – and up – had he grown in height? Had he not noticed? All sensation seemed focused on this cock, the size of his forearm, that he didn’t notice his musculature and physical status change. No matter. He grabbed the sides of Reek’s skull, and started to pull out. Reek had passed out due to the pain, or pleasure, of what was happening to him, so Jon manhandled his body to pull this human cock sleeve off. Eventually he had to stand on the ground and pull the mighty cock all the way out by walking backwards – how big was he? The thick head got caught on teeth, since the sides of the tip were wider than the cock itself, and with a tug ripped the remaining teeth in the way out of Reek’s pathetic skull. The dick, somewhat soft, slapped his knees that probably would have bruised a normal man. It was thicker than his wrists and ankles, covered with veins the thickness of his fingers. Its incredible length arched out near the root, because what Jon just started to notice was his balls and grown to impossible dimensions – easily each was the size of two of his rather large fists. Blood, saliva and thick precum covered Reek’s face as he spontaneously started to gasp for air – his throat hadn’t been used for breathing for at least a minute or two – and color returned. He hadn’t woken up yet, and Jon did not think that Reek could survive if he grew one more time inside of him. His pathetic body almost made Jon feel as though Reek did not deserve everything that had happened to him. Feeling his chest, he felt where he was stabbed by the Night’s Watch. He remembered his death and resurrection. Jon had flashbacks to the same feeling when he heard that Robb was killed. Seeing Rickon dying in front of him due to that fucker Ramsay Bolton…who got his power because of fucking Reek. Anger came back. The somewhat sleeping python started to wiggle near his knees and spit out his thick, dripping saliva all over the floor. Jon’s cock thickened once more, and he wanted to feel it. He could barely get two hands around the thickness of it, and as it swelled with more hot blood, Jon’s hands slowly were pushed apart. So much blood was rushing to the cock, he was feeling light headed. But no. He can’t pass out. He must continue punishing Reek. His lightheadedness was overcome with swelling. A warm – no, burning, swelling. His hands got bigger. His forearms became hams. His biceps – oh, fuck, his biceps – easily the size of cannonballs. His chest was protruding so far over his abs that he would need to look to the sides to see what was beneath him. But, growing and growing, reaching his nipples, then his chin, then his eyes, was his man-destroying cock. The head felt as though it was as wide as his own skull. This would have blown Reek in half. Precum oozed out of the slit, pouring like thick, sweet, clear wine down his hands, cock and puddling on the floor. He started to stroke the monster. Jon’s calloused hands tried to harm the impossible skin of this looming python. Length after length, his felt the weight of his cock pulling itself to the ground below, his abs and his biceps struggling to pull it up while stroking. Stroking. Stroking. That swelling sensation started to hit his balls. Jon knew that it was only a stroke or two away from unleashing whatever amount of cum he had been brewing for the past hour since his last cum blast inside of Reek. His arms started to shake as he continued to stroke, up and down, up and down. More friction. More precum. More shaking. More anger. More frustration. More fire. Jon fell to his knees, cracking the stone below, grabbing his cock, aimed at Reek’s bed, and roared as he felt pulse after pulse travel from his massive balls, resting on the stone, into his core and out his monster. The first blast actually made a sound as his penis slit burst open due to the force of the ejaculation. It hit Reek’s bed, and pushed it away. The second blast hit Reek in the side, knocking him over to the edge of the bed. The third, fourth and fifth blasts hit the stands and broke the bed down, spilling a still unconscious Reek upon the floor. Blasts six through twelve further disintegrated the bed. So much cum was within the room that it had started to cover the entire floorspace and was filling like a bath – impressive, given the size of the room. Pulse after pulse traveled from balls to cock, filing the room with hot, as in scalding hot, cum. Burns started to appear on Reek’s arms and legs – his face was aimed up. He was turning red from the cum’s temperature. Blast after blast continued, nearly covering his broken mouth and nostrils with cum as the room filled ever so slowly. Jon figured he shouldn’t let passed-out Reek drown in his cum – that would be to kind a death – so he picked him up as his cock continued to push more cum into the room. Perhaps this counted as payment for what Reek did to Sansa – not seeking to help his sister. Payment was still needed for the rest of the Starks.

Part Twenty Seven As Henri and Porthos stood on the platforms in the their ultimate forms, completely naked, Roger's cock was so hard it was painful. These two men, the two men who wanted him as their lover, were going to test their mettle against a gymnastics move that Roger was convinced had to have been invented by a BDSM fan. As both men took a deep breath, they both nodded and slipping their hands into the collection of ropes attached to the trees commanded "Destroy the supports" and with that Roger, in a display of martial arts, roundkicked the supports away and with that the challenge started. Which of the two of them could withstand the agony the longest? Which of them would scream for mercy and prevent the torture? Which of them would make Roger cum first? *** "That the sperm of a man be putrefied by itself in a sealed cucurbit for forty days with the highest degree of putrefaction in a horse’s womb, or at least so long that it comes to life and moves itself, and stirs, which is easily observed. After this time, it will look somewhat like a man, but transparent, without a body. If, after this, it be fed wisely with the Arcanum of human blood, and be nourished for up to forty weeks, and be kept in the even heat of the horse’s womb, a living human child grows therefrom, with all its members like another child, which is born of a woman, but much smaller" As Albert examined the sample that Man Incarnate had donated, the textbook he was reading from "De natura rerum" seemed to make a lot of sense. Albert could see the little people swimming around and could easily tell which was man and which was woman, but there was one thing that didn't ring true in Albert's mind and that was that they grew by feeding them blood, and being someone who was always willing to experiment, he divided the sample into four and fed one sample blood, by pricking his own finger, one sample beer, one sample itself and the other sample without nothing and placing the four samples in the strong sunshine that flooded his room, he left them. *** "Oh fuck!" moaned Roger as the two Ultimates grit their teeth against the pain, "Your pecs are like rocks. Oh, man, I don't know how much longer of this I can stand!" Roger's cock was now the deepest purple and as he moaned, rubbing it again, his moans made the Ultimates torture even worse. Every time he spoke, they could feel it passing through themselves. They wanted him just as much as he wanted them, the pain etched on their faces was only a fraction of the mental torture they were subjecting themselves to and as they moaned, they didn't want it to ever stop. *** Six hours later, Albert came back and gasped in amazement. He had no idea where he had sprung from, but there, in the middle of the room, doing an exercise that Albert believed was called "pushing one up from the floor" was a young lad, maybe old enough to be considered a cadet of the Musketeers, with one arm. As he approached the stranger, he leapt to his feet and announced in a strong clear voice "Hail, my father, for thou hadst created me!". Albert looked the lad up and down. He was taller than even the Ultimate Musketeer, clearly stronger and despite being totally naked had a body that could make Le proporzioni del corpo umano secondo Vitruvio or as most people knew it Vitruvian Man look like Athos. This was the true definition of human geometry and quickly giving the lad a loincloth to spare his blushes. He measured the lad and was staggered by the results and as he recited them to the lad, the lad seemed to agree with him. "Nine pied" he said, almost in a whisper, "five and a quarter quintals if my estimates are correct about weight. Your chest measures almost as much as you are tall, your waist is half that and your arms are almost two pied around" and as he concluded the measurements he asked "How strong are you?" The lad, whose bright blue eyes looked at Albert, asked "What is strong, my father?" Albert knew of only one man who could answer that question and so with the lad who seemed to believe he was his son in tow, headed towards the Bois de Boulogne *** "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, you guys, I can't stand this anymore. Please, I beg of you, release me from your torture!" As Roger lay on the ground, his cock now twenty four inches long, the head the most purple ever seen and his face scrunched in agony, both the Ultimates moaned in kind. Neither of them was going to let the other win and as a result, the chains holding them were being tested to their limits. Suddenly there was a snap, and as Roger looked up he saw that one of the chains had broken and was now strangling the Ultimate Musketeer. As he screamed to make the Ultimate Titan aware, the Ultimate Musketeer grunted "No, the test continues!" Roger couldn't dare to look. He could see the chains turning the Ultimate Musketeer's face red, he was being suffocated and he couldn't do that to his friend so he did the only thing he could. He went to the tree holding his friend, uprooted it and snapped the chains releasing his friend who fell the to ground with a thump. And his reward, a right hook with a gasped "You've forced a tie break!" Just as the Ultimate Titan roared his victory by snapping his chains and landing on the ground, his feet indenting the ground by six inches, Albert arrived borne by the strange lad and as he gasped the lad declared "My father" and wrestled Roger to the ground and was soon sucking on his cock. As he did, the lad started to grow and become older and as Roger screamed in ecstasy as he came, the truth was revealed as both men now looked like each other. As Roger panted, his orgasm fuelled his mind and he said "Ultimate Titan, you wished to love me. Love this man who is my son!" and as the copy of Roger walked towards Porthos, then two men embraced and as they did so, both men moaned in ecstasy.

Hmmmm... I wish I could see what a super strong Jon could do to the Realm... Think of a dragon breathing fire onto him, only to singe his clothes, without hurting in the least his godly body! He could just grab a dragon's throat in his fist and crush it like wet balsa wood.

Part 14: Hugo His world was dark and cold. He felt constricted, strangled, as if buried under a mound of soil. Panic had subsided into an otherworldly calm. He couldn't see or hear, but there was a certain degree of perception he couldn't completely explain. He had a strange series of… he wouldn't exactly call them sensations, but he concluded that he was being moved; was moving; had moved. How, by what, and where to, he couldn't say. It was clear that although his body was now beyond his means to manipulate, his mind appeared to be intact. He couldn't really perceive time accurately, but he was sure it was passing. You have power here, he assured himself. There must be some way to use it. There were others who had managed to separate their body and mind, project their thoughts elsewhere; observe, even communicate with people halfway across the world. But this was never something he had learned to do, and he doubted he could teach it to himself with nothing to go on. Except… it wasn't nothing, was it? Something had touched him that night at WAYLA. Some entity had drilled into his mind and he had felt its presence. It had been confusing and unclear at the time but in retrospect - perhaps freed from the distractions of his biology - he understood what had happened. He had been overwhelmed by his memories, relived two years of ordeals and triumphs all at once. He swam through the darkness back to that moment. Was it… yes. There was someone else there. A thin, delicate thread connected them to each other. He reached out. Took careful hold of it, grasped it tight, and pulled. If Will had any substance here; if Thought and Memory were no longer abstract in this bodiless void, then he focused them and all other forces he could muster on a single, simple idea. He pushed it away from him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was all he could do to try. Cassidy called out: I need your help. *** Brent dozed lazily through the afternoon while Nate wet-vacced up the mess. Nate fed him pizza pockets and beer after he had the place mostly cleaned up, and afterwards Brent drifted in and out of naps. He would awake to mild alarm at being barely able to move, but then would settle into revelling at his size. He felt so heavy, so thick, and it was all he could do to keep his gargantuan cock from getting hard again, not wanting to burden Nate with another sea of jizz to clean up. They began to shrink back to normal in the evening. The process was much more subtle. As his overblown muscles began to deflate he felt his limbs aching, probably just from lying still for so long. He rose to his feet when he decided he had returned to normal, but a big thick cock flopping against his knees suggested he still had a bit of a ways to go. He lumbered out of his room and down the hall, finding Nate almost back to his usual height lying across the couch playing with his phone, wearing the shorts he'd arrived in and a borrowed shirt of Brent's. Nate looked up and his face blossomed into a wide smile. “Hey man! How you feelin?” Brent shrugged. “A little out of it,” he mumbled. He leaned back and stretched with a loud yawn. “But feelin’ good. Amazing, actually.” He shook his head, massaging his neck. “I still can’t believe this actually happened.” He looked down at his body. Even diminished, his muscles were still pretty thick. “Is STILL happening!” he added with a chuckle. Nate sat upright. “Yeah. S’pretty wild.” He nodded. He glanced down at his phone, then back up at Brent. “‘Know you wanted to hang out more with Pride an’ shit, but I’s out learnin’ how ‘a do this.” Brent plopped down on the couch next to Nate. His flaccid dick had receded up his thigh and he figured he was nearly back to his normal size. “How DID you learn all this?” Nate grinned. “Sorry man, can’ really tell.” “So… that night at the Black Eagle. You knew? Did you know the whole time?” Nate paused. “I…” he hesitated. “Guy I learned it from s’the same guy who pumped you up,” he admitted. “Serious though, man. S’all I can say.” “But like… he told you?” Brent pressed. “Is this someone who knows me?” He paused. “It’s not Luke or Jayson, is it?” “I put it together,” Nate mumbled. “S’all m’gonna say, brah. Period.” Brent nodded, leaning back. “This is nuts.” “THESE‘re nuts,” Nate reached over and tickled Brent's balls. Brent giggled and swatted him away. “It's just… wow… y'know?” Nate rolled his eyes. “Fuck, bro, will you get over it ‘lready?” “Come on, man, this is a big deal!” Brent protested. “Magic? It's fucking world-changing.” “Nah man, s’not,” Nate shook his head. “Jus’ cuz you didn’ know ‘bout it doesn’ mean s’never there, right?” He shrugged. “Sides, you did know ‘bout it. What ya think ‘at was at th’ Eagle?” Brent raised his eyebrows. “Yeah good point.” He paused a moment. “Hey. Do you know Mahtab Nilan… uhh, Nil… I can never remember her last name. It's long and Indian.” “Huh?” Nate looked at him. “Who?” “Mahtab. She… well we hung out a lot first semester. She's at York too. And she told me… well she started telling me about this group she was a part of, and how they were like… doing magic. Like real magic and I was… like at first I thought it was just a prank or something but when it… like she seriously believed it. I just thought she was legit psycho. So after the Christmas break I just kinda cut her off. I didn't want to deal with her. After the Eagle…” he dropped his gaze. “I wanted to say sorry but I didn't know, like, what would happen, y'know? And I just had been like, ‘don't tell anyone about it.’ Especially after the drug test and all that shit with Tyler and Farhan.” “I’unno man… thi’ shit’s all…” Nate shook his head vigorously. “Naw man fuck all ‘at. No mopin’, got me?” The finger he pointed in Brent’s face was stern, but the smile behind it was impish as ever. “Didn’ come here t’hang wi’ a downer all day. S’exciting. Get excited, y’fuckin dumbass.” Brent's smile returned. “Sorry. You're right. This IS exciting.” “‘Can make it permanent too, bro,” said Nate, putting his arm around Brent and rubbing his shoulder. “Big s’you want. Twenny-four-seven.” “Yeah?” Brent raised an eyebrow. “Jesus…” “Yeah, man. Gon’ get some shit sorted out an’en YOU might be the short one,” Nate winked. Brent's brow furrowed. “Huh?” “Think I'd go t’all the trouble an’ not use this on me?” Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Always knew I’s destined for bigger things.” “Wait… seriously?” Brent turned to him. “What'll you tell people?” “I’unno,” Nate shrugged. “Who gives a shit?” “Well like…” Brent stammered, “how big are we talking about?” “Stop worryin’, man!” Nate chided laboriously, squeezing his shoulder. “S’gonna be great. Ev’thing’s gon’ be fine.” He leaned his head on Brent's shoulder. “Jus’ got… gotta…” he voice drawled off. Brent felt Nate's grip on his shoulder go limp. “Nate?” he shook him by the knee. “What is it?” Nate sat upright, then stood. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable and confused. “I… jus’ hol’ on a sec.” Nate darted to the washroom. Brent sat forward as Nate shut the door behind him. “Nate? What the hell? Are you okay?” “S’fine!” Nate called through the door. Brent stood up, confused and not really sure what to do. He stood close to the door and held his breath, listening for anything from within, but there was only silence. He exhaled and plodded back to his room, the potential crisis making him suddenly and acutely aware of his nudity. He returned in boxers and a thin white undershirt, and was briefly relieved when he saw Nate emerge from the bathroom. But when he saw his face, Brent began to worry again. Nate wasn't smiling. He seemed pale and stressed and maybe even… afraid. “Nate?” Nate turned to him, and for a brief fraction of a moment he looked back at Brent with a strange longing, fear, and helplessness. But it was just a flash, like an errant frame on a movie reel. His grin returned, he shrugged, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry man, I jus’ forgot some’in,” he chuckled. “I act’ly gotta split.” He reached out and pulled Brent's neck down, craning up to kiss him. It was a short, affectionate kiss - not his usual sloppy tongue-thrash. And as their lips parted, Nate held Brent's head close and pressed their foreheads against each other. It was nice, but it was weird. Brent could see that something had changed. The fluffy cartoon clouds of excitement for the future seemed to have suddenly turned into a lingering putrid smoke of doubt that they even had a future. Brent knew it had happened. He knew it. But as Nate drew away from him he giggled and smirked bashfully like he always did. Nate was trying to make Brent think that change hadn't occurred; Brent was too scared and confused to just call out the bullshit. They might as well had BOTH been mind-readers. “Nate…” Brent took a faltering step forward as Nate slipped into his shoes. “I… you know if there's ever something wrong that I'm… I'd have your back. I'd want to help. I…” he stammered. “Like, you get that, right?” Another brief break in the facade. The smile twitched, betraying its deceit, his eyes trembled with uncharted depths of understanding and… maybe regret. Depths Brent hadn't realized Nate possessed. And just like before, it fell away into the practiced casual, easy-going charm he always exhibited. He cupped one hand at the side of his mouth, called out “Gayyyyyy!” and disappeared out the door. *** As Nate rounded the corner and Brent's house dropped out of view, his brow furrowed, his grin hardened into a frown. He glanced around for somewhere he could focus. He'd tried in the bathroom but Brent was too distracting. He needed something nice and serene. There was an old folks’ home at the intersection. In the middle of a sparsely populated parking lot was a small island of thin yellowing sod inhabited by a gangly red maple sapling and a cracked cement garbage bin. It'd do. He jogged over to it, sat down with his back against the garbage bin, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sky was still mostly overcast but even through his eyelids he could see the light of the sun shifting behind the clouds. A cicada was keening nearby. The sounds of motors and horns and reverberating bass beats from Finch Steet rattled like stones in a dryer, and there was a distant echo of playground noise; an incoherent rabble of childish shrieks and shouts. This was better. This could work. Nate pulled himself out of all that and listened for what he had heard before. Yes, there it was. Someone had tried to present an idea. But it was all crumpled up like a wad of paper. He had to peel it apart very carefully, lest it slip through his fingers and he lose it again. Whoever had sent this had no clue what they were doing. Nate had been reading thoughts for a while, and had arrived at a number of insights. First and most importantly: every human mind was unique. While there was overlap in shared experiences everyone generally had their own set of interpretations, associations, and representations for even very basic and simple ideas. Reading surface thoughts, probing memories, and digging through someone’s knowledge was one thing. It was like looking through a library or a computer database - albeit without the help of a card catalogue or logically nested folders - but once you found what you were looking for, you were set. But someone was trying to send him an idea or an instruction, and it was so loaded with subtext and abstractions that it essentially had to be decoded. When it had hit him, he immediately felt a rush of adrenaline, which - coming on while lazily dozing next to Brent - had confused and alarmed him. He felt like he was being attacked. Even now he found this concept cloaked with desperation and dripping with panic. Whatever was going on, it was dangerous, maybe even deadly. Things began to align themselves in a way Nate found recognizable. He realized it had come from Cassidy, but the particulars were still muddled. He tried to follow the line back and… everything sort of exploded, beyond even a scope that Cassidy understood. Cassidy had unwittingly provided Nate with what amounted to a phone line in an otherwise locked room; a room in which Cassidy was not alone. It all unloaded on Nate so fast he was immediately flooded with memories and emotions and experiences. His heart started to race, stars speckled the inside of his eyelids, there was a tenebrous pitch rising in his ears, and pain lanced through his brain from every direction at once. Nate pulled himself out with a gasp and after a momentary reprieve, a sharp ache seeped into his head. He held the bridge of his nose and cringed, waiting for it to pass, too distracted by agony to sort out everything he had seen. But as the eye-popping migraine subsided into a dull, mild hangover headache, it all became very clear. Nate had never wanted this kind of thing. Drama and danger. His preferred genre of adventure was whimsical jaunt, not harrowing quests. Lives on the line? What kind of masochist wants to deal with that shit? Nate had a burly, growth-hungry beefcake a literal five minute walk from where he sat. A beefcake that LIKED him. Liked him a lot. He could go back there, he knew. He could just ignore all this bullshit and let nature take its course. He didn't know these people; what did he care? This didn't involve him. He didn't owe any of these people the time of day. He owed something to Brent. He owed it to Brent to stay alive, and not risk his life for a bunch of strangers… Right…? A mixed blessing of being a telepath was that more often than not you had a better idea of what kind of person one was than they did themselves. He'd always thought that skill had given him some insight into what kind of person he was: someone who didn't get involved if he didn't have an angle. He could go back to Brent, never mention any of it, and no one could ever give him any shit over it. He could leave all those people to whatever fate had in store for them. He could. That was an option. It was a decision he could make. It didn't matter that he was their only hope. It didn't matter that if he didn't try to help them, nobody else would. Fuck. Nate stood up and dusted off his shorts. He was just wasting time trying to convince himself. In reality, he already knew that he was about to do something incredibly heroic. He kicked dejectedly at the grass. “Aww, maaaaaan…” *** Just as Adam and Mahtab were retreating down the alleyway, Nate was walking up the street behind them. Everyone around him was buzzed and horny, so he had closed off his senses to them. There wasn't much point to scanning anyone; he had a pretty complete picture of what was going on. He wasn't there on recon anyway. He wasn't familiar with many of the active players, and how they might react to his involvement was just a guess. He'd decided he needed to get some backup that was more predictable. Even with the cloud cover it was still light out but the Black Eagle already had a line. Nate sighed and sidled up at the back, eavesdropping on a trio of twentysomething bears and cubs in front of him. “... but dude, look at the fuckin bouncer!” The larger of the bears was saying. “He was big but never THAT big.” “Lookit, jus’ cuz it's a good hoax don't make it any less a hoax,” countered a blonde bearded guy who looked like he had just started bulking up. “I saw a thing on Facebook that said it's a publicity stunt for Magic Mike.” “I dunno, man, that's pretty thorough,” replied a shorter tanned cub. “Like there's a bunch of Youtube vids, all from different accounts… and if they're fake I've never seen anything like that before.” “So what,” the blonde dropped his shoulders. “What, it's all real? Bunch o’ guys - at the fuckin Eagle - spontaneously turn into bodybuilders an’ pornstars an’ supermodels? For no reason? Got any ‘splanation for that?” “Hey man, I'm not sayin’ I can explain it,” the cub shrugged his thick shoulders. “But… well yeah. Look at that bouncer. How do YOU explain it?” Nate turned away, suppressing a chuckle, before realizing he'd been standing there for five minutes and the line hadn't moved. A quick read of Daniel - the freakishly overmuscled bouncer who was attracting so much attention - revealed that they were keeping their numbers low until more staff showed up. Until then, no one else was getting in before people inside left. Nate was surprised Daniel was thinking so clearly with all these guys flirting with him - feeling his arms and chest; asking for selfies with him; or just staring at him with shameless lust. The second bouncer, Hugo, was a bit peevish. While Daniel had had this job for years and was a loyal friend to the owner, Hugo only came in every now and then, and only did it so he could pick up guys at the bar. Hugo had already been in good shape, and the previous night Nate had grown him nearly a foot taller to a respectable six-foot-four, which he seemed happy with but was upset at all the attention Daniel was getting. Christ, Nate thought to himself. I make this guy taller overnight and he still finds something to bitch about. Still, it gave Nate a decent idea on how to kill two birds with one stone. “Off the stairs,” Daniel grumbled softly at the next couple of guys in line - two middle aged bears with tasseled leather jackets hanging open over their otherwise bare chests. The one in the cowboy hat took a step back. “I tell ya, man. Wasn't sure I believed it. Didn’ think you could get any bigger.” “Hmm,” Daniel acknowledged mirthlessly, and turned his gaze to the rest of the line. Hugo rolled his eyes. It had been like this all night. All these guys fawning over Daniel, whose stoic, joyless responses only seemed to drive them even crazier for him. That, and Daniel hadn't bothered to buy a new shirt and showed up for his shift bare-chested. Meanwhile no one even bothered to bat an eye at Hugo. Sure, he'd gotten considerably taller but he worked there so sporadically no one had retained a mental “before” image to compare him to. The dark-eyed blonde leaned against the wall with a sigh. He had imagined the life of a Church Street bouncer would be much more glamorous - though as the thought occurred to him now it seemed a bit silly. He was probably just exhausted. All the excitement from the night before had made for a restless sleep, not to mention a couple rails of coke. The novelty of all that weirdness was more than enough to keep him happy. But he felt something strange beyond that. He'd been so high last night it had been difficult so sort out one from the other. But he was stone sober, and there was a strange tautness in his guts that went far deeper than the run-of-the-mill anxiety he sometimes experienced at this job. He furrowed his brow. It felt familiar. Was it happening again? He got his answer as his clothes began to get extra snug around his frame. He looked down and saw his chest puffing out under his shirt. He spread his arms, glancing back and forth between them. “Uhh...Daniel?” “Mmm,” Daniel replied, nodding slowly as he looked out at the crowd, attempting (not for the first time) to fold his arms across his chest before realizing his arms were too big and settling for resting them on his hips. One of the leather clad cowboys was the first to notice, his eyes bugging out and his mouth hanging open. He pointed, trying to get his friend’s attention but apparently at a loss for words. Daniel turned to see what had him so agitated, and his eyes shot wide open. “Muddasic!” he exclaimed, reaching for his walkie. He had a little trouble finding an angle that would get it close to his mouth. “Code green! We gotta code green out front. I'll be needin some support out here on the double!” Hugo was already starting to feel the shirt straining to contain him. His feet were getting cramped in the converse hi-tops he had had to buy today to make up for his feet jumping three sizes last night. And it looked like he'd be making another trip tomorrow. He looked to Daniel for some help but Daniel had his hands full containing the line, which had begun to notice Hugo’s ongoing gains and were swarming the velvet rope to get a better look. Hugo was so wrapped up in his muscles bulging bigger that it wasn't until the cuffs of his jeans started riding up his swelling calves that he realized he was getting taller again as well. He couldn't be too far from seven feet. Two out of three guys in the gathering crowd had their phones out taking videos, and the clamour of disbelief was becoming deafening. “Take it off!” he heard someone yell. His collar was nearly strangling his neck and he was pretty sure a seam had split over one shoulder. “I don't think I can!” Hugo shouted back with a grin. “Show off your guns!” someone else called, and a chorus of hoots and cheers followed. Daniel’s gigantic frame was a literal wall at the base of the stairs, but he seemed to be struggling to keep people from climbing over him. Hugo, basking in the attention, raised both arms up, clenched his fists, and flexed. Immediately another wave of growth radiated through his body. His sleeves popped open as his biceps ballooned to the size of bowling balls. His shirt split right down the middle, revealing his hairless, gargantuan pecs atop a cut, bulging eight-pack. The seams of his jeans popped, yielding to his expanding buttocks and thighs thick as columns, all as he felt himself getting bigger everywhere. EVERYwhere. He opened his mouth and gasped as the fly of his jeans blew open and his inflating dick forced the zipper apart. The door opened and Carl and Darcy emerged, each holding a beach towel. They rushed down the stairs and both immediately took a step back as they looked up at Hugo. The growth seemed to have ended, and Hugo panted for breath as he looked down at himself, his destroyed jeans sliding down his legs. His T-shirt had become a miniscule vest, his new shoes had split open, and his CK underwear was barely holding on around his thick bubble butt and strangled cock and balls. The crowd cheered, and camera flashes sparkled through the street. He felt like he was headlining a rock concert. He had to be almost 8 feet tall, built like a mac truck, and only a quickly diminishing sense of modesty kept him from reaching down right there and jacking off his huge cock in front of all his adoring fans. “Do I…” Darcy tentatively raised his towel. “Should I cover him up?” “Nah,” Carlos sighed. “He's into it.” He brushed past a passerby who had skipped the line and was trying to get at Hugo, arranging himself opposite Daniel on the sidewalk. The crowd was losing their minds. People were roiling against Daniel trying to shout at Hugo. “Take it off!” “Do a lat spread!” “Show us your cock!” “Beefier!” “Are you on Grindr?” “Beefier!” Somehow the crowd had latched onto it, and were chanting “Beef-i-er! Beef-i-er!” over and over in unison. Hugo chuckled, spreading his hands helplessly. “I don't think it works that way, guys,” he said apologetically, pleased at the lower octave rumbling out of his throat. “Uhh…” Darcy had to intone loudly to be heard over the crowd. “Hugo? It might…” Hugo felt his face bristling, and put a hand up to feel a short but full and even beard covering his formerly clean-shaven face. The sensation seemed to be travelling down his body, and he watched a carpet of thick blonde fur unfurl down his chest, narrowing into a thinner trail as it loped through his abs. But just as it crawled under his tight undies and into his pubes - which he felt getting bushier - his newly acquired eight-pack disappeared under a generous layer of fat. “Whoa,” Hugo’s eyed widened at the belly ballooning into view from under his thick furry pecs. He put both hands on it and felt it expanding under his palms. It was soft but sturdy, and he gave it a few experimental bounces as it settled into a sizeable musclegut. Another splash of warmth burst outward from his belly. His pecs jutted out further, his arms thickened even more, his ass swelled against the wall, sliding up as he grew yet a few more inches taller, and finally his cock and balls grew too big for his underwear to handle, and they split open, spilling out his half-hard, two-foot chubby manhood, and allowing his softball ball-sized testicles to hang free. A flurry of camera flashes urged Daniel to check in on Hugo, and the big man’s stoicism faltered into awe as he looked up at Hugo’s gigantic frame, larger than not only anyone’s gains from the previous night but larger than anyone Daniel had ever heard of. His moment of reverie was enough for one of the cowboys to push past Daniel and charge Hugo. Darcy moved to cover up Hugo with his beach towel but the burly cowboy shoved him into the stairwell and pressed up against Hugo’s round gut, his head not even coming up to his chest. “I'll do anything you want. Please. Let me do anything. Please.” Him getting through opened the floodgates, and soon the sidewalk was filled with guys pleading for Hugo’s attention. “Fuck,” Carlos was forced to back away, and surveyed the mounting chaos outside of his bar; at Daniel struggling to get guys off the steps while simultaneously trying to stop others from joining in. “Hey… hey guys come on,” Hugo warned. “I don't want to hurt anybody…” “Hurt me!” a big, thick, fully decked-out leather daddy shouted up at him. “I've been looking for a man who could for years!” Even light nudges were sending guys sprawling backward against the crowd. Hugo realized that if he wasn't careful he could easily kill someone. “Fuck!” Carlos swore as someone shoved him away. Oh shit, Hugo thought. Am I gonna be like this forever? Multiple men were pressing against him, hands groping everywhere. Hugo didn't know what to do. And then someone got a hold of his cock. Hugo was completely unprepared for the sensations his new genitals came equipped with. Suddenly his anxieties dissolved. He wasn't worried about tomorrow. He wasn't worried about an hour from then. All that he knew was the now. And right now someone had their thick, sweaty hands running up and down his shaft, and was slowly pressing a tongue into his urethra. He couldn't even see who it was, there were so many guys all over him - squeezing his huge arms, craning their necks to kiss and suck on his hard nipples, running their fingers through the hair on his big hard belly. He didn't care that he was huge and naked on a well lit street with dozens of people watching and filming him. Hadn't he always been? This had become his past present and future. “FUCK!” Carlos shouted, setting his jaw and shaking his head. He cupped his hands over his mouth and commanded Darcy: “Call the cops!” “Fuck,” Darcy observed, and turned to clamber up the stairs. “Yeah. Fuck.” Carlos agreed. Hugo was breathing hard, his chest heaving with every moan. Someone was working his balls now. Someone was licking his feet. Hugo’s hands fumbled limp through them like he was feeling his way through a dark room, until one short otter in a spiked collar and elaborate harness grabbed his hand and started sucking on his sausage-sized fingers. He felt someone trying to get as his asshole but his butt was pressed up against the wall, so he thrust his hips forward and leaned back with his shoulders. His flash-harem adjusted quickly, and immediately he had one pair of hands on each testicle, and after finding his gigantic ass too thick to rim, the denim-clad bear stuck his two middle fingers in Hugo’s asshole. Why is everyone in love with me? thought Hugo. Why am I so much bigger and stronger than everyone else? Why am I so huge and powerful? Why am I being worshipped? I must be God. His newly-minted cult did nothing to discourage this theory. Further away there were panicked shouts, frantic conversations, a dull white noise of chatter. His immediate vicinity was awash with the sounds of pleasure. Moans, groans, gasps, slurps, kisses; the odd whispered promise of servitude to him. Every inch of him felt amazing, and there were just so many inches. Giving up on attempting to deflate the situation, Carlos lumbered off the sidewalk through the gathering crowd. Maybe it… maybe it wasn’t so bad…? But as he got to the middle of Church Street and turned around, that small hope dissolved. Hugo stood two feet - at least - taller than the alcove leading up into the Black Eagle. Huge, nude, and being pleasured by a crowd of leather and denim daddies. He could see where this was going, and with at least thirty cameras filming the whole thing he couldn't imagine this not making the news. And while he appreciated the publicity, Carlos had a feeling this time would end up being more trouble than it was worth. Hugo felt sweat dripping down his body, greedily licked off by a dozen eager tongues. “Oh fuck,” he groaned into the air, looking up at the darkening twilit sky. He felt a strange sensation in his crotch; a familiar bubbling, but less like a pot on the stove than a volcano. He clenched his ass reflexively, and whoever had their hand up there sucked their teeth as they found it trapped between two cheeks of solid brawn. “I’m,” Hugo gasped. “I’m…” his voice trailed off. He felt that building pressure move from his groin at an aching crawl up his pulsing, iron-hard shaft. The hands stroking it seemed to sense this, increasing their pace and becoming more florid in their massage. None of them had ever given a hand job to a schlong they could share with multiple people, and evidently this new opportunity was bringing out a heretofore untapped creative side. Further and further he felt the pressure extend down his dick, over and over amazed at just how much cock he had. Finally it reached his head, and exploded. Carlos threw both hands to his face in shock, disbelief, and the thought “what the hell am I supposed to do about this” as Hugo’s twenty-six inch cock hosed down the crowd of ravenous adorers in front of him. The cowboy who had his tongue up his slit was bowled over onto his ass, a thick layer of jizz covering his face. As he fell away the torrent sprayed forth and struck Daniel in the back with such force he staggered forward to retain his footing. The remaining worshippers giggled like children playing in a sprinkler as they were splashed with Hugo’s hot cum. While for some, getting covered in a nine-foot tall giant’s semen pulled them out of the moment, for others it only drew them deeper. Men licked Hugo’s spunk off each other, rubbed it on their skin like it was lotion, shook it from their hair as if they had just taken a shower. Finally the geyser extinguished and Hugo leaned back, panting heavily as his chest heaved. He massaged his belly as he waited to catch his breath, dull post-coital fireworks still popping through his brain. Carlos glanced around at the onlookers on Church Street in an attempt to read their expressions. Equal parts confusion, disgust, arousal, and fascination. A generous puddle of jizm had amassed on the sidewalk. “Daniel!” he barked. “We need to get him off the street! Now!” “You outta your mind, man?” Daniel retorted. “No way dat boy fittin’ into the bar!” Carlos clenched his teeth. “That’s why I said ‘off the street.’ Come on!” *** Tyson drew up the bottle of tequila a foot and a half from the bar, letting the liquor splash as he filled five neatly arranged shot glasses. He expertly spun the bottle in his hand before depositing it back on the shelf behind him. He slid a slice of lemon into each glass and slammed a salt shaker next to them, spreading his arms as he leaned on the bar like he was presenting a piece of art. “That’ll be thirty, please,” he said, adding a wink for good measure. The fiftysomething waifish diva flitted his heavily mascaraed eyes and slid two twenties across the bar, letting his hand linger on the bills so that when Tyson went to pick them up, the diva ran his fingers over the back of his hand. “Keep the change, gorgeous,” he cooed with a (probably fake) southwestern American accent, and delicately picked up all five shots at once, disappearing into the crowd. Paul, who had finally started to enjoy himself, stifled a laugh. “Good lord, you are such a bloody trollop,” he chuckled. Paul always got more British when he was on M. Tyson, meanwhile, had decided to play the night sober. He had a lot more mass and had reasoned that he didn’t know his limits anymore. He had resolved to test them in a controlled environment, but maybe after the weekend. He was happy with that decision because he was making a goddamn killing. Tyson was a natural charmer to begin with. Suddenly being one of the beefiest guys in the room had upped his game to another level, and he was raking in tips he could scarcely believe. To Paul, he just spread his arms with a grin. “Don’t hate the player, man.” Paul cackled loudly - even though it hadn’t been that funny a joke - and turned to the newest patron approaching the bar. “What can I get you mate?” The short fit buzzed white kid pointed across the bar. “Need t’talk at Tyson.” Tyson glanced over, immediately recognizing him as the guy who had almost fainted a couple nights earlier. And he’d been in just the previous night, as well, right before all the chaos broke out. Paul shot his co-worker an impressed smirk, and the two maneuvered around each other - which had been much easier yesterday - and switched spots. Tyson motioned his hand in front of his chest. “If you want to ask about… all this, I don’t really…” The kid shook his head. “No. S’not about that.” He leaned forward. “Aight, look. Tyson, you gotta come wi’ me. Righ’ now.” Tyson paused, but his look of concern quickly melted into a bashful smile. “Look man, I'm flattered and… like, I mean you're a pretty cute guy I wouldn't even be against it it's just, y'know, I'm working and I can't just…” “No. No, I…” the kid interjected, shaking his head. He seemed to lose his place for a moment, and then sighed, leaning further across the bar. “It's Blake.” The colour drained from Tyson’s face. “How… who…” “Blake,” the kid reiterated with more force. “Th’same Blake. S’in trouble, man. ‘M tryin t’help him but I need your help, Tyson. An’ we gotta go righ’ fuckin’ now.” Tyson stared blankly at him, stood up from the bar and looked around for a moment, before leaning back down. “Who the fuck even are you?” he asked with exasperation. “Nate,” he replied quickly. He put a hand to his chest. “I'm Nate, you're Tyson, ‘e’s Blake.” he softly pounded his fist on the bar. “‘Can ‘splain everythin, but we runnin’ outa time. We gotta go now, man. Righ’ now.” Tyson had been having a weird couple of nights. There had to be a point where he put his foot down and said enough is enough, not get wrapped up in some more bullshit. But if it was true… if Blake hadn't been seen since the night they were together, and was in trouble, then maybe it had something to do with Tyson. “Jus’ gotta trus’ me, man,” Nate shrugged. “Make up your mind, though. S’if you ain’ comin’ I gotta go on my own.” Tyson stood up again. He took a deep breath and glanced back at Nate, who was tapping an imaginary wristwatch. “Shit,” Tyson whispered under his breath, and slid over next to Paul. “Paul I gotta take care of something. I gotta go.” Paul made a face. “Dude,” he protested, gesturing to the crowded bar. “It's an emergency,” Tyson pleaded. “Yeah an emergency shag,” Paul shot back with a roll of his eyes. “C'mon man you know I wouldn't do this to you if it wasn't a big deal,” said Tyson, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Paul shrugged the hand off but condeded with a sigh. “What'll I tell Carlos?” “Let me worry about that,” Tyson replied, already shimmying away. He swivelled out from behind the bar and slapped Nate on the shoulder. “Let's go.” As he led Nate out of the stairwell leading into the bar, Tyson was surprised to find Darcy hosing off the steps, with no sign of Daniel or Hugo. “Darcy?” Tyson raised his eyebrow, looking at the pile of torn clothes and men covered in jizz. “What the hell happened?” Darcy was about to answer when Nate grabbed Tyson’s wrist. “‘Ll tell you all abou’it on th’way.” He took off at a run still holding onto Tyson, who nearly toppled over, still unused to being so top-heavy. Nate dragged him through the crowd until finally they broke through and hurried down the street.

Fixed! Thanks.

I let the fags at the gym gawk, let them feel my ripped abs, vascular quads, thighs. Their eyes keep going to my bulge, then away, trying not to be obvious. I grab their hand and have them cup my cock and balls, their mouths drop open a bit wider. When I tell them to come back to my flat, I see a twinkle of giddieness in their eye. Excitement. 'This guy wants me to go... and... HOLY CRAP...' Back at my place, I'll slip on some competition briefs and start flexing. By this time their mind is exploding, eyes wide open, staring at me. I do some pushups to get my pump back. Flex some more, and by this time they're either touching themselves or touching me. I let myself get hard. The small posers becomming more and more stretched, hardly able to contain my huge cock. Shredded muscles, giant monster bulge, I'm getting really turned on now being worshiped by the little gym rat. I'll sling my posing briefs under my balls and let my huge fat cock get rock hard, sticking up past my navel. I let the fag take it all in for a minute before shoveing his mouth down on my cock. After they suck for a while, I start to see a look of concern grow on their face as they imagine the progression of things. They were focusing so intensly my bulging arms, huge ripped pecs, muscle ass, thick legs, they weren't too concerned with where this was all going, only living in the moment. Blowing me for 5 minutes, 10 minutes, gaging, choking on my cock head, it starts to sink in what's next. "Your cock's so huge. I've never seen one so big" "Yea, I've been told it feels really good..." "Oh", the fag says. I'll try to make him feel a little more at ease. "You've got a great body. The gym's really doin you right." I'll suck his rock hard boner for a while as he feels my muscles. Let him get lost in the fantasy again... until he hears the flip top of the lube pop open, and cold gel gets squirted on his ass. PANICK! "Don't worry, I'll go easy." I try to calm him, but it only goes so far. Every time I see my thick cock laying up next to some skinny twink's ass, I have to laugh to myself a bit. How could that possible even fit? I'm going to split this little bitch in two! I push slow but hard, it never goes in easy. Little gym fag is either deep breathing and trying to man up, starting to whimper, or just plain screaming.

In this chapter, Chuck has a snack on the train, then goes to Clint's apartment one last time for a fuck and grow session. Chapter 9: Chuck smirked as he stood on the platform at the light rail station, waiting for the train. People around him nervously side-eyed him, giving a wide berth to the enormous man. It's not everyday people saw a seven-foot-tall, 780lb giant who was built like a strongman competitor, much less one who was wearing just a white tank top, maroon basketball shorts, new steel-toed leather work boots, and a U of M hat. Maybe they were giving him a look because he was wearing a tank top and shorts even though it was only 30 degrees. Chuck didn’t mind the cold; he hardly felt it. Another side effect of the nanos, he figured. He had thought about driving over, but his truck was getting to be uncomfortably cramped now that he was huge. Chuck felt big. Bigger than he ever had been. It felt good. He knew he needed more, deep down in his bones knowing it and feeling it, but he felt good about the progress he had made in just a few days. It felt like a long time since he felt small and frustrated by not making the gains he wanted. He shook his head at the small, weak man he had been a few days ago, and clenched his huge right hand into a fist. His whole body tingled, the humming buzz now a constant companion in his head. He was just getting started. The train pulled up, and the door opened. People exiting gave him double takes and openly gaped, some even stumbling into other riders as they passed him. When the way was clear, Chuck leaned down and twisted his shoulders to fit into the small doorway and entered the train. The train was crowded, and more people filed in after him. Chuck stood to his full height again, his head nearly touching the ceiling; if he stood on his tip toes, he'd be able to bump his head against it. He grabbed onto a hand-hold. It was too small for his hand, so he just looped three big fingers through the strap instead. His legs were strong and balanced enough that he wouldn't really need it anyway. He smelled the musk of his armpit as he raised his arm, tangy and strong, and he was sure others around would be able to smell it too. He sniffed deeper, getting light-headed from how good it smelled. He smiled. They’d just have to deal with it. People packed in close, and some had no choice but to press themselves against Chuck's body, which understandably took up a lot of space in the car. Chuck grinned, feeling the buzz of anticipation of so many potential donors around him. It was so easy now. After years of frustration, harboring this desire to get bigger but not being able to follow through, wanting it but not being able to devote the time and energy needed...now size just flowed into him at a whim. Now he could get as big as he wanted. The doors closed, and Chuck's skin tingled. The train ride was bumpy. An old woman bumped against his round gut as the train went around a corner. A young couple brushed against his big upper arm getting off the train. A fit college aged kid accidentally touched his hand reaching for a hand-hold. A crush of people pressed against him as they entered the train at a crowded station. Chuck felt the top of his hat press against the roof of the train, felt his shoulders widen and thicken, causing a middle aged man to shift sideways to give him more space. The strap he was hanging on to was too small for three fingers, so he switched to just two. He breathed in deep, shuddering with euphoria as more energy poured into him, a little from here, a little from there. They all gave up their size so easily, trickling into him. He had to hold back to not grow too fast or draw too much attention. More than a dozen people made contact over the course of the 20 minute train ride. The doors finally opened to his stop. He ducked down dramatically, brushing people aside with thick, hard forearms and wide shoulders. He turned sideways and squeezed out of the doorway, chest and gut and ass rubbing against the sides of the door until he stumbled onto the platform. He got his bearings and stood up straight again. His tank top and shorts felt tight, and he adjusted his hat; it was now the widest it would go. He stretched his arms up, and his hands clanged against the sign overhead, 9 feet above the ground. He flinched from surprise, but then grinned. His suddenly too-small tank top rode up, exposing the bottom of his belly, stretch marks and fur covering the jiggling mass of his gut. He sighed and smiled, happy with his latest growth spurt. He adjusted his mammoth cock, which bulged obscenely, and started walking the familiar route to Clint’s apartment. -- THUMP THUMP THUMP Chuck pounded on the door to Clint’s apartment, trying not to use all of his force. The door shook and it was louder than he expected. “Clint! Buddy! You there?” Chuck rumbled, and pounded the door some more. “I know you’re in there, bud, and I need something from you!” After a few moments of silence, finally Chuck could hear Clint’s shrill voice from inside. “Get out of here, Chuck, or else I’m gonna call the cops!” Chuck just grinned. So he was home! Great! His cock chubbed up harder and a wave of excited tingles rippled down his spine. “Open the door, Clint, or else I’m gonna have to open it my way!” Chuck boomed and leaned his head against the top of the door frame. His big belly rumbled in anticipation. “Don’t you dare! I’m calling the cops now!” Clint yelled. A wave of anger washed over Chuck, different than he’d ever felt before, an indignant rage that anyone would say no to him now. “You don’t have to make this difficult, you know I’m gonna get what I want, bud!” he said. Chuck could hear Clint dialing his phone. That did it. Chuck furrowed his brow, lowered his shoulder, grabbed the door handle, and rammed the door. It popped right off the hinges like it was made out of Legos, way easier than Chuck expected. Holding the door in his hand, Chuck set it aside and walked into Clint’s apartment, bending down to get through the short door frame. Clint saw this and yelped, a terrified look on his face as he saw just how much bigger Chuck was than last time he had seen him. “What the fuck?!” Clint shrieked, and he dropped his phone in panic. “Honey, I’m home!” Clint joked as he saw Clint. Chuck’s eyes dilated as he saw the now super-skinny twink, barely over 100lbs. Fresh meat. Chuck advanced on Clint with a grin, arms outstretched, his heavy boots and 825lb frame making the whole apartment shake. His hat scraped against the ceiling, sending bits of plaster falling to the carpet. Clint panicked and dashed back into his bedroom, further back into the apartment, and closed the door again. “What the fuck, how are you so much bigger!?” Clint yelled from inside his room. Chuck moved until he was just outside the door and leaned against it, breathing heavy. “Been meeting some new friends, making some gains,” Chuck rumbled. “Came over to show you my new size. What do you think?” Chuck asked. He jiggled the door handle. It was locked. “You’re a fuckin’ monster!” Clint breathed. “Who did you have to…to…absorb to get like that!?” “Oh, little bit from here, little bit from there. It’s so easy now, Clint. I can be as big as I want! And you know I always wanted to be bigger…” Chuck said and he violently rattled the door handle, trying to shake it apart. “No! Chuck, get ahold of yourself, you’ve, you’ve got to stop this!” Clint said, frantic. He looked over at the window and went to open it. “Not gonna happen, bud, I need to fuck and need to grow, and you can help me with both!” Chuck said matter-of-factly, scratching his beard. “So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which do you want?” Chuck boomed ominously. He pressed his gut against the door and heard it creak and groan. His cock throbbed hard in his basketball shorts. The anticipation was driving his crazy. Clint had the window open and was wrestling with the screen. “J-just go away!” Clint yelled desperately and finally got the screen off. “The hard way it is!” Chuck said and he easily broke the door down, leaning his considerable weight against it and pushing hard. He wedged himself through the doorway and entered Clint’s room, standing to his full height and spreading his shoulders wide. Clint looked back and gasped. He tried to climb out of the window. Chuck just smiled. “Aww bud, where you going? Get back in here,” he said, and moved shockingly fast and grabbed Clint’s frail arm. “Come on, bud,” Chuck said as he dragged Clint back into the bedroom. Clint struggled, but it was no use. Chuck lifted him up and then wrapped him up in a bear hug. He carried him back into Clint’s living room and into a corner. He threw Clint unceremoniously down onto the floor. Clint looked up at the towering hulk looming over him. He was trapped. “There we go. You’re so small, look at you. Damn.” Chuck said, stepping closer to Clint and inspecting his small stature. Clint was just 5’6” and 125lbs. “My leg is bigger than your whole body, I bet. It’s kind of hilarious!” Chuck grunted. His cock throbbed obscenely in his shorts. He was getting off on the size difference. “A-aren’t you big enough now? I mean, jesus, you’ve gotta be the biggest guy… ever!” Clint said, his eyes dancing over Chuck’s impossibly enormous frame. He was fat, thick, covered with bulging, bulky muscle. His tank top barely covered part of his torso, and his shorts stretched and strained over his mammoth thighs and bulging cock. His shoulders were wide and square, and his delts looked like bowling balls had been implanted under his skin. His arms bulged with muscle and stood out at an angle to his sides, traps and tris and bis and pecs all fighting for space. He had no neck to speak of. His face was framed by a white and ginger chinstrap beard and round, ruddy cheeks. “Big enough!? Ha, you know there’s no such thing as big enough with me, bud!” Chuck boomed and brought his fists together. He flexed, and his thick shelf-like pecs rolled, his arms bulged, and his traps rose up, high and hard. He made a face, grunted, and kept flexing his pecs, rolling and bouncing them underneath the thin fabric of his tank top. He finished flexing and then tore his tank top off down the middle, throwing it at Clint. Clint pushed away the sweaty, musky garment and saw Chuck looking down at him, shirtless now. He was magnificent, a giant block of solid muscle and fat, beef everywhere he looked, all covered with a fine layer of red and blonde fur. He stank of BO and testosterone. Clint tried to look for a way around Chuck, but could see none. Chuck’s thighs were too thick to try to slip through, and that big jiggling belly took up too much space to get around, plus Chuck’s shoulders and lats were so wide, he was like two or three normal men side to side. “Now get on your knees and suck this dick, bud,” Chuck said flatly as he started pulling the basketball shorts down. He tugged them down, pressing his dick down with the waistband until it was freed. The huge cock bounced up and slapped his underbelly, smearing precum against it. It was over a foot long and thick as a beer can. “Uh, what? No way! That thing is way too big!” Clint protested. Chuck just stepped closer. “Come on, bud, get on your knees and start sucking!” Chuck said, more forcefully this time. He brandished the club at Clint, thumping it in his hand. “I need to cum, and you can help me with that. I’m not gonna ask again,” Chuck said. Cold blue eyes stared down at Clint from underneath the brim of his maroon and gold cap as he grinned. “No! Get out of here! Just – hey, what are you, stop!” Clint said as Chuck palmed the back of his head and pulled him forward. A huge hand pushed down on his shoulders and suddenly he was on his knees, Chuck’s gigantic cock smearing pre against his forehead. “You know how easy it is for me to push you around, bud? I weigh like 700 pounds more than you!” Chuck boomed. He palmed Clint’s head in one huge paw and pulled him forward until Clint’s lips were on his dick. Chuck’s cock head was huge, red and angry-looking, pulsating in anticipation. “I told you, I’m gonna get what I want,” Chuck said as he pushed and pushed until he pried Clint’s lips open. Clint opened as wide as he could and barely stuffed the massive plum-sized cock head into his mouth. “Uhhhnnnggggg fuck,” Chuck growled as he pushed Clint in as far as he could, deeper into the little twink’s mouth. His lips were so tight on his massive cock, and he could only get about a third of it in. Clint moaned, in obvious discomfort, but Chuck didn’t care. He needed to fuck, and Clint was gonna help him with that. Chuck started slow but gradually started fucking harder, gripping his fingers into Clint’s hair and scalp harder as he face fucked the little twink faster and harder. He looked down from his ceiling vantage point and marveled at how much bigger he was than Clint. He had to look down past his shelf-like chest and enormous round gut. He was huge now! He grunted and pounded away harder as he got off on his own size and the choking, gagging sounds Clint made. The feeling of Clint choking on his huge dick felt amazing and only spurred Chuck to face fuck him harder. Suddenly Chuck bellowed loud enough to shake the windows as he erupted into Clint’s mouth, a huge sludge-thick load blasting down his throat. Chuck pressed Clint’s face against his cock as hard as he could, pushing Clint against his bright red pubes until he was finished. Spent, he finally let Clint go, who fell to his side, sputtering and coughing. “Fuck yeah,” Chuck boomed and he took a deep breath, his big chest filling up and swelling out. He stepped forward and straddled Clint. “So much bigger than you, bud,” Chuck said as he bent down and wrapped his big hands around Clint’s waist and easily picked him up. Chuck threw Clint over one shoulder and flexed his other arm, his bicep swelling into a bulky round peak. Clint kept coughing and clearing his throat of cum. “And just think, I’m gonna be even bigger in a second!” Chuck said as he admired his own bicep, round and full, veiny and powerful. Clint sputtered and squirmed around in Chuck’s grip. Chuck brought him forward and held him under his armpits with both hands, Clint’s feet dangling off the ground. Chuck’s delts bulged as he held Clint there. “B-bigger!? What do you mean?” Clint asked in terror. Chuck smirked and his blue eyes suddenly glowed a bright blue under the brow of his U of M cap. “Well why do you think I came over, bud? I need your size!” Chuck said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He licked his lips and flared his nostrils in anticipation. “What!? No, Chuck, I’m so small, I’m not worth it, and besides, I mean, look at you, you’re already too big!” Clint pleaded desperately as he suddenly felt a wave of cold numbness wash over his body, faster and more intense than last time he had seen Chuck. “Too big?” Chuck asked as his entire body tingled and slowly filled out with more size. “I don’t understand that. Bigger is always better!” Chuck growled. Euphoria flooded in as he watched Clint wither away and disappear in his grip, size pouring into his body. His whole body hummed. He watched blue light flicker up and down the veins of his forearms as he consumed Clint, surprised at first but then suddenly it seemed totally normal. Chuck felt his head press harder against the seven and half foot ceiling as suddenly his fists held nothing but an empty shirt. He dropped it and took a deep breath, filling his bigger lungs with breath. He reached down and pulled his shorts back up. He stuffed his cock back in, and it bulged out and down his thigh obscenely. The smooth fabric stretched taut over his massive thighs and bulbous ass. He adjusted his weight, the floor creaking under his nearly half-ton mass. He noticed that the shorts and boots still fit even though he had just grown more than 100lbs, and realized they had grown with him. They were wet with his sweat… had the nanos soaked into them and grown along with him? His hat still fit too, he realized. He shrugged and smiled. I had been worried he would have to give up his hat; now it seemed like he wouldn’t have to after all. Chuck reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, which seemed comically small in his hand now… the sweat hadn’t caused that to grow. It was 4:00, just before the gym rush. He’d get there just in time for peak hours. A pulse of blue light glowed under his skin and a shiver of anticipation jolted through him so strongly he had to shake his head to focus. He turned and left Clint’s apartment and headed straight for the gym.

Love that...hes massive in every way and super masculine..I would get off watching him rip that little gym rat apart

In this chapter, Chuck and Mike have some muscle worship and sex in the gym shower, then Chuck grows bigger. Chapter 8 Mike went to the back stall of the showers, one of the bigger handicapped stalls he liked using, and turned on the water. He started lathering himself up, but a sound made him pause. Heavy footsteps and grunting, followed by a shadow coming over the curtain of his shower. Mike looked up and saw a bald head and blue eyes peering over the curtain down at him. It was the behemoth! “There you are, little bud,” the huge guy said as he opened the curtain and stepped in. Mike took a step back, covering himself up and yelping before realizing that the behemoth was totally naked too, his massive size making Mike gasp. The guy was overwhelmingly huge up close, pumped and swollen from his workout, alabaster skin coated in a fine layer of copper hair, denser and darker around his pecs, gut, and forearms. His face was round, framed by a beard and no neck to speak of. He was coated in sweat and smelled like a college football locker room, tangy and musky in all the best ways. Mike backed up some more as the big guy stepped in and got under the shower head, causing water to spray everywhere. He seemed to take up Mike’s entire field of vision as he closed the curtain behind him and got wet. “Wha, what are you doing?” Mike asked stupidly, no other questions coming to mind. His head was spinning. He felt so small next to this giant, who seemingly walked right out of his fantasies and into his shower. “I saw you watching me lift today and I thought I’d come say hi,” he said as he looked down at Mike. “What’s your name?” the behemoth asked, his voice deep and resonant. “Mike,” the otter introduced himself, and watched as water streamed down the behemoth’s chest and belly. His biceps twitched dramatically as he ran his hands over his pecs, thick round slabs of beef, swollen and bulky. He was thick all over, with a huge round belly and wide blocky shoulders, a thick neck, and… a long, thick, veiny cock surrounded by fiery red pubes. “What’s yours?” Mike asked. “Chuck,” the big guy said. He squirted the liquid soap from the shower dispenser several times until his hand was full and started rubbing it all over his chest and gut, lathering it up quickly. His beefy mass jiggled and bounced as he moved. “You like what you see?” he asked with a smirk. “Uh, um, you’re uh, just…” Mike stammered, and Chuck laughed. “You can just say yes, it’s pretty obvious,” Chuck boomed and he reached down to tap Mike’s hard cock. Mike flinched and blushed. He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t help his cock being at full-mast watching Chuck rub his bulky body right in front of him. So he decided to start showering too. Chuck backed up and let Mike under the water and they washed together. “You’re just so big,” Mike said, blurting out the only thing he could really think of as he watched Chuck’s enormous muscles switch as he washed himself. “Thanks little guy. Been making a lot of gains lately. You’ve got a nice look to you too. Lean and furry like that,” Chuck said and rubbed one of his huge calloused hands down Mike’s shoulder and chest and flat stomach, rubbing the soap suds around. “I like it,” he purred. “Heh, uh, thanks, I was sure you’d be into bigger guys,” Mike said. He decided to be bold and touched Chuck back, running his hands over the bulges and curves of his massive upper arm. Chuck flexed his bicep a little in response, and Mike’s fingers spread apart as his arm swelled with size. His arm had to be thicker around than Mike’s thigh. “Big guys, small guys. Everybody has something to offer me,” Chuck rumbled and grinned. Mike looked up at Chuck’s face and suddenly realized the guy looked vaguely familiar. “Do you have a brother or something that goes here? You look kinda familiar, like this other guy who comes here sometimes, but the other guy is way smaller,” Mike said. His heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. “Nah, that’s me. I’ve been getting some help from other people with my gains lately and have really been growing fast!” Chuck said, soapy water streaming down his shelf-like chest and off his meaty nipples as he rinsed off. Mike was flummoxed. “But, you’ve gotta be like, what, over 400 pounds, right?” he said, under-guessing so as not to insult the big guy. Chuck scoffed and got more liquid soap from the dispenser. “Try over 600, little guy,” Chuck boomed as he straightened to his full height and spread his shoulders wide. He tried to reach back to rub soap on his back but was unable to. “Wash my back for me, will ya?” he said as he turned around. Mike was all too happy to oblige, even though he was confused about how this guy grew into a 600lb monster so quickly. Mike could swear he was no bigger than 220 tops the last time he saw him, if it was really the same guy. He got some soap and started rubbing Chuck’s back, the expanse of it so great he had to grab more from the dispenser. “Mmm, feels good,” Chuck said. Orange-blond back hair coated the enormous traps, lats, and lower back muscles lightly. Mike tried denting the big back muscles but couldn’t. “It’s tough to reach back there now,” Chuck said. “I bet!” Mike laughed and thanked whatever god was out there for this chance. Chuck’s back muscles were hard as iron, thick and powerful. Mike grabbed the big lats and scrubbed them with his hands, the muscle so thick he couldn’t get a good grip on it. Chuck lifted up his arms, his traps and delts exploding with size, and Mike rubbed underneath his hairy pits. Chuck grunted and backed up a bit against Mike, his huge squatter’s ass pressing against him and making Mike back up some more. “This feel good?” Mike asked as he rubbed and rubbed, the musky pit stink mixing with the soap. “Yeah bud, feels great,” he said as he stepped forward and rinsed himself off in the water. He turned around and faced Mike, and motioned for him to get under the shower and get wet. Chuck’s thick pecs switched and jumped as he moved his arms to rinse himself off, and Mike noticed Chuck’s cock was chubbing up too, plumping up to full mast. “Look how much bigger my arm is than yours,” Chuck said and leaned down to flex his huge bicep in Mike’s face. His muscle bulged, a blue vein snaking from his chest down through his shoulder and into his arms, clearly visible through his pale skin. Mike brought his arm up to compare and it was shocking. Mike’s arm looked like a twig next to Chuck’s massive slab of muscle, the thick round peak making Mike feel tiny. He wondered how the two of them could even be the same species. “Haha jeez bud, you’re so small,” Chuck said and laughed. “Heh, yeah jeez, you’re so huge, fuck,” Mike breathed, so turned on by Chuck’s size. Chuck stood back up to his full height and brought his fists together, flexing his chest and shoulders. He took a deep breath, his big round belly swelling out bigger too. “Yeah I sure am. Growing all the time too,” Chuck said and smirked. “Fuck that is hot, I love guys who always want more,” Mike breathed and he pressed forward, letting his hands explore Chuck’s heavy pecs, solid gut, and rock hard shoulders. He ran his hands down the behemoth’s chest and Chuck bounced them, grinning down at Mike. Mike could feel waves of muscle ripple up and down Chuck’s pecs as the big guy flexed. Mike moved his arms out wide to Chuck’s shoulders. He gripped the huge bowling balls of delt muscle and squeezed, but could hardly dent them. His fingers slipped against the slick surface of the hard muscle as Chuck grunted and flexed harder. “Well that describes me to a tee, I’d say,” Chuck rumbled and wrapped his hands around Mike’s arms. Chuck moved his hands up to Mike’s shoulders. His massive paws draped over Mike’s traps and delts completely. He squeezed and Mike could feel his strength. “Always want to get bigger, even at my size,” Chuck explained. Mike looked down to see the size different of their legs. Chuck’s tree trunk thighs dwarfed Mike’s; they had to be 2 or 3 times as big around. Mike also saw and felt Chuck’s massive wrist-thick cock rubbing against Mike’s stomach as his own brushed against Chuck’s quads. Mike got bold and reached down to feel Chuck’s legs. “Jesus, dude, how big are your thighs?” Mike asked breathlessly. He pressed his hands against the massive legs, every inch of the furry thighs rock hard. “Not sure, bud, haven’t measured them in a while. Maybe you can help me with that when we’re done here?” Chuck teased and tensed his legs, thick barrels of solid muscle clearly thicker than Mike’s waist. Chuck shifted his weight, causing Mike to back up, and he reached down to squeeze his enormous cock. Mike looked down; it had to be a foot long and as thick as a beer can. “You want me to scrub your back too, bud?” Chuck asked. “S-sure,” Mike said and turned around. Chuck pounded on the dispenser for soap, filling his hand. Mike felt Chuck’s huge hands covering up nearly his entire back as he started scrubbing roughly, the heavy arms pushing against him hard. “Feels good,” Mike said, nervous but excited. “Good. You ever seen a guy my size before, Mikey?” Chuck said, rubbing Mike’s traps and shoulders and thin arms. “N-no way man, I mean, is anybody your size? You’ve gotta be one of the biggest guys out there,” Mike said anxiously. “Yeah, you’re right bud, definitely the biggest. And I wanna grow more, need to be even bigger,” Chuck said and Mike felt his massive cock poking against his back. Mike breathed heavy as he felt Chuck’s huge hands reach down and scrub his furry bubble butt, feeling the fingers grip into his cheeks hard. Chuck reached down and felt the overhang on Mike’s ass and jiggled it around a bit, bouncing it up and down. “Fuck, that’s a nice ass, bud,” Chuck growled. Mike felt Chuck’s heavy bulk press against him, and he stumbled forward to keep his balance. Mike gasped as he felt a thick soapy finger slide into his furry crack and press into his tight hole. The big digit worked in and out, and Mike felt Chuck’s gut press against his back until he was pushed against the tiled wall of the shower. “Oh, oh god,” Mike whimpered as a second finger entered his hole, stretching him out further. If that’s what his fingers felt like, he could only imagine what… “Yeah Mike, that’s good, such a nice tight hole for me. You ready to get fucked by the biggest, strongest man on Earth?” Chuck rumbled from behind him, his mouth right up against Mike’s ear. “Y-yes sir, oh god, just be gentle with m---ahhh!” Mike yelped as Chuck suddenly grabbed his hips and pushed him back onto his enormous cock. Chuck furiously slammed the soap dispenser and used that to slick up his monstrous dick before pressing his plum-sized head against Mike’s tight hole. He had to kneel down slightly and thrust his hips forward to get at the right angle because he was a foot taller than Mike and his huge belly curved out and pressed against Mike’s back. “Fuck yeah,” he growled and pushed and pushed until he slipped in, pressing hard until he pushed past any resistance from Mike. Mike yelped out loudly and Chuck reached around to wrap a big paw around Mike’s mouth. “Shhhhh little bud, it’s gonna be alright, just adjust to it and then it’ll feel so good,” Chuck purred as he throbbed his cock inside of Mike. Mike felt impaled, and was already on his tip-toes to stay balanced. Mike could only moan into Chuck’s meaty, calloused palm. Chuck thrust into Mike harder and the otter moaned. The black fur covering Mike’s crack rubbed roughly against the big guy’s monster cock, and Chuck growled deeply. Mike felt a rhythm starting as he was finally loose enough to handle the huge cock, and soon Chuck was pounding him steadily. “You like all this size, bud?” Chuck panted as he ground the little otter against the wall, punching into him hard with all of his weight. He moved his hands to grip around Mike’s hips, his huge hands reaching around most of Mike’s waist. “Unng, yes, unnng fuuuuck,” Mike moaned, barely aware of anything except the pounding his ass was receiving. Shivers of pleasure exploded up and down his spine as Chuck filled him completely. “So fucking big,” Mike gasped. “Fuckin’ right, biggest ever,” Chuck panted. His bulky muscle and fat gut jiggled as he slammed against the little otter, pounding him steadily for a while. He gripped his belly and lifted it up onto on the shelf of Mike’s ass. Mike felt the heavy, warm weight of it pressing against his ass and back. Mike’s face pressed against the cold tile of the shower, his body pinned by the bigger man, feeling Chuck’s massive rod impale him over and over again. It felt like forever but it was only a minute or two. Chuck pushed into Mike deep one last time and then backed up, pulling out again. “Uoooohhhnggggg, ohh!” Mike grunted and he almost fell, his legs weak from the pounding, but Chuck grabbed him and turned him around to face him. “Always wanted to try this,” Chuck said and then wrapped Mike up in his huge arms, reaching down below the otter’s ass and lifting up him into a massive bear hug. He shifted his grip around until he was cupping Mike’s ass in his hands, easily controlling the weight of the otter with his powerful muscles. He stepped back from the wall and back under the showerhead, water cascading off the big man’s bald head and down his huge body. “What are you – Oooaaaaaahhhh!” Mike groaned as Chuck lowered him down onto his waiting, throbbing beer can-thick cock, hot water flowing between them. “Ohhhhhhh fuck yeah, this is awesome!” the behemoth chuckled as he positioned Mike onto his fuck stick. “My own personal little fuck toy!” Chuck growled and started lifting Mike up and down on his cock, the strength of his arms easily controlling Mike’s 160lbs. He was gentle and slow at first, but soon sped up, pounding Mike down roughly and grunting, slamming him down hard, massive biceps bulging with each thrust. Chuck looked like he didn’t have to strain or try hard at all, his face a vision of cocky authority and pleasure. Mike couldn’t say anything. He could hardly think. His whole reality was consumed with the feeling of this giant 600+lb monster fucking him hard. He looked down at Chuck’s huge traps, delts, pecs, and biceps tensing and twitching and jiggling with mass, all of it wet and slick with water from the shower. Chuck effortlessly slammed Mike down again and again. Mike merely moaned, his voice punctuated by each pounding thrust from Chuck’s cock. Chuck’s breathing increased, his pace of fucking slowed, and he growled and grunted and bellowed loudly as he filled Mike up with his seed. Mike felt the heat and pressure of it fill him up, and Mike shot his own meager load over Chuck’s enormous belly and mountainous chest. Cum leaked down from Mike’s tender hole and dribbled onto the tiled floor with the rest of the water, a torrent of cum running down Mike’s ass and over Chuck’s big hands. Finally, with little effort Chuck lifted Mike off of his red, swollen cock and then lowered him back down. Mike’s legs were weak, and he leaned against the burly bubba, his face buried against Chuck’s huge furry pecs. Mike breathed heavily and then smiled, laughing. “That… was unbelievable!” Mike sighed, his whole body feeling spent and euphoric and warm. “What a ride!” he said as he wrapped as much of his arms around the behemoth’s torso. He only got about halfway around. Chuck purred, rumbling against Mike. “Mmm, good, glad you liked that little one. You felt so good! Glad I found you in here,” Chuck said and rubbed his big right hand against Mike’s back. “But we’re not quite done yet,” Chuck said, and Mike looked up at the big man grinning down at him, his chinstrap beard framing his wide lantern jaw. “We’re not? I don’t know if I can handle any more, big guy!” Mike admitted and pulled away slightly before feeling Chuck tighten his embrace. “Well, I don’t mean sex, little guy. I mean, I’m hungry now, and you look like a nice snack!” Chuck said as if it were perfectly normal. Mike gave him a confused look and then heard the big man’s stomach rumble loudly. Suddenly Mike felt a strange coldness grip him, the euphoric warmth he felt giving way to a chilling numbness in the blink of an eye. “Ugh, wha-what’s going on?” Mike grunted, confused. Chuck reached down and wrapped his arms around Mike’s torso, easily lifting him up higher. Then he squeezed, his muscles pressing against Mike harder. “Gotta get bigger!” Chuck sighed, his muscles straining and then swelling bigger. Mike looked back in pain and saw Chuck’s unforgiving blue eyes framed by bright blond eyebrows and eyelashes staring right at him. Chuck grinned and squeezed again, somehow even harder this time, and Mike groaned. Chuck softened his grip for a moment and Mike gasped for air. He looked down…and there was less of him! Noticably smaller, Mike panicked, trying to slip out of Chuck’s wet embrace, but Chuck squeezed hard again. Mike watched in horror as he shrank, life slipping away from his body like a decaying leaf, and simultaneously saw Chuck’s enormous body blooming with new growth, filling out thicker, fuller, hairier, and even taller! “What the fuck, what the fuck, how is this even—“ Mike groaned and then wheezed as Chuck squeezed again. Mike gasped for air. “S-stop! No! Let me go, let me out of here, you freak!” Mike whimpered, his voice higher and shriller than he was used to. Chuck adjusted his grip on the shrinking waif, his arms wrapping all the way around and curling in on him like a constrictor. “Freak, hehe, yeah I like that!” Chuck boomed and squeezed hard, closing his eyes. “No…no! But why! I thought… I thought—“ Mike protested, his voice growing weaker. Chuck didn’t respond. He just squeezed tighter, crushing the increasingly diminutive Mike. A broad smile spread across his face and he hummed with pleasure. Mike felt ice-cold and weak. As darkness crept in on the edges of his vision, he looked down and saw Chuck’s throbbing veins glowing a vivid teal blue under his pale skin, the light pulsing as he grew. “N-no, please, you c-can’t…” he wheezed and then blacked out. -- Chuck opened his eyes, his arms suddenly wrapped around nothing but his enormous gut. Water cascaded down his back, but was hitting at a different angle than before, his back higher and wider than just a moment ago. He straightened to his full height, his new height. He looked down at the shower head now. He unfurled his great arms and looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. He balled them into fists and felt his entire body tingle, a rippling buzz that went from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes. He felt full, warm, and powerful. He was satiated… for now. His mind hummed with the sudden need to see how much bigger he was. He exited the shower, ducking under the suddenly short entrance, and dried himself off. The gym towels felt way too small, and he had to use 3 to clean off his massive frame. His belly swayed and bounced as he waddled back towards the lockers, unabashedly naked, other guys staring up at him in wonder and giving him a wide berth. He stood in front of the mirror, marveling at his new, bigger size. Yes, Chuck thought to himself, more, bigger, stronger, just what I needed. His scalp tingled and Chuck grinned. He suddenly knew just where he wanted to go next. It was time to pay an old friend one last visit.

The next two chapters are told from the perspective of Mike, a smaller guy who goes to Chuck's gym. In this chapters, Mike admires Chuck's huge size and strength at the gym while trying not to catch the big guy's attention. Chapter 7 Mike closed the door of his car and walked quickly across the parking lot. Plumes of steam rose from his mouth, the cold air encouraging him to move quickly into the gym. Ice started forming on the mustache of his trimmed black beard and he mentally counted down the months until it was summer again. Mike was 160 and 5’10”, lean and trim. He had always been a skinny kid growing up, but had done well to add some muscles after college to try to attract more guys. Now 27, he had matured nicely into a fit otter, as his body had a thick coating of black hair all over. He often just hit the gym for cardio, but he mixed in a little weight training now and then, if only see the other big guys lifting. The eye candy kept him motivated and coming back, and if he was being totally honest, it the main reason he had started going to the gym in the first place. He had always had a thing for big muscular guys, the mature men with thick powerlifter kinds of builds. Mike waved his phone in front of the scanner until he heard the beep and walked into the gym. As was his habit, he did a quick scan to see who of his favorites were here today. Burly college bro guy, Asian offseason bodybuilder guy, overweight but kind of hot daddy muscle guy, ugly but crazy strong guy who always smelled like he hadn’t showered…but then Mike saw someone that made his jaw drop. A behemoth of a man, the biggest guy he’d ever seen in his life, was over at the squat rack with an insane amount of weight on his back. Mike couldn’t help but stare. The guy had his back to him, but in the mirror he could see a red chinstrap beard, a U of M hat that looked too small on him, a bright yellow tank top that didn’t cover up much of his massive torso, and black leggings that hugged every inch of his pumped up thighs and ass. He towered over the other people around him and looked twice as thick and wide as everyone else in the gym. He was soaked in sweat, which dripped onto a wet patch on the floor as he went down for another rep. Mike almost ran into another gym goer as he stared. The guy had to be, what, 400lbs? Bigger? Mike didn’t have anything to compare this guy to in his personal experience, and his size frankly boggled him. He adjusted his quickly chubbing cock as he made it to the locker room to change. After changing, Mike came back out to the gym. He rounded the corner and the huge guy was right there in front of him at the water fountain, bent over and slurping loudly. Mike marveled at him. He walked up near him, pretending like he needed a drink too. Mike’s nose twitched as he noticed a cloud of musk hanging around the behemoth as he got closer. The guy finished his drink and stood back up to his full height and Mike suddenly felt very short; he only came up to the guy’s shoulder. He realized he had grossly under estimated his size earlier; the monster had to be well over 500lbs. He was thicker than Mike was wide, and probably as wide as two Mikes standing side to side. Water dripped off his lips and down onto his tank, the water mixing in with the sweat soaking the thin material. He turned and looked down at Mike and smirked, sizing him up quickly with a grin. “All yours,” the behemoth intoned as he brushed past Mike, his huge shoulder nearly knocking Mike over. Mike went about his workout, trying to focus on doing chest and tris but always with one eye on the unnamed behemoth. Mike pretended to look at his phone after a set of dumbbell bench press, but was really looking in the mirror to watch the big guy from across the room, watching his huge ass bulge out of his leggings and his gut swell forward as he squatted. He moved over to the tricep pulldown machine a while later, going out of his way to walk past where the big guy was adding more weight to his deadlifts, Mike’s mouth dropping open as he watched arms and shoulders twitch and flex as the monster lifted a 45lb weight like it weighted 10lb. Mike looked over again after his first set of pull downs and the big guy caught him looking; he quickly looked away and pretended to text someone on his phone. He was torn between wanting to be coy and not get in trouble and wanting to eye-fuck this monster as much as he could before he left to burn his image into his brain. After a while a small crowd started to gather around the big guy as he put more and more weight on the bar as he did deadlifts, the loud clanking and slamming of the weights drawing attention. Mike tried to ignore it but eventually decided to watch too. When else would he get the chance to see someone THAT big? Mike tried to count up how much weight he had on the bar, but he kept losing track because there were so many plates. The big guy knelt down, bent over, wrapped his straps around the thick bar, and easily started cranking out deadlifts, the weight slamming to the ground each time before exploding back up. The bar bent dramatically as he went up, scraping along the monster’s Underarmour leggings. It went on for what seemed like a full minute, reps flying by, until the monster starting shaking with the effort of lifting god knows how much and finally stopped. Some of the other gym bros approached him, slapping his back, and Mike faded away. He was too shy to say hi, and besides he had a raging hard on from watching the insane display of strength. He decided to go upstairs and do cardio. Upstairs, Mike couldn’t see the behemoth anymore, but he could still him grunting, could still hearing the weights slamming around. Mike put his headphones on and tried not to think about the giant downstairs or how much he wanted to touch all that burly muscle. After 45 minutes, Mike figured the big guy might be gone, so he headed downstairs to leave. As he came down the stairs, he spotted the monster, who had moved on to doing machine rows with the weight maxed out. It looked too easy for him. Mike noticed the red and grey chest hair sprouting out of his tank top and gulped. He had never wanted someone more. Mike stared, and the big guy looked up to see him and stared right back. He grinned at Mike and Mike felt like he might die of embarrassment. He hurried back to the locker room. In the locker room, Mike changed out of his clothes and headed to the showers. He himself was soaked with sweat after all that cardio and had a nice chest pump from lifting. He looked at himself in the mirror as he went by and liked what he saw, but then frowned. Would a guy like the behemoth ever go for someone as small as him? It was all wishful thinking anyway, no way the guy was gay. Mike went to the back stall of the showers, one of the bigger handicapped stalls he liked using, and turned on the water. He started lathering himself up, but a sound made him pause. Heavy footsteps and grunting, followed by a shadow coming over the curtain of his shower. Mike looked up and saw a bald head and blue eyes peering over the curtain down at him. It was the behemoth! “There you are, little bud,” the huge guy said as he opened the curtain and stepped in.

In this chapter, Chuck goes to the steam room and encounters Eddie, a muscular Latino bodybuilder even bigger than he is. They fool around, Chuck turns the tables and becomes the bigger man, then takes everything Eddie has to offer and grows really big! This is one of my favorite chapters of the whole story. =) Chapter 6 Eddie was the only one in the steam room. He looked enormous; he had dramatic tattoos that covered big swaths of his chest, went up over his shoulders and onto his back and down his big arms. He was a bodybuilder, bulking up during the winter offseason, and he had never looked bigger. He was bigger than Chuck by a good 30lbs, and looked much harder and more muscular than Chuck’s thick, pudgy build. He had a goatee and his caramel-colored skin contrasted with Chuck’s alabaster. “Hey big guy,” Chuck said as he closed and locked the door. The steam vents shot out some more steam as he took a seat across from Eddie. He spread his arms out to either side, showing off, both size sizing each other up. Eddie eyed the impressive hills and valleys of Chuck’s forearms, thick biceps, shoulders, and traps. It was a small room, maybe the size of a small bathroom; they were only a few feet apart. Eddie nodded. “Haven’t seen you around much before, what’s your name?” Eddie said. He usually only talked with the really big, serious lifters at the gym. Apparently Chuck qualified now. “Chuck,” Chuck said, and reached over to shake Eddie’s hand. His mind screamed at him to take Eddie’s size, but he held off. He wanted to draw this out as long as he could. “I’ve been coming here for a while, I recognize you. It’s Eddie, right?” Chuck asked. “Yup,” Eddie said, relaxing his big shoulders, sweat pouring down his smooth shaved pecs and arms. “Funny, I usually know all the big guys who go to this gym,” he said. “Yeah, well I’ve been making some big gains lately, so you probably don’t recognize me,” Chuck said with a smirk. “That’s good, man, what are you training for?” Eddie said. “Oh, nothing in particular, just wanna get as big as possible. I’m 290 now, biggest I’ve ever been!” Chuck said. “Yeah man I hear you there. No such thing as too big, right?” Eddie asked with a chuckle and brought his fists together, flexing his chest and arms. They exploded with veiny muscle; he was jacked. “I’m sitting at about 320 right now, offseason. I’ve got a show in 6 months so I’m gonna try to push the bulk as long as I can before I cut,” he said. “It looks awesome,” Chuck said, his cock chubbing underneath his towel. He had dreamed of talking with big, serious lifters like Eddie before, but knew they would never give him the time of day unless he was big like them. Now here he was, talking shop with the biggest guy in the gym. “I’m impressed by how lean you are even with the bulk. Leaner than me!” Chuck said and rubbed his belly a little, spreading the sweat around and curling his red hair into ringlets. “Thanks big guy. You’ve got a lot of mass under the fat, you ever think about cutting?” Eddie said as he adjusted himself. Chuck saw something stirring underneath his towel too. “You’d look good.” “Nah bud, I just want to get huge. Gotta get as big as possible, like I said,” Chuck said. “You’re still a lot bigger than me though,” he said and stood up. He draped his towel over his waist but his thick dick was clearly visible. He adjusted the heat in the room higher, and more steam came pouring in. “Yeah,” Eddie said. “You’re close though,” he said and lifted an arm up, flexing his bicep. “22 inches,” Eddie said. “How about you?” Chuck stepped over to Eddie, standing over him. Eddie’s arm was big, a couple inches bigger than Chuck’s, and Chuck felt a swirl of emotions: jealousy, lust, anger, nervousness, and hunger to take all of Eddie’s muscles and pack them onto his own growing body. The static fuzz in his mind increased, and he had to shake his head to focus. Chuck leaned down and flexed, and his bulky arm looked small compared to Eddie’s harder, bigger peaks. “Wow bud, you got me beat,” Chuck said, his mouth dry. “I think mine are almost 20,” he said. “Yeah, you still got a ways to catch up, big guy,” Eddie said. He looked up at Chuck and noticed the big bulge in Chuck’s towel. “You like what you see, esé?” Eddie said. “I’ve always liked your size, Eddie,” Chuck said as he tried to adjust himself. It was no use. “You look so big, like the kind of size I want.” “You wanna feel?” Eddie said, and flexed again. “Go ahead, it feels good for me too,” he said. Chuck reached down and rubbed his hands all over Eddie’s arms. The steam and sweat made everything smooth and wet, and his hands felt every inch of Eddie’s flexed bicep. “Wow, it’s so hard, bud,” Chuck said. “Yup,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. “I’m hard all over,” he said knowingly. “This your first time doing this in a steam room?” Eddie said. Chuck moved his hands over to Eddie’s shoulders, traps, and bulging pecs, squeezing them, feeling the weight and hardness of them, sweat covering every inch, tracing the lines of Eddie’s tattoos. “Y-yeah it is, just never really was brave enough to come in,” Chuck said. “Heh, this is exactly why I come in here. Plenty of people at this gym who want a taste, guys and girls,” Eddie said and tensed his chest and grunted, enjoying Chuck’s hands massaging his muscles. “Works for me, as long as they’re doing the work,” he said. Veins snaked from Eddie’s chest over to his shoulders; his muscles were rock-hard; they danced under his tattoos. “You’re so big,” Chuck said stupidly as he used every bit of mental fortitude he had to stop himself from draining Eddie of every drop of size he had to offer. He tried “Years of hard work, eating right, and sacrifice,” Eddie said and raised his arms up to flex his biceps. “You don’t get this big overnight,” he said, his pits stinking up the small steam room and mixing with Chuck’s own musk. “R-right,” Chuck said with a grin as he tried to squeeze Eddie’s hard biceps in vain. He squatted down in front of Eddie and moved his hands down to Eddie’s huge, hard thighs. They were thick tree trunks of muscle, hard as rock. Chuck reached underneath the damp towel as he rubbed. He rubbed and rubbed and bumped his fingers against the biggest cock and balls he had ever felt. “Mmmm, yeah big guy, go for it,” Eddie purred and pushed Chuck’s bald head down in his lap. “Like I said, I’m big ALL over.” Chuck moved the towel out of the way and was hit in the face by Eddie’s sizable cock. It was uncut, thick and hard, and smelled musky. Chuck guessed it was about 9” long, two inches longer and definitely thicker than his own. He opened wide and wrapped his lips around it and started bobbing his head up and down. “Yeah, there you go gringo, you’re good at this!” Eddie said and rested his right hand on Chuck’s skull and played with his own nipple with the other. He groaned with pleasure. Chuck sucked and sucked, slurping at Eddie’s cock like it was a popsicle. He tasted the precum from the burly Latino and purred. The buzzing in his head roared and he felt a shiver shake up his whole body violently, and he couldn’t hold back any more. He imagined himself slurping up the size from the big bodybuilder into his own body, size flowing into him from Eddie’s garden hose cock, gulping down as much as he could. Chuck sucked with renewed vigor as he felt the connection, felt energy surge into his body. “Oh man, what is that feeling, it’s like, unnnnngggg,” Eddie grunted, not yet aware of what was happening. He looked down and saw Chuck’s traps bulge with muscle, saw his back swell wider. He threw his head back and groaned, a cold numbness making him feel sluggish all of a sudden. Chuck sucked harder and faster, gulping down size as fast as he could from the unwitting bodybuilder. He felt it; felt muscle packing onto his already big frame, felt fat and beef surging into his swelling gut, felt his body stretch longer and wider and thicker. He wanted more. It wanted it all. Eddie groaned louder, going from pleasure to discomfort. “What, what are you doing, bro, stop!” he yelled and pushed Chuck away with both hands. He was still a big guy, and had enough strength to resist. Chuck fell back onto his ass just as more steam pumped into the room. “What the hell was that, man, you drug me or something?” Eddie said angrily. Dizzy and disoriented, he leaned back. “Man, I feel light-headed,” he said. Chuck rose to his feet. He felt bigger, stronger. He stepped closer and Chuck realized he was bigger than Eddie now. Chuck’s cock throbbed angrily and he squeezed it. It felt longer, thicker, bigger than Eddie’s was just a moment ago. His mind was overwhelmed with a buzzing, roaring need for more. “I’m not done yet,” Chuck said flatly and stepped next to Eddie. He grabbed the back of Eddie’s head and pulled him forward, towards Chuck’s raging hard, leaking cock. “Man, what the fuck,” Eddie said and tried pushing Chuck, but Chuck stood his ground. Eddie looked up at the huge, sweating mountain of a man in front of him and his mouth dropped open. Chuck had not been that big a moment ago. He was clearly the bigger man now, mountainous like a big NFL lineman. Chuck took the opportunity of Eddie’s surprise to ram his hard cock into his mouth, shoving it in as far as he could. He sighed in relief and gripped Eddie’s head harder. “Yeah, take it,” Chuck grunted and thrusted his hips faster. He focused on growing, on taking every drop from the bodybuilder, and felt a torrent of power flood in though his cock, radiating through the rest of his body in euphoric pulses. Eddie groaned and tried to resist, but between the slick sweat of the steam room and Chuck’s suddenly superior size and strength, he couldn’t. He pushed against him, but each time he resisted seemed to be weaker than the last. He felt himself getting tired, and felt the weird numbness he felt earlier spread throughout his whole body. He gave one more push but Chuck hardly even felt it. Chuck adjusted his grip on Eddie’s shrinking head and pounded harder, his thickening cock spreading Eddie’s jaw apart wider. “Uhhhhnnngg, yeah little bud, feels good,” Chuck grunted and noticed his voice was deeper than it was before. He looked down over the hills of his pecs and gut and Eddie looked so much smaller. He watched as the big bodybuilder shrank and an excitement and rush of feeling powerful filled him. He couldn’t take it anymore, and his cock sprayed cum, filling Eddie’s mouth. Chuck held on to Eddie’s skull until he was done and then pulled out, the enormous length of Chuck’s cock slipping out of Eddie’s mouth with a puddle of cum. Chuck felt euphoric and sat back on the bench across from Eddie, relaxing and letting the feeling of his bigger body wash over him. Eddie coughed and sputtered, pushing himself away from the monster than had just faced fucked him. The tables had turned, and he felt cold, weak, and powerless even in the warm fog of the steam room. More steam pumped into the room, so much that Eddie’s vision was obscured. “What the fuck did you do to me!?” Eddie croaked as he looked down at his body. He looked like how he had in high school, lean and skinny, half the size of what he used to be, all the hard-fought gains of his years spent bodybuilding gone in an instant. “My…my body! How is this…” An ominous chuckle filled the little room and Eddie suddenly felt very vulnerable. “Mmm, thanks for your generous ‘donation’ little bud,” Chuck’s deeper voice boomed from the other side of the room. “What the fuck did you do to me, you freak!?” Eddie repeated, not comprehending what had just happened to him. “I took what I wanted. Your size is mine now,” Chuck explained. A massive silhouette rose up out of its seat and stood to its full height, muscles swollen out in round bulges everywhere. Eddie’s eyes opened wide in shock as Chuck stepped closer, coming into focus through the heavy steam. He felt the floor vibrate from his steps and heard muscles and tendons pop and crunch, like they were stretching for the first time and finding their place. Chuck was enormous. Several inches taller and thick with heavy muscle on every inch of his body, he was as big as a world-class strongman competitor, heavy and massive. Veins snaked over his upper chest and into his traps and delts. Muscle shook and twitched with every slight movement. His delts and arms bulged outward, round masses of muscle bigger than anything Eddie had ever seen before. Chuck grunted and stretched his neck, which was thicker than his head, and tensed the enormous, heavy pectorals that stood in front of him like a shelf. He reached down past his round, fat belly, moving it out of the way with a heavy forearm, and shifted his balls, which had become stuck to the sweaty, slick surface of his redwood thighs. His cock, still wet and fat from shooting a load, dripped with cum and looked as thick as Eddie’s wrist. He moved his hands back up, rubbing them over his round belly and furry chest; the ginger fur had curled up into ringlets in the humid air. “Fuck, you got small, bud, huh?” Chuck asked as he looked down at Eddie with icy blue eyes. “Always funny to see that. You’re like half the size as you were before! How big do you think I am now?” Chuck asked and flexed his torso in a crab pose, bringing his giant fists together. Every muscle swelled bigger. “Gotta be over 400 pounds now, I think,” Chuck said and grinned. “F-fuck…how?” was all Eddie could manage. Chuck looked well over 400 pounds now, and was several inches taller. Eddie looked over at the door. He had to get out of here before the massive hulk touched him again. “Just a little trick I picked up recently. I can take as much size as I want, slurp it right out of you.” Chuck said with a smile. Eddie couldn’t believe it. “What? That’s some stupid bullshit, I mean, that’s impossible…” Eddie trailed off as he looked down at his small, skinny, weak body and compared it to Chuck’s new mass. “Heh, you still don’t see? Your size. Is now MY size. Get it?” Chuck boomed and he took an ominous step closer to Eddie. Looking at Eddie, Chuck suddenly wondered what would happen if he kept going. If he kept taking everything, all of Eddie’s energy. Would he just disappear, or shrink so small he would get crushed? A tingling fuzz of excitement shivered up his spine. He needed the rest of Eddie’s size anyway, and he had to find out what would happen if he took it all. Eddie saw the gleam in Chuck’s eyes as Chuck looked down at him hungrily, like he was a meal, and decided to make a break for it. Eddie jolted to his feet, fighting through the pain and soreness of his atrophied muscles, and lunged for the door. He grabbed the handle was remembered it was locked just as he felt five massive fingers wrap easily around his upper arm. Eddie felt a sudden, powerful yank and he left his feet. He flew back into the room and smacked against the beefy bulk of Chuck. Eddie looked up and saw a grinning, bearded face staring down at him, hunger in his eyes framed by blond eyebrows. Chuck wrapped a massive arm around his neck and pulled him into a headlock. “Where do you think you’re going, little bud?” Chuck intoned, his deep voice sending vibrations shivering into Eddie. He leaned down towards Eddie and growled in his ear, “I’m not done with you yet.” Chuck squeezed tighter, his massive rock-hard bicep pressing painfully into Eddie’s throat. “You’ve still got plenty of size left,” Chuck purred. “Let me go!” Eddie wheezed as he choked on Chuck’s potent jock musk emanating from his hairy pits. The behemoth suddenly shifted Eddie around and lifted him into the air by gripping his arms, throwing him around like he was a child. “You’re so light now, bud!” Chuck boomed in excitement as he pressed Eddie’s back against the ceiling Eddie couldn’t help but be impressed through the fear. “Jesus, you’re strong!” “Yeah, you bet!” Chuck laughed. “But I still need more, bud! Gotta have the rest!” he said and lowered Eddie down. The former bodybuilder only came up to his chin now. “No, no, why, you’re already big enough, just let me go!” Eddie pleaded as he squirmed and tried to slip out of Chuck’s grip, trying to use the sweat and slickness of the steam room to his advantage. “No such thing as big enough, bud, remember?” Chuck grunted flatly. Chuck rebuffed Eddie’s attempts at getting away and turned him around, wrapped his huge arms around him, and easily engulfed the smaller man. He locked him into a powerful bear hug and squeezed hard. Eddie groaned, crying out for help but nothing came out but a wheeze. “No point in resisting, bud, hehe, but I admire your fight,” Chuck growled as he squeezed harder. “I’m way too strong for you to slip away now. All that size, all that power you had is mine now. And now it’s time to have the rest,” Chuck grunted as he flexed and felt Eddie start to give up his energy. With all that contact of being in a bear hug, Chuck started a full-body drain, energy pouring into him. “No, please, just stop, I need—“ Eddie said frantically, twisting and pushing as hard as he could before Chuck crushed him harder. Eddie felt the breath squeeze out of his lungs as his ribs compressed inward. “I need to get bigger, more than you’ll ever understand, bud,” Chuck said, adjusting his grip on the smaller man, lifting him up off his feet and grinding him against his growing body. “What I need, unf, is more important than what you need. Besides, in a minute you’ll be all mine.” Chuck could feel himself swelling bigger and thicker and more powerful, the energy filling him up in a way he’d never imagined. He had never taken so much before at once, and it felt mind-numbingly incredible. “Gotta get bigger, need those gains, need it ALL!” he thought to himself as he groaned. He thrust Eddie harder against his growing body, shaking the diminutive waif pressed against his bulk. He grunted and growled and crushed Eddie into his torso, squeezing the former bodybuilder between his enormous fists and his meaty chest. Lost in euphoria, he hardly noticed as the little guy seemed to dissolve into his body and wink out of existence. He just felt the energy flow come to a stop and suddenly realized he had nothing in his arms. Chuck was a bit surprised, and looked around the steam room in momentary confusion. His heart raced, and he laughed in excitement. He took a deep breath, his massive lungs filling up with warm steamy air, and breathed out, sighing in satisfaction. He felt like he had just eaten a big meal, like Thanksgiving dinner, and patted his swollen, round gut. He rolled a massive leg forward and reached—down!?—to grab the handle of the door. He unlocked it and opened, a cloud of steam exiting the room along with him. He bumped his head against the 6’8” doorframe as he stepped out. A massive foot slapped down on the wet tiled floor. Everybody nearby turned and looked, some of them audibly gasping. They had never seen anyone close to Chuck’s size. Chuck waddled over to the mirrors, every step making the locker room floor vibrate slightly. His thighs rubbed against each other, the sweat lubricating the chub rub. His belly hung down and pressed against his cock, thick as a soda can and inches longer than before, still swollen from shooting a load. Chuck turned and looked in the mirror and couldn’t help but laugh. He was gigantic. He made the strongmen he saw on TV look small now. He was thicker, heavier, and more muscular than any of them, accentuated by the sheen of sweat covering every inch. His shoulders were as side as two men, and his arms hung pendulously out at an angle to his sides, massive Christmas hams of muscle. He lifted them up and flexed, and they bulged in round, bulky peaks, not very defined but swollen with so much muscle you could still see veins throbbing to the surface. His shoulders bulged up too, round and hard, like bowling balls attached to his arms. He ran a hand down his torso, thick fingers matting down his dense copper-colored fur and felt the round bulges of his pecs and gut. He tensed his chest, feeling waves of muscle dance under the skin. A thick vein snaked up his biceps, through his shoulder, and into his massive chest, twisting and blue under his pale skin. He leaned his gut against the counter and heard it creak as it struggled to support his weight. He wondered how heavy he was now. Chuck brushed past a smaller guy as he went over to the scale. People gawked at the giant in their midst, but Chuck didn’t care. He stepped onto the scale, which rattled and shook as his big feet struggled to fit onto the small square platform. He adjusted the weights. 500lb, still too light. 550lb, nope. He went all the way up to the max, 600lb, and it barely started moving before still not balancing out. Over 600lb. “Jesus, I’m a fuckin’ TANK now,” Chuck said aloud, his voice a rumbling bass. He sauntered over to his locker and was glad he had brought larger sizes to fit into. He found the biggest tank top he had bought and struggled to fit it over his massive, sweaty frame. He didn’t care that he hadn’t showered or that the straps of the tank top were taut, hanging between his mountainous traps and barrel chest; in fact, he kind of liked it. He slipped on compression shorts, the white material stretching over his thunder thighs. They didn’t do much to hide the huge bulge in his crotch, but they were all that fit him now. He pulled out the new shoes he had bought and they barely fit over his fatter, wider, longer feet. Finally, he grabbed his U of M hat, adjusted it to a bigger size, and slid that over his smooth scalp until the rim of it sat right at eye level, hiding his pale blue eyes. As he zipped up his bag, even though he had more than doubled in weight over the course of 10 hours, all he could think about was growing even bigger.

I wanna see him hurt everyone

MrAlice, Seu loves to hurt people, ALL people. We will see what The Masters have in store for him in the future.

I like seeing Seu demolish inferior men as much as I like seeing him destroy equally matched men.

Ro, I think Seu is filled with rage. He is always needing an outlet to release that. Adults are using him for their entertainment and financial gain. Laos is a dangerous and at times brutal place. And Seu is a bringer of pain. Iceman, Seu doesn't control who he fights. The Masters are always looking to satisfy the customers. Seu is a tremendous earner for those guys. But there are others such as yourself who are calling for better equipped opponents for Seu. It's also difficult in Laos to find a man of his size and build. He has excellent genetics and has been breed to fight and conquer. Morosov is a pretty strong young man who has been fighting on the Asian circuit and came to Laos specifically to fight Seu. And Seu ate him up. Stay tuned for more.

1. The Fight Vientiene, Laos, Southeast Asia In the heat of the early evening the crowd is filtering in to the functional and simple building. Once used as an official military post for storage, there are many unfilled rooms with stark light bulbs and sawdust or dirt, sometimes blood on the floors. Coming in from the twilight, meandering towards the largest room of the complex, are a mix of business men from downtown, gambling degenerates, a few power drinking Western waywards, mobbed up badasses and some wannabe fighters. Tickets stamped, three security checkpoints, room after room, following the humming of noise from the main fighting area, passing one official after another and then moving in to a seating section arranged by class or distinction. The higher rollers at the top on cushioned seats, most of the mass on planks of splintery wood and the poor folks standing within a roped off area on level with the fighters. Kapono is a wiry and but well-dressed figure for whom the fighters work for. He earns money for the bosses through gambling bets placed on fights. The fights come in several forms including evenly matched same gender, unevenly matched same gender, and intergender. There are three general rules that each fighter is to obey; no police, no help and no rules. A winner is determined when an opponent is unconscious or worse. There is a "master", who serves as something of an official and he begins the match and calls an end. However he is mostly there to incite the crowd and cause excitement. Seu is of American descent. His parents were military and were estranged since his birth. Seu has been under the authority of Laotian kingpins since the age of 12, the last time he saw his dad. To his knowledge his father is back in Arizona, USA and living on a Reservation, as he was part Apache Indian. Raw willpower, ingenuity, unbreakable spirit and size and strength were some of the inheritants from his father. Both of his parents were never pinned down, they were always into the wind, unbound by rules or even loyalty to friends or family. Seu sits in a tiny room where there are weights in the form of 4 dumbbells of various sizes. There is a pull-up bar in the doorless frame of the room entranceway. On a small counter sits barely passable food and water. There are hangers for clothes still there from the military days and a bench to sit on along one wall. By now Seu has been in this room 10 minutes. He arrives for these fights later than the others. He feels no need to prepare. He loves to fight. It’s IN him. There is no mental preparation. He fights anywhere, anytime. It’s second nature, the way a shark is always hunting. Seu doesn’t know his opponent and doesn’t care about his opponent. Typically he is involved in what they call a squash match. Bets are taken in many forms. Under these circumstances the wagers may be regarding the duration of the match more so than the decided winner. Even the nature of the condition of the loser is wagered upon. Anything the customer wants. Kapono appears in the doorway, Seu doesn’t look at him. “Three fights. You stay out and come back after the third fight. Do good,” he says from over his shoulder as he shuffles away. Into the room comes a small girl, as is the ritual. These girls are typically early 20’s or younger, sometimes much younger. Seu doesn’t really know where these girls come from and in his three years of these fights he has never seen the same girl twice. This is part of the protocol. Each fighter has a visit from a girl about 10 minutes before a fight. The girls are instructed to do as the fighter commands. Seu looks her up and down. These girls always were naked underneath a neck to knees robe to cover themselves. He never varies from his pre-fight ritual. He motions to her and says, “come behind me.” She obediently moves behind the boy. Even at 18 years old, Seu has been a man physically and mentally for a long time. From the sitting position, the small girl’s chin is just above the top of Seu’s head. “Put your hand on my chin,” Seu demanded. She did. “Put your other hand on my head, here,” Seu motioned with his hand. The girl placed her free hand on Seu’s head. “I want you to snap my neck, like THIS,” and Seu jerked his head hard to one side. The girl backed away slightly and Seu said sternly, “NOW.” She re-gripped Seu’s head and as instructed forced his head to one side. “Harder,” he said, annoyed. Maintaining her grip, the girl pulled harder. “Harder, harder, harder, harder.” The girl clenched his head and in the same direction, twisted his head hard enough that she thought it might come off. She heard a crack that startled her. “Now the other way.” The girl snapped Seu’s head in the opposite direction with the same force. Seu wasn’t pleased though, and made her repeat this three times until his neck cracked again. The girl was tired and fell back a step. Seu deliberately stood up. The girl’s jaw fell open as her eyes followed him into his standing position. When Seu was 14 he 183cm tall (6'0"). At 18 he is 195.5 (6’5).” The girl thought his back looked bigger than a table. She became aroused, although didn’t visually react. Seu turned to face the girl and he kicked aside the stool that he had been sitting on. The girl noted only just now, that he was Western and was intrigued by his white, yet brownish tanned skin. This is partly from Seu’s Native American descent. Seu had on worn-down black sweatpants and issued boots. Footwear was for whatever reason required and actually the one and only clothing requirement. Nudity is not even against the rules in this spectacle. The boots were similar to military style above the ankle, but not as rigid or heavy and relatively comfortable. He wears a size 15. The girl had a fleeting thought of the men she has fucked and how Seu’s size compared. Unknowingly, she had her hand on her crotch. Not rubbing, but just there. Seu stepped close to the Loatian girl who, experienced with these encounters, stood her ground waiting for instruction. The young girl’s eyes were just above his navel. She was very aroused. The girl had never seen muscle like this. Aside from his strong jaw and boyish looks, his shoulders were so wide. They were strait, leveled off and muscle capped on the sides. She looked up at his shapely lats and powerful pecs. Seu’s pecs stood out over 10cm (4") from his chest. She had never been with a man who had as well-defined abs without even flexing, as he. His narrow waist exploded into an outline of powerful thighs that she imagined, under his shabby sweatpants. His biceps had a slight vein down the middle, cold and unpumped. “I want you to pull my cock,” Seu ordered, looking at her directly. His black hair was 7.5cm (3") long and spiked strait up on top, making him appear even taller. The girl cupped her hands to spit in to them but Seu objected, “No, raw.” Seu gripped the sides of his sweatpants and briskly pulled them down to just above his knee, revealing full nudity. The girl gasped and put both hands over her mouth. Seu’s cock was semi hard and over 20cm (8") in that state. She had never seen such a thing. She slightly crouched over and grabbed her crotch hard from arousal. The girl crossed her legs, looking as though she needed to pee and was holding it in. Seu didn’t break from his glare. The girl opened her robe by undoing the loosely tied sash, but did not slip it off. She approached Seu and confidently gripped his cock with her hand. Realizing her fingers did not touch around it's size, she put her second hand on it and began to stroke from base of shaft to the tip. Seu looked down at her without emotion, although his cock immediately twitched in her hands and expanded upon her touch. "More force," he said robotically. The small girl tried to strengthen her double grip and intensify her stroking, while containing her own arousal. "Give me more force," Seu said. With her shoulders rocking back and forth and her head bobbing, the girl was putting her whole body now into working his cock, which was somehow matching her pressure with equal resistance. The cock became so hard, slanted upwards, that it almost didn't move despite her efforts. This had an effect on her of heightening her arousal but also a feeling as though she was not doing fulfilling her expectation. She thought Seu wanted to climax, but in fact his control over his own orgasm was infallable. The girl could do this endlessly and he could maintain a pulsating erection and not come close to orgasm, if he was so inclined. Seu's intention here was to take off the edge. He constantly felt the urge to become hard and then soft and then hard again. It consummed him. At this time Seu stepped forward pushing the girl backwards with a stumble. He backed the girl, still cock in hands, against the wall. She felt overwhelmed. Seu grabbed a handful of her hair and aimed her glare up towards his. He held this position momentarily and then released the girl and stepped away. Seu pulled his pants back up from around his knees and put the waistband around the end of his cock to hold his big member in place. From a hook on the wall he grabbed a long-sleeve white compression shirt and wrestled it over his ripped torso. Seu exited the room and turned down a dimly lit corridor and up a set of stairs. The girl dropped down to her knees once left alone and began to pleasure herself. After some familiar twists and turns, Seu began to hear the hum of the crowd from the fight room. Kapono emerged from the shadows. "You feeling good?" "I'm always fucking good bitch." "Three fights. Hurt them if you can," Kapono reached up and placed his hand on Seu's shoulder. Seu is rebellious and can be contrary, but Kapono has had a hand in raising him since he became a teen. He might be the only person Seu respects. "How bad should I hurt them?" "Ahh, give them a show," Kapono answered. "One's a Russian. I don't like any of these guys." Seu grunted in response as they approached a tattered curtain where on the other side contained the large fighting room. The edge of his cock was still peaking up from this sweatpants waistband but covered by his compression shirt, notwithstanding the bulge. Dimlee, The Master, raised his hands while positioned in the middle of the fighting area to bring the crowd to a hush. "I will now announce the next fight" he spoke in very good English. "There is sure to be BLOOD!" Dimlee spun around in circles as he addressed the crowd. "Remember there will be no interference and remain away from the fighting area." "For our next match of the evening we have one of our most dangerous fighters!" Seu waited behind the curtain with contained anticipation. He was thirsty to hurt some one. Kapono had left Seu to summon the other fighter. "Born in America but raised right here in the streets of Vientiene, at the age of 18 years, standing 190.5 cm (6'5") and with a weight of 99.8 kg (220lbs), UNDEFEATED, unbeatable, with a heart of stone... The Laotian Tiger, SEU!!!" Seu brushed aside the curtain and with his head narrowly clearing the door frame, he stepped out into the hot light rigs that were set up around the fight circle. The crowd was full of energy and there were so many cat-calls of one sort or another that they molded into one inaudible buzzing of sound. Seu stood tall in the fight circle, with no expression on his face. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. Even from the crowd you could see the biceps exploding from his sleeves. "His opponent makes his first fight in the country of Laos. From Vietnam, where he is a champion fighter in his region... he is so lightning quick that he will catch a deadly snake with his bare hands...162.5cm (5'4") and 55kg (122lbs)... here is Duong!!!" Across from Seu the curtain flew open and the diminutive Vietnamese fighter appeared. Duong wore tights cut off at the top of the thigh. He had no shirt on with a toned but thin body. The fighter leapt out into the fighting area and pointed directly in Seu's vicinity. Then he made a motion to drag his thumb across his throat left to right to indicate impending doom for his opponent. Seu was motionless and expressionless, arms remaining folded. Master Dimlee now stood between the two fighters. Duong was jumping up and down in place. The official put his fist high into the air then quickly down to his side and with every fiber of his being screamed "FIGHT!!!" Duong sprang towards his motionless opponent. As the fighter approached the giant boy, the difference in size was shocking. Seu dropped his arms. Duong, his eyes level with Seu's pecs, delivered a blow to Seu's stomach. Seu didn't move an inch, absorbing the punch, unflexed. Duong grabbed his throbbing wrist. In one motion, Seu cupped both hands on the sides of Duong's head and drove the Asian boy's face into his chest, instantly breaking his nose. Seu pulled the small boy's head away from his chest revealing several blood spots shading his white compression shirt. Then he slammed the boy's face into his pecs again. Seu's muscles seemed to want to burst out from every centimeter of his shirt. Seu slammed Duong's face into his rock hard pecs a third time and the boy appeared to lose consciousness. With an expression completely void of fear, mercy and strain, Seu repeatedly smashed the helpless Vietnamese boy's bloodied face into his pecs. After several more blows, Seu's shirt was heavily bloodied and the Asian had become dead weight in Seu's hands. Holding Duong's weight, Seu continued to break the boy's face against his chest. Finally he stopped and simply held the dead weight of the Asian in his hands. The boy's body was limp, arms dangling at his sides, heels up off the floor being held on his toes by Seu's strength. Seu released his grip and Duong dropped to the floor like a rock and lay there face down, bleeding from his nose and mouth. Seu looked up at the crowd who were waving their programs and betting tickets in the air and cheering or hissing. His opponent lay there motionless at his feet. Seu stepped over Duong with one foot on either side of the prone boy, standing over him, to show his dominance. The crowd responded by chanting his name. Master Dimlee approached the fighter and raised Seu's arm up in the air. Seu moved away from his opponent. Duong was briskly carried away by two men, vanishing into the corridors. Seu reset to his starting position, standing tall and folding his arms. Dimlee raised his arms to attempt to silence the stirring of the crowd. "The Laotian Tiger's next opponent, is a man from right here in Laos. He is a jungle man who is as tough as a nail in a coffin! He is called "The Cage!" Many in the crowd remember this name. "This man began fighting as a small boy inside bamboo cages and is known far and wide. Standing 178cm (5'10") and weighing 70kg (155lbs)... here comes... THE CAGE!" Seu's Asian opponent appeared from the shadows with little expression and moved robotically. The Cage was tall for a Laotian and carried himself confidently but with little muscle. As a teen he was well known in Vientiene fighting circles, but now at the age of 31 was not fighting regularly anymore. He wore boxing shorts, no shirt and was heavily tatooed. Upon entering his place in the fighting circle, The Cage displayed a double bicep flex that showed no difference between flexed and unflexed biceps. He rotated around to acknowledge the crowd who mostly showed indifference. Dimlee stood between the two fighters and raised a fist in the air to signal the fighters to be at their ready. "FIGHT," he spat out at the top of his voice. The Cage moved towards Seu but was stopped in his tracks at the first sign of movement from his opponent. Seu lowered his arms and grabbed his balls and gave them two quick pulls. His nostrils flared. He punched his chest hard which made an audible thud heard even up in the highest seats. Seu raised both hands and waved his fingers motioning to The Cage to approach him. The Cage then apprehensively raised his fists and moved in on Seu. He reached up and swung at Seu's head which he easily dodged. Seu grabbed the Asian man's neck prompting The Cage to put both hands over top of Seu's. With his other hand, Seu took hold of the top of The Cage's leg and with no effort at all he pressed that Asian man over his head. Seu held the man 274cm (9") high in the air. The Cage began to kick his legs while still trying in vein to loosen Seu's grip around his neck. Seu walked in a complete circle around the fighting area wanting to show off his power. He had no expression on his face. Centering himself in the fighting area, Seu lowered and then threw the man so far that his feet landed outside of the designated fighting area. The Cage landed with such force that it kicked up a cloud of dust as he lay in agony on the floor. Immediately a group of men were standing over The Cage, screaming instructions and motioning for him to get up. One middle aged man shouted in Laotian, "fucking get up! Pussy girl! Get the fuck up!" Seu stood in place waiting for his opponent to stagger to his feet. The Cage, with one hand on his back was moving towards the center of the ring. Seu took a large step forward and drove his fist directly into the center of the Asian man's chest. This caused a sucking sound as air escaped from his lungs and knocked him back off his feet and onto the ground again. The Cage lay there, without even enough air in his body to clutch his chest. Dimlee moved in and knelt beside the broken body laying on the ground. He placed his hand near the sternum of the Asian. Dimlee stood up after diagnosing the situation. He pumped both his fists in front of him and with spit and excitement he screamed, "he is broken! He... Is... Broken!" Dimlee pointed in Seu's direction, "WINNER!" Seu slammed his fist into his hand causing muscle to ripple from head to toe. He bellowed, "bring me a fucking challenge!" He turned to the frenzied crowd behind him and repeated, "I said bring me a fucking challenge!" Three teen boys came into the circle to unforgivingly lift The Cage by his feet and torso and carry him back into the medical area. Dimlee, looking to build excitement amongst the gawkers, took a que from Seu. "Ladies and gentlemen, our Laotian Tiger wants a challenge," he paused to allow time for cat-calls from the crowd. "Russia... Russia... has answered the challenge! Just 22 years old. Standing 178cm (6'0") and with a strong 88kg (195lbs)... making his first fight in Asia..." At that time a teen boy who is a worker in the fight club came tumbling thru the curtain as though he had been pushed. Bounding out behind him was Morosov, Seu's next opponent. Morosov walked defiantly into the fight circle interrupting Dimlee's announcement. The Russian badass approached Dimlee and said with broken English, "get the fuck out of my way." Dimlee knew it was on. He raised his fist and screamed "FIGHT," while blood vessels throbbed in this neck and temples. The Russian was filled with courage and couldn't wait to embarrass his younger opponent. He confidently approached the taller wunderkind and put his finger directly in front of Seu's nose. "I am going to crush you." Then he beamed into a wide smile and ran his fingers through his shoulder length, platinum blonde hair. "Then I will fuck your ass in front of all your little Asian girls, ha ha ha." The Russian was muscular but not as big in any area as his counterpart. Yet, his confidence was unwavering. Morosov moved a step closer to Seu. They are now touching eachother at the chest and unflinchingly meeting eachother's stare. The Russian opened his mouth, "This night I will make you..." and Seu commenced the fight. The giant boy put one arm around the back of Morosov's head and the other beneath his legs and effortlessly lifted the Russian into a cradle carry. With the Russian in his arms, Seu began to flex his biceps and chest and tightened his grip. Morosov tried to power out of the hold by straining every muscle in any direction. Seu increased intensity, as the 18 year old began to overpower this Russian man. Morosov's head was being pushed into his knees. His air flow was being cut off by the pressure around his head and neck. He began to not be able to keep his eyes open. Feeding from the strength being drained from the body of his opponent, Seu flexed even harder while the Russian wimpered in his arms. With a last effort, Morosov attempted to gather his strength and power out one more time. Seu matched and then overpowered this effort and flexed harder. He was crushing this Russian. Dimlee sensed that Morosov may be helpless and approached the fighters. From his short stature he could barely see over Seu's forearm and read the face of the Russian. It appeared the Russian was barely breathing and his eyes were closed. Seu had little expression on his face. He showed no mercy, while pulling all the strength out of his Russian opponent and devouring it. The feeling made Seu's cock twitch. Dimlee was pulling at Seu's forearm. Seu barely noticed. The Russian was in dire condition. The Master then motioned towards a portion of the crowd where emerged a young Asian boy under the employ of the fight club. He wore a backpack which he unstrapped and shuffled through the contents of. Seu had not lessened this grip at all and the Russian had faded, no longer even fighting for freedom. From the backpack, the Asian furnished a hand taser. He met Dimlee's eyes and The Master said, "hit him... HIT HIM!" The boy approached Seu and put the taster in the small of Seu's back and the electric current was transfered. Seu didn't budge. The boy repeated this, now holding the taser against Seu's skin for 5 seconds. Seu was impervious to it. "Again," Dimlee screamed with panic. The boy put both hands around the taser and drove it as though he was stabbing with a knife, into Seu's bicep. Seu's muscle strain only intensified, not weakened by the taser's effect. The boy looked up at Seu who met his glare and stuck his tongue far out of his mouth. Dimlee stood back nervously as he was in fear they would lose the Russian and send back a corpse. The taser boy pulled the weapon from Seu's bicep and attempted to place it on Seu's tongue. However, he missed his aim as The Tiger was so much taller and ended up tasering Seu's neck. At first Seu withstood the electric current of the taser. The boy held the taser in place 5 seconds. Now 10 seconds. The taser was getting hot in the boy's hand. After 15 seconds Seu dropped the Russian to the floor, still stuck in the fetal position he had been held in. The taser boy dropped the taser and began to hold his hand which felt like it was on fire. Without even placing a hand on his taser-burned neck, Seu turned to the taser boy and picked him up on one shoulder. Seu's bicep popped as he held the boy with one arm. He then took three steps and slammed the poor boy down into the floor boards. The taser boy was immediately unconscious. Already workers had come and carried the twitching Russian away to the medical room. Seu rose and stepped towards Dimlee. Keeping the show rolling, Dimlee grabbed Seu's arm and threw it up in victory. "The Laotian Tiger boy... the unbeatable... Seu!!!" Dimlee called some workers over to tend to the taser boy. Seu bathed in the favorable cheering and emotion from the crowd. As he strutted around the fighting circle he continuously bounced his pecs without moving his arms even slightly. Seu had dominated three men tonight thoroughly. They weren't just beaten physically, but they were humiliated. Seu felt some satisfaction from draining the manhood from his opponents. But his sexual appetite was now on his mind. It felt as though it was growing beyond his control.

My name is Greg. I had just turned 18 a few days ago, and my parents invited the entire family to our house to celebrate. It was great seeing them all, but the very next day my parents left for a wedding with my sister, and I was left home alone. It was a beautiful day, so I went for a walk, and then to a movie with some friends. I got home in the evening, I took a shower, and then I decided to go clubbing, since I was in no mood to be alone. So, I put on the nicest clothes I owned, and went to a nice night club. It was full of men, and I soon discovered it was a gay club, but I thought, "What's the harm?", and I decided to stay. I went to the bar, ordered a cocktail, and then found an empty booth. I watched the crowd on the dancing floor and the various couples dancing and talking. I felt kinda out of place, because I was a skinny little boy, I weighed 110lbs, and was virtually hairless. All the other men were huge, muscular and extremely hairy. I decided I was going to finish my cocktail, and then go home. As I put the empty glass on the table, I heard a voice say, "Hi there!". I turned around, and I saw one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. He was considerably taller than I was. He had a military haircut, he looked like he didn't shave for a few days and he had a killer smile. He wore a white sleeveless shirt, shorts and sandals. The shirt revelead his massive biceps, and I could see hair peeking from the top of his shirt. His shorts revelead some massive, muscular hairy legs. This guy was like a Greek god. "Hi there," he repeated, waking me up from my revery. "Is this seat taken?" he asked. "No, go ahead," I replied nervously, feeling my face getting red. I got up, getting ready to leave, but he grabbed my hand gently. "Wait, you're not leaving already," he said smiling. "Sit down, and have a drink with me." His smile was so charming, I couldn't resist. I sat down next to him, and we spent the next half hour chatting. I found out his name was Mike, he was 35 years old, and he was a professional fighter. A few times, he put his massive arms around my shoulders, and I thought I was going to faint from his touch. "So," he continued. "Why is cute little piece of ass like yourself all alone, Greg?" "Oh, well....well..." I stammered. "I just wanted to....go out, because I was home alone. " I said, blushing yet again, making him chuckle. "But I think I should go, it's getting late." "Come on, " Mike said. "Let's dance." He took my hand, leading me to the dancefloor. The music suddenly changed, and a slow, romantic song began to play. I noticed all men began to dance in pairs, and I felt like I was going to faint again. Mike took me in his arms, took my hands, leading them to his neck, and he pressed our bodies together. The feeling of his solid body pressed against mine was incredible. I began to sink my finger deep into his muscular back, enjoying him. At one point, our eyes met, and he looked at me with a very serious look on his face. He leaned in and gently kissed my lips. I looked at him and gave him a shy smile. I heard him growl, as he kissed me aggressively this time. He was like an animal, and I loved it. I have never kissed another man, but this was incredible. He broke the kiss, looking at me. "What do you say we blow this joint, and head back to my place, little dude?" I nodded, as if I was under a spell. He grinned again, and he took my hand, leading me out of the club. The nice, warm night air hit me in the face. We got into his car, and he drove us to his apartment. He parked in front of his building, and he opened the door for me. We climbed the stairs together, and I was beginning to have some doubts about this. He opened the door to his apartment, and let me in first. His place was kinda modest, but it was nice and cosy. I looked on his window to the great view. "Wow, " I whimpered. "The view is beautiful." "Mmmm, " he said, as I felt him behind me. His hands were around my waist, and he was gently kissing the back of my neck. "We're finally alone, baby." My heart was beating, like it was ready to explode. I turned around, and looked at him. I caressed his hairy cheek. My God, he was so handsome. "Mike?' I said, my voice trembling. "There's something I need to tell you, and i hope you won't get mad. The thing is....I have never done this before." "You mean to tell me, you're a virgin?" he said grinning. "Yes," I said, and I felt like such an idiot. "That is absolutely great, baby, " he said gently. It's very exciting for me to know that I will be your first. He grabbed me, pressed me against him, and kissed me so hard, my knees turned into butter. "Go to my bedroom," he said. "Get out of those clothes, and wait for me. I have to make a phone call first." I went to his bedroom, and I felt my heart beating faster than it ever did. I slowly took of my clothes, leaving just my underpants. I heard his voice, as he said goodbye over the phone, and then his footsteps. I turned around, and I saw him standing in the doorway, stark naked. My God, what a man. He was huge, muscular, extremely hairy, and hung as a horse. "Mmmm, you're a sexy boy," he said grinning. "I'm gonna have a lot of fun dominating you, baby." He walked towards me, and I thought I was gonna die. He pulled me close to him, and he pressed his naked body against mine. Wow, what a rush. I loved feeling his hairy chest, and huge biceps. "Mike? Can you do something for me?" I asked him. "Sure, baby. Anything." "I love how much bigger you are than me," I went on, my voice trembling. "Will you lay on top of me, with your full weight? I want to feel your bulk, I want you to crush me." "Baby," he said. "I have no problem, but you're so small, and tender, I don't wanna hurt you. " "You won't hurt me," i said, as I laid on my back on his bed. "I need to feel you." His face was dead-serious now. He climbed in bed with me, and he straddled me with his feet. "Are you sure, baby?" he asked leaning over me. "Yes", I answered, putting my hands on his muscular shoulders. He took both my hands, and he pinned them to the bed, intertwining our fingers. His smell was strong and pungent, with a mixture of sweat and cologne. He then, began to lick my chest, up to my neck, making me gasp. "It seems I found your weak spot.", he said smiling. He laid his full body on top of me, fully covering me. He then kissed me, aggressively and dominantly. He took my hands, and put them around his muscular body. "Feel my muscles, boy", he growled in my ear. I buried my fingers deep in to his back. He pulled the hair at the back of my head, and he exposed my neck. I whimpered again, and I heard him growl like an animal. He began to kiss, lick and suck on my neck, with so much passion. He inserted his fingers in my hole, preparing me for his huge tool. He opened his drawer and took out a condom. "Go ahead," he told me. "Slip it on my dick." I took out the condom, and put it on his huge dick. He then pushed me on my back, and kissed me again. "Be gentle, please." I told him. He slowly inserted his dick in my hole, and I thought I was going to pass out from the pain. "Does it always hurt so much?" I asked. "It does at first." he said. "Now, just relax, baby. I want you to enjoy this. I want you to always remember me." His movements got steadier, and slowly the pain turned into pleasure. The air in the room was hot and sticky, and that caused him to sweat even more. I played with the hairs on his chest, and pulled him on top of me again. "Kiss me, Mike" I told him. He covered my lips with his, and kissed me so hot and heavy. I threw my head back. "Please, Mike, bite my neck." I swear I heard him growl again, as he buried his teeth deep into my skin. I could tell he was getting ready, as he took of his condom, and shot his load, on my belly. He collapsed on top of me, pinning me with his big, sweaty, muscular body. "You're mine, boy," he said, as he licked my neck. "All mine."

Really appreciate all the feedback and encouragement, gentlemen. Glad you're enjoying it. No transformative growth in this chapter. Hope you like it regardless. Part 7: Brent Brent shuffled through the turnstile and adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder as he pushed the glass doors open and walked out into the morning air. He had foregone a shower and the heat wave wasn't helping, but he wasn't going to spend a minute in that locker room that he didn't have to. He could grab a quick shower back at rez before he headed to the library. He didn't have to deal with this crap. His class load for second year looked like it would murder any free time he had, and that was assuming he could squeeze a pass out of Argumentative Theory, which was hardly a guarantee. If he made the team it would suck up any free time he had left, and he had no desire to spend it with a team full of guys who hated him. Brent pulled out his phone to check the time. It was going to be tight. He checked a text message from his brother. Below it was the draft of an unsent message to Mahtab. Im sorry can we plz talk He held his thumb over the send icon. "Yo Brent wait up!" Brent put his phone to sleep and back in his pocket as he turned to see spritely little Nate jogging up from behind. Brent cringed. Nate hadn't joined in on the passive aggressive hostilities and veiled homophobic slurs but Brent doubted he had anything nice to say. Nate smiled that crooked mischievous, dimple-pinching smirk he always wore as he caught up to Brent. "Shit dude, you can really move. That beef don't slow you down too much." His reedy Kentucky drawl seemed friendly enough, but Brent wasn't in the mood to extend the benefit of the doubt. "Yeah," he mumbled, turning and continuing on his way. He sighed impatiently as Nate fell in step next to him. Nate chuckled. "You were outa there in a hurry, man." "Can you blame me?" Nate waved his hand. "Pfft. Don't let those pussies get to you man. You seen the record this season? Fuckin losers oughta find a new hobby, ask me. You don't need to deal with that crap." Nate pulled a pack of Pall Malls out of his gym back and fiddled a cigarette out. Nate was a head shorter than Brent, probably five-six or seven. He was one of the shorter guys on the team but he was fast and could still do some damage. "Yeah well..." Brent tread carefully. He felt like he was being set up. "I don't know if it's about that, and... I dunno." Except that he did know. Everyone was angry about what happened to Tyler and Farhan. Nate offered a cigarette to Brent, who shook his head, and Nate fired up a lighter. He shook his head with a groan once he had the cigarette lit. "What, Ty and Farhan? Whatever man. Not your fault Ty was juicing and Farhan's a cokehead." "Maybe. But who the hell screens for drugs at the END of a season?" Nate took a drag. "Fuck that. Not your problem." Brent sighed. "Someone else's problem but still my fault." Nate chuckled. "You really did blow up overnight, man. Was somethin else. How'd you even do that 'nyway? Legit workout plan or what?" Brent knew better than to tell the truth but "I don't know it just happened" had started wearing thin, even after his drug test came back clean as a whistle. He couldn't help but think back to the night at the Black Eagle, as he stared down as his growing cock, swelling pecs, that big guy next to him making great strides not to look at him... Well, Nate, I'm pretty sure it was a magic spell. Which sounded better? Nate stifled a strange giggle. "Oh man." Brent looked at him. "Huh?" Nate took another puff from his cigarette. "Nuthin. You don't have to tell me tho, man, I like the mystery." "Seriously, Nate, I really don't..." "S'all good, man, don't worry 'bout it," Nate chuckled. "Looks good on ya, by the way." Brent raised a suspicious eyebrow. "... Thanks?" Nate smirked. "You got any exams left?" "Just Argumentative Theory on Friday." Nate laughed. "Aww man, modes o' reasoning? Good fuckin luck dude." "Yeah I'm not looking forward to it." "What about after?" Nate asked. "Stayin around for the summer or... you're from Thunder Bay right?" "Yeah," Brent nodded, though he didn't recall ever mentioning it. "That far?" "Yeah it’s like a day’s drive. I'm stayin in T-dot. Subletting an apartment on Sheppard." Brent liked that they weren't talking about the team anymore but couldn't shake the feeling he was being tricked somehow. "What about you are you going back to the States?" "Naw man, I'm stayin on rez for the summer." Nate flicked ash from his cigarette and examined how much was left. "In Winters. Should come party sometime." "Uhh... yeah. Sure." Couldn't hurt. "N'fact you doin anything tonight? We should grab a drink at the Underground or something." Brent frowned. Not he was sure this was a trap. Nate laughed. "Would you stop with that man? Lookin at me like I'm about to mug you or somethin." "Sorry I uhh... I can't though I gotta study for this exam, man." "All fuckin day? It's like ten AM!" Nate scoffed. "I really sucked at this class dude I can't afford to..." "Naw man, you're not gonna retain any of that shit if you just go nonstop." Nate gave him another impish smile with his eyes sparkling. "Aright look, why don't you go back to rez, study all day, then meet me at the Underground at like seven, right? Have a few drinks, take a break, go back and get some more readin done so you can dream 'bout strawman arguments and fallacious appeals to authority. An' if you ain't there I'm gonna drag you outa your room. Outa concern for your mental health." Nate gave him a smack on the shoulder and jogged across the street. "See ya then man." Brent felt himself grinning for the first time that day. "You don't even know where I live." Nate had turned up the traffic circle around campus but turned, walking backwards as he shouted back. "Stong; ninth floor! Seven sharp, bro!" Brent furrowed his brow, shrugged, and continued on his way, crossing his fingers and hoping a shower was free. *** "Mister Dietrich?" Jamie looked up from reading the back of Pride & Prejudice & Zombies and at the little girl he'd swear he'd never seen before who apparently knew his name. It wasn't until he looked her over and saw that her right arm ended just above the elbow that he clued in. "Abbie? Holy shit Abbie?" She smiled and nodded, glancing behind her. "Yeah." "Oh wow I didn't recognize you at all." He put the book back on the shelf and stepped towards her. "Yeah I, uhh... I've been dying my hair for a while." She had a weird look in her eye and took a step back. Jamie stopped. "Are you... is everything ok?" "Yeah just..." she looked back and forth. "Daddy uhh... Daddy said I'm not supposed to... talk, to..." she trailed off. What the fuck? Jamie raised his head, scanning for a face he'd recognize among the other patrons of the BMV. "Is he here?" Abbie shook her head. "No I just..." she dropped her eyes to the floor. "Hey, it's all right." Jamie wanted to reassure her but didn't want to make her feel any more uncomfortable. He paused. "What did your dad say about me?" Abbie shook her head. "I'm sorry. Seriously, I didn't believe him." "It's okay, hon," Jamie sighed. "He said... he said there was something wrong with you. Mom thinks you're crazy." That fucking Sheila Morris. Now that was a pot to kettle scenario if he'd ever heard one. Jamie felt himself getting angrier and angrier but kept his cool. None of that was Abbie's fault. "Is that... he told you that's why I'm not working with him anymore?" Abbie nodded. "He said you had a.... a nervous breakdown?" Christ what a fucking tool. Jamie shook his head and leaned on the bookshelf. "Well Abbie I know I don't need to tell you your dad's a bit of a dick sometimes." Abbie smiled. She took a step forward and put her only full arm around him. "I'm sorry. I missed you." Jamie hugged her back. "Me too hon." They embraced a moment before she stepped back again, fiddling with a charm hanging off her backpack. "Shouldn't you be in school?" "P A day," she replied with a shrug. "I'm meeting Laura for a movie. Furious 7." She rolled her eyes. "Gonna be so dumb. " Jamie shrugged. "Yeah probably." "Daddy's been such an asshole. He won't let me watch the Sopranos. He hid his boxed set." "I'm tellin you, Abbie, learn how to torrent and you'll be the most popular kid in school." Abbie smiled. "I should go, the movie's at one." Jamie pointed his thumb behind him at nowhere in particular. "Yeah I'm meeting someone too." Abbie waved and turned to go. "I'll add you on Facebook. My dad can go fuck himself." Jamie put a hand to his heart. "Aww, that's so sweet. Bye Abbie." He felt his fist clenching at his side. That fucking garbage asshole son of a bitch Harold Morris could eat a shit sandwich and die. Jamie had already encountered vestiges of some rumour about him when he had gone for interviews at new agencies. He had assumed it wasn't all total bullshit. But if Morris wanted to ruin his reputation in the industry, that was one thing. Involving Abbie was just fucking gross. Jamie had babysat her for years. He'd had to tell her what periods were. He'd introduced her to the Powerpuff Girls. They were friends, and Jamie had always been proud that she had an adult she trusted when she felt she couldn't go to her parents. What's more, he had been friends with Morris too. They hadn't spoken since Jamie left the agency but he'd always hoped they'd be able to put it behind them at some point. Jamie rehearsed lectures he'd give to Morris as he left the BMV. It was beautiful out. There was supposed to be a high of like twenty-three or something and even his light jacket seemed too much. He tried to forget about Morris and by the time he got to the Green Beanery, he had pretty much succeeded. Adam was already there. They waved to each other but Jamie got a coffee - from a barista he was fairly certain he'd slept with years earlier - before going over to the table. "Hey man," Adam smiled as he took out his earbuds. "How's things?" "Hey." Jamie nodded and threw his jacket over the seat back before he sat down. "Good. You?" "All right. I was just at U of T, I'm gonna take a couple courses in the fall." "Awesome." Jamie tried to take a sip of coffee but it was still way too hot. He leaned over the table. "Hey do you remember that day we met up at Java and I brought the guy I'd been hanging out with?" He whispered conspiratorially. "Uhh..." "You were with Melissa and Jenn. It was Nuit Blanche that night." Adam nodded. "Oh yeah, okay." Jamie tilted his head towards the counter. "Was it that guy?" Adam glanced over and grinned wide. "I think it was." Jamie nodded. "Just checkin." "Hey so... I just wanted to apologize again for that night it was..." Jamie sighed. "Don't worry about it, Adam. It was a shock but.... it's fine, honestly. It's been, uhh, interesting knowledge to carry around." He tested his coffee again. Still too hot. "You still... doin that?" Adam nodded with a chuckle. "Fuck, dude. Nearly every day I don't work nights. Cass is getting better and better, too. It's amazing." "Does anyone else know about it?" Jamie asked, dusting some sugar from the tabletop. "Some of Cass' friends. I've wanted to tell my buddy Keith but... I dunno.” Adam shook his head. “Well, actually, this is kinda the reason I wanted to talk.” Adam looked around, and grabbed his bag up from off the floor and onto his lap. He fished a notebook out of it. “I… well maybe it’ll be easier just to read it.” Adam flipped the cover open and handed it to Jamie. Scrawled all over the page was a letter written in Adam’s handwriting. The paper was worn, and the letter had been exhaustively edited, with multiple words replaced and whole paragraphs scribbled out. Jamie was about to ask why he didn’t just write in pencil but suppressed the urge. It read: “Hi, You’re receiving this because you’re a friend, colleague, or family member of myself, Adam Fauvelle. I’m writing you to prepare you for what may seem like a shocking and sudden transition, which may defy conventional logic. I know it might seem silly or juvenile, but I always wanted to be a much physically larger person, but it had always seemed impossible. I’ve discovered a way I can realize my dream, and have decided to go through with it. This is not a surgical procedure, and I can assure you it is safe and there is no risk of danger. There are going to be some logistical issues with being this size, but please be assured that I have put a great deal of thought into this and understand these issues. This is what I want, and I hope that you care enough about me to respect my decision. If you would like to ask me anything about it, feel free to do so and I will answer your concerns as best I can. Thanks for reading.” Jamie set the notebook down, closed it and paused. “So wait… you’re talking about being that size… like in public?” “I’m talking about being bigger all the time,” said Adam. “I thought it only lasts like six hours or something.” “There’s different ways of doing it,” Adam explained. “Cassidy could have made any of those changes permanent.” “Adam,” Jamie looked at him uncertainly. “I know you say here you’ve thought about it, but... I mean, are you really sure about this? This is… this would change your whole life. I mean… how would you even get around when you’re too big for a car?” “Jamie I’ve talked a lot of this out with Cass,” Adam leaned closer on his elbows. “We’ve planned a lot of that kinda stuff out. There’s gonna be a few trade-offs, sure, but this is what I want.” “But why?” asked Jamie. “I mean if you get off on it, that’s one thing. What do you have to gain from this?” Adam sighed. “Jamie…” he held out his hand, gesturing as he spoke, “when I’m bigger, I feel like this is who I am. I…” he paused, dropped his hand to the table and looked out the window. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but this feels like a mask, like a… costume.” He waved his hands down his body. “I feel like I’m living a lie.” “Adam, listen to me,” Jamie tapped the notebook with his finger. “This? Will not be enough. People won’t know how to react to you. This will get you media attention, probably the cops, the government; are you prepared for all that? For ANY of that?” Adam looked down into his coffee, slowly rotating it back and forth on the table. Jamie leaned forward and put his hand on Adam's arm. "Hey, look, you know I love you right? You deserve to be who you wanna be, it's just... now you can have your cake and eat it too, I don't get why you would wanna mess with that." "I told you. I mean you understand, right?" Adam pointed at him. "You had to pretend to be someone you're not." "Oh come on, Adam," Jamie withdrew his hand and leaned back. "We're all living a fucking lie. That's all any of this is." He waved a hand at their surroundings. "The only thing that keeps any of this from collapsing in on itself is a long list of lies we've all agreed to indulge." Adam rolled his eyes. "Oh here we go." "Well what do you want, Adam? We're all making identity sacrifices. You shouldn't see being a regular-sized human as a personal failing or an... obstacle preventing your self-actualization." Jamie sighed, sitting up. "Look, if there's no talking you out of this then fine, do whatever you want. But if you were running this past me to get my take on it, I think it's a really bad idea." Adam looked like he was about to protest, but stopped himself, tapping his foot restlessly. "All right... fair enough." "I'm here for you though, whatever you decide, okay?" Jamie smiled encouragingly. Adam cracked a grin and nodded. "So..." Jamie said slowly, "are we talking anytime soon or..." Adam shrugged. "Kinda up in the air. Cass wants to get more practice in using the permanent method." Jamie took a gulp of coffee. "How're you gonna do that?" Adam grinned bashfully. "We've been bouncin around a few ideas." Jamie leaned forward. "Do tell." *** Brent descended the stairs into the Underground glancing around apprehensively. One eye was looking for Nate, the other for anyone else on the team. Jayson and Luke were frequent patrons, and while they had held off on being openly hostile to him he knew they were talking about him to the rest of the team. He didn't want to have to worry about them all night. If they were there he’d just make Nate go to the Ab instead. He was halfway through scanning the room when he felt fingers tickling his side. He turned to see Nate standing there giggling. "Sup, big guy?" He smiled, stepping in front of Brent and leading him down the rest of the stairs. "All studied up?" "Goin good, yeah," Brent nodded. "You were right, though. Definitely could use a break." "Course I am," Nate slapped his hands together. "Awright, you find us a table I'll grab a pitcher." Nate loped off to the bar, his cute little ass bouncing along behind him. Brent turned and found a table near the back corner. It was the only free table with a booth attached, though the place was mostly empty. Full enough to keep its skeleton crew busy, though. It was all exams and packing and whatever. Farhan had told him to expect a lull at year's end right before all the partying took off at full tilt. And now more than ever Brent assumed Farhan was the authority on partying - though it was, of course, fallacious to assume his assertions were logical. Brent really felt like he was getting hit on but he was pretty sure Nate was straight. He'd just assumed he was the only homo in the football hopefuls, otherwise no one would have made such a big deal when he'd come out. Unless he was in the closet to them, or... Brent sighed. It had been such a weird year. He had considered holding out a year and coming out in second year, just so he had a foundation first as a normal straight football bro. Maybe that would've been for the best, but when he got to Toronto everything had just been gay alliance this and solidarity this and they had a gay radio station for Christ's sake. Proud FM. 103.9. A year straight just seemed like a wasted opportunity. Still, maybe a year of just being one of the guys would've been a good buffer. Nate finally came back with a pitcher and two glasses. "Fuck, man. Service is balls 'round here." Brent shrugged. "Exam season." Nate slid in across from him and poured them both a pint, then raised his. "To first year down." Brent grinned. "Nearly." They clinked their glasses together and both took a long draw. "So..." Brent began, "uhh... how do you like Canada?" Nate chuckled. "That was a cold fuckin winter man." "You think it's bad down here you should come up to Thunder Bay." "I like that the drinking age is nineteen," said Nate, taking another swig, and shrugged. "I dunno. It's been fun. Gon' stick it out for a few years. Hey," he leaned forward and lowered his voice, "feel bad not gettin to know you more over the season, man." Brent shrugged, sipping his beer. "You just always had your little straight posse aroun' and I was like naw, he's got all that goin on." Straight posse? Brent paused, giving him a look. Nate grinned wider. "Didn't know I was queer?" Brent blushed. "Uhh... no, I... umm..." Nate chuckled, leaning back. "S'cool, brah." "I thought I was the only, uhh... y'know, gay guy on the team." Brent took a big swig of beer and realized he'd drained the glass. Nate laughed. "Don't mean to steal your thunder, man. But, uhh..." he smirked. "S' not just you an' me, either." Brent stopped in the middle of refilling his pint. "Really? Who?" Nate snickered and tipped the pitcher in Brent's hand, emptying the rest into his glass. "I never kiss and tell." He slid out of the booth and took the empty pitcher from Brent. "I'll get us a refill." Brent shook his head, pushing his chair back. "Hey I got this one." Nate drew the pitcher back, as if trying to keep it out of reach from him. "Nah nah, man. S'on me tonight." He darted off with his seemingly ever-present chuckle before Brent had a chance to object further. So maybe Nate wasn't flirty with everyone after all. Just goes to show you, Brent supposed. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, or more properly: the informal fallacy of argument from ignorance. Brent checked his phone as a figure appeared next to him. He assumed it to be a waiter. "We're good thanks," he glanced up with a polite grin. Then he looked again. "Oh, hey Tyler." Tyler was the biggest guy on the team, though after Brent's little boost he had closed the gap quite a bit. Nevertheless, Tyler was puffing out his chest as much as he could. Rob was standing behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and being ignored. "Oh," Tyler mocked sarcastically. "Hey asshole." His slurring speech and hazy eyes gave pretty good indication of his state of mind. "Ty c'mon, let's just go man," Rob tried to nudge him away, but Tyler shook him off.Brent felt himself blushing. People were starting to look. "Tyler, I told you, I'm sorry," Brent apologized quietly. "I don't know how..." "Oh you're sorry, you're soooooo sorry. Fuckin pussy." He staggered a bit. He was pretty far gone for, like, seven-thirty on a Wednesday. Rob helped steady him. "Not sorry enough to quit the team. Or tell me how you fucking did it." "Ty, fuck man," Rob hissed, "everyone's looking at you." "'Sup guys?" Nate chirped as he shouldered past Rob to get to the table. He sat down as Tyler glared at him. "Whoa-ho-ho, dawg," he laughed, "THIS is awkward." "What the fuck, Nate?" "Ty, come on! Fuckin christ." "What THE fuck, Ty?" Nate spat. "What'd you even come over here for? Just to be a tool?" "Fuck you you fucking traitor!" Tyler brushed Rob away when he grabbed him by the arm. "I put three fucking years into that team and now I'm fucked for my last year. Cuz of this fuckin faggot." The straight couple next to them gasped and the girl shook her head, muttering "Jesus Christ" under her breath. "Ty c'mon man that's not cool. Let's bounce, bro." Rob had a hard time straddling trying to give him commands and pleading with him. Brent pushed his chair back. "I'm gonna go." "What?" Nate looked annoyed for the first time since Brent had met him. Nate shook his head. "Naw man, look. Don't go nowhere," he pointed at Brent, and then to Tyler. "And Imma make this real simple for you, Ty," he'd fallen back into his lazily happy half-smile. "You don't fuck off right now and I'll tell all these nice people what you did in Chantal's room after she went to class." Tyler stopped, looking suddenly a lot paler and a lot more sober. "Buh... bullshit. How... you don't fuckin... you don't know shit." Nate giggled. "Really wanna make that bet, brah?" Tyler just stood there for a second before Rob leaned in close. "I'm fuckin outa here. You don't come with me now, good luck gettin your drunk ass home." True to his word, Rob walked off briskly. Tyler swayed on his feet for a second before he stumbled after him. "Fuckin cocksuckin fags." "Oh my god," said the girl next to them. "What a fuckin 'tard." "Right?" Nate grinned at her before turning back to Brent. "Just jealous there's a bigger fish in town." Brent smiled back feebly as Nate topped up their glasses. Nate pushed Brent's pint toward him. "Y'all right, man?" "Yeah yeah just..." he glanced around. People had stopped staring but a few eyes glanced at him every now and then. But maybe that was only because he was scoping out the place like a paranoid weirdo. "What'd he do at Chantal's?" Brent asked. Nate shook his head coyishly. "He kept up his end of the bargain, man..." "How do you even know about it?" "You met Chantal Vandenberg? From Calumet? Just stand in front of her for five minutes." Nate chugged half a pint and smacked his lips. "She set up a... one sec," he belched after a pause, "she put a nanny cam in her room 'n case she gets date-raped." Brent made a face. "Jesus. That's horrible." Nate shrugged. "S'not a bad idea. Fuck, man," he shook his head. "Bein' a girl these days? We lucked out, dude. Big time. Fuck, I'd be so fuckin paranoid I wouldn't even go out with guys. Get pepper spray installed in my arms," he pressed his middle fingers into his palm and pointed his wrist at Brent. "Psshhh! Like Spider-Man." Brent chuckled. "You know they're not like in his arms, right?" Nate rolled his eyes. "Yeah in this new... whatsisname... Andrew Garfield crap." "Well yeah," Brent nodded. "Comics too, though." He shrugged. "Andrew Garfield's so hot though, right?" "Naw man, not my type. I just, mmph," he shook his head, grinning about whatever he was thinking about. "I love big muscles." Brent grinned shyly. "Beginning of the season I was so into Ty, man. 'Got no idea. I was like creepin his Facebook and jackin off to his instagram an' all that. Mmph." He polished off his pint and poured himself another. "Then 'turned out he was a douche and it kinda killed it for me." "Must be nice," Brent sighed. "I fall for douches all the time." "Naw, not me, man," Nate's smile widened. "I'm like, the best judge of character you'll ever meet. S'like a mutant power." "Yeah?" Brent raised an eyebrow. "What's your spidey sense tell you about me?" Nate grinned, licked his teeth, and leaned back, putting his arms out on the back of the booth. "You're a good dude; total sweetheart; bit of a romantic; kinda bashful; WAY hotter than you think you are, an' that you got a big ole cock." Brent had to stifle a laugh and nearly spit out his beer, blushing furiously. "See?" Nate pointed at him over his pint glass. "I can fuckin call that shit, man." Brent wiped beer from his chin, still laughing, and spread his hands confessionally. "What can I say? You can fuckin call em." They clinked their glasses together and took long drinks through their smiles, watching each other the whole time. *** Jamie approached his condo door with his key out but found it already unlocked. He opened it and peered inside. "D?" he called. "Jamie?" Drew answered back from the bedroom. He rushed out, still in his suit, and sighed, hugging Jamie and kissing him on the cheek. "You fucking asshole. Where were you? Why didn't you answer my texts?" "Sorry," Jamie shrugged. "My phone was dead. Too much Hearthstone. Sorry, I figured I'd be back by the time you got home. Aren't you early?" "Viola gave me a ride," said Drew. He withdrew. Jamie smirked. "You don't have to worry about me, I'm a big boy." "Well you usually message me and let me know," said Drew, shrugging out of his suit jacket. "Why didn't you this time?" Jamie took off his jacket and hung it up by the door, fishing his keys out of his coat pocket. "It was just kinda last minute." He found them and stuffed them into his jeans. "Adam just had to drop by U of T to enrol and asked if I'd grab a coffee with him." "Oh..." Drew paused halfway through undoing his tie. "What, uhh... he had to come all the way down? They can't do that online?" Jamie shrugged. "I dunno, we didn't talk about it too much." "What DID you talk about?" asked Drew, with, Jamie sensed, a note of rising hostility. "He's thinking about making some changes in his life. Wanted to run it past me." He kicked off his shoes and kissed Drew before walking past him to the fridge. "I was just thinkin salad for dinner. There's all that pasta from last night too. That cool with you?" He grabbed a bottle of beer off the door and went to the drawer for an opener. "Uhh, sure..." Drew nodded curtly, blinking. "So... what kind of changes are we talking about?" Jamie opened a corkscrew and popped the cap off his bottle. He tilted his head uncertainly. "Well it's... kinda personal. I don't think he'd want me to tell you." He offered the open bottle to Drew, who shook his head. "No thanks. Did he say that? That you couldn't tell anyone?" Jamie didn't like where this was going. He didn't want to lie to Drew and by that point he hadn't. Not really, anyway. Nothing he couldn't spin. But he had a feeling Drew wasn't in a half-answer mood. "Well no..." he admitted after a pause. "But... it's not the kind of thing you want to broadcast." "And it's 'broadcasting' if you tell me?" Drew's voice was starting to waver a bit, the way it did when he was trying to hold back a simmering rage. "D are you... like really pissed off about this?" He set his beer on the counter and took a step towards Drew, putting his hands on his hips. Drew's jaw was trembling. He paused, and looked away, trying to avoid Jamie's gaze. Jamie took his hand from Drew's hip and rubbed his neck. "Hey..." "I just... what's going on, Jamie?" Drew had raised his voice but was still holding back. "I mean... you gossip about fucking everybody and then whenever Adam comes up it's just... small talk and..." he twisted out of Jamie's arms and walked to the living room, sitting down on the couch. He sighed, put his face in his hands for a minute, then looked up. "You know I don't care if you fuck around. We talked about this." Jamie shook his head. "Jesus! D, I am not having sex with Adam." "But if you were I wouldn't give a shit and you know that," Drew countered. "So whatever actually IS going on is somehow worse." "God, Drew, you seriously have..." "Just fucking TELL me!" Drew shouted. "It can't be as bad as what I've imagined. It can't be. Is it more than sex? Are you in love with him? Are you going to take off together?" "D, god dammit. Calm down, you..." "Why won't you fuck me?" Jamie stopped in mid-sentence and entirely forgot what he had been trying to say. He just stared at him like he'd just pulled a gun on him. "I... I've been trying, it just... it's not about you." "The night after you spent the night at Adam's," Drew reminded him. "I couldn't make you cum and I haven't been able to since." Jamie just stood there. "You're telling me that nothing happened up there?" Jamie sighed, and sat down next to him. He stared at the coffee table for a minute, then sighed again. "All right... look, it's going to sound ridiculous. Ridiculous; it's going to sound fucking impossible. But I need you to believe me, okay? I don't like keeping secrets from you but when you hear this you'll understand why. But I can't hold you to that. I can't make you promise to believe me. But I DO need you to promise not to tell anyone. Like, at all. Even if you don't believe me, if you think I'm a liar or a maniac. Drew. PROMISE me you will NOT tell anyone." The look Drew gave him was something he had never seen from him before, even when they'd first met. It was a look of suspicious uncertainty and hesitation. Like Drew didn't think he could trust him. Like he didn't know him. It tripped Jamie up in a way he was unused to and he thought that maybe that's what the first crack feels like on what will one day be a broken heart. He wanted to tell Drew he loved him - to remind him - because not long ago he had known it as a fundamental truth of his universe, and now it was something brittle and delicate. But Drew nodded, and maybe that meant that he wanted to believe the fantastic story Jamie was about to tell. That may have been all Jamie needed. "Ok. So you remember that e-mail Adam sent me, right?" *** Go home, you big sexy Casanova. You have studying to do, you intriguing, beefy lothario. You don't want to fail this class you knee-melting, cock-stiffening adonis. Brent was conflicted. Nate was saying all the right things, buttering him up with compliments that hit all the right notes. Tyler and football season were distant memories or entries in someone else's diary. Argumentative Theory? C'mon guys. Couldn't we all just get along? And he was so cute, too. Normally Brent was more into bigger guys. Men taller than him were hard to come by but got him so hot. Nate was pretty short next to Brent, and he wouldn't stop talking about how big Brent was which only made it more noticeable, but Brent found himself finding him sexier and sexier every time he looked at him. That smirk didn't look like he was trying to pull off a trick, it looked like a puppy delighted to be around him. Nate was just a happy guy. As Brent followed him back to Winters, Nate talked about growing up in Louisville. Turned out his parents were loaded, and also kind of assholes. “Nah man, we couldn't call ‘er a ‘nanny,’” he said between laughs, “too middle class. Sofia was an ‘au pair.’” “Fancy.” “Yeah… 't just sucked after I graduated they let ‘er go… she went back to Arizona,” he flicked his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk. “You see her anymore at all?” Nate shrugged. “Nah… gonna see about going for Christmas this year.” “You're not gonna spend it with your family?” asked Brent. Nate shook his head. “She's my mom, s’ far as I'm concerned.” Nate had a single room on the second floor. They climbed the stairs and Nate showed Brent inside. It was a bit messy but not nothing too bad. There was a Detroit Tigers pennant on the bulletin board and two posters on the wall, a one-sheet of the movie Face/Off and a black and white photo of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a black tank in the jungle holding an M16. Probably from Predator, Brent guessed. Nate saw Brent looking. “Ever seen Commando?” “No.” “Oh man,” Nate laughed, kicking off his shoes as he sat on the bed. “it's so shit. But I love Arnie, man.” “Yeah he's pretty cool,” Brent agreed. Nate leaned back on his elbows as he watched Brent worry out of his shoes. “Mmph,” Nate shook his head. “You're so thick, man.” Brent blushed and Nate rubbed the bed next to him. “C’mere.” “I haven't, like… I'm not super-experienced…” Brent admitted anxiously, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Nate just smiled wider and patted the bed next to him. Brent shambled over. His hands were sweating and he thought his jaw was shaking, despite it being hot as hell in that room. Nate adjusted himself as Brent sat down next to him. “You don' gotta be nervous, man…” Nate drawled quietly. “Nothin’s gonna happen ‘nless you want it to, man.” Brent nodded, smiling politely. The signals were coming in loud and clear but he didn't trust his receivers, and some ratlike little thought at the back corner of his brain kept scratching at the baseboard squeaking “It's a trick! It's a trick!” Nate leaned over the low headboard and reached into a minifridge Brent hadn't realized was there. “‘Nother beer, man?” “Huh? Oh, no…” Brent answered, his mind still racing. Still doubting his instincts, still suspicious of Nate in spite of everything, and he felt like an asshole for that lingering distrust even after Nate had stood up for him. Brent felt a warm hand gripping his shoulder. “Hey man…” said Nate. “I know it's been a weird time for you, dude. Know the team hasn’ made it any easier. But… I do like you, man. ‘M on your side.” Brent sighed, nodding. “I know, I… thanks for dealing with Tyler.” Nate smirked. “Forget Tyler, man.” Nate slid his hand down Brent's arm, rubbing his thick bicep. “I’ll help.” And then they were kissing. Nate groped his pec and pushed him back, giving himself enough room to kneel in Brent's lap, straddling his thigh. He leaned down and they kissed again. Nate’s hands were all over his chest, his arms, his shoulders, squeezing every muscle and moaning as his tongue roved around Brent's mouth as if taking detailed notes. “Fuck, man,” he breathed as their mouths parted, a sliver of drool trailing between them for a second before it slopped across Nate’s chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “You're so hot, dude. Got no idea.” Brent smiled, and went in for another kiss but found Nate's fingers under his shirt and yanking it up. He raised his arms to give him a hand. Nate giggled. “Might be time to upsize, man.” They tumbled around undressing each other, Nate fondling Brent as they went, until finally they were down to their jockey shorts, each full of bulging erections. “Shit, dude,” Nate laughed, “you're fuckin’ packin.” He pulled off his briefs and the elastic snapped as Brent's hard cock bobbed out in front of him, over eight thick inches long. Brent smiled, and bid a silent thank you to the mystery bear. Nate gave his own dick a squeeze as he slid off the bed onto his knees. He took a gob of sweat from his mouth to lube up his palm and started stroking Brent's cock. Brent leaned back and moaned. Nate giggled and kissed Brent’s knee. He stroked faster and faster as he started kissing up Brent's thigh until Nate's face was pressed up against his junk. Nate moved his hand to Brent's balls and took his cock in his mouth. Brent grunted and sat up, putting his hand on Nate's head, rubbing his buzzcut as it bobbed up and down on his lap. Nate's hand slid off his balls, wriggled under Brent until he had two fingers up his ass. Brent took Nate's other hand from off his thigh, guiding it up to his chest. Nate moaned as he groped his pec, then rubbed down Brent's side, his thumb tracing veins and lines in every muscle group. Brent felt so big. He hadn't been with anyone since he'd been beefed up and he couldn't get over it. His dick was so thick and hard and throbbing in Nate's wet, hot mouth, and he could tell Nate was getting off on it, too. His moans were getting louder and louder and his fingers pushed deeper up Brent's ass. Brent felt his cock aching in anticipation of release. Brent came and Nate coughed. Nate lifted off him, cum drooling out of his grin, as he stroked out the remainder of Brent's copious load onto his chest. Brent gasped as currents of pleasure shocked through his system, his body shuddering with each volley. “Oh… fuuuuuuck,” he groaned with a long exhale, and leaned back, endorphins dripping down his spine and dousing him with bliss. Nate pulled a dirty towel out from under his bed and wiped the blanket of cum off his chest with a giggle. The outline of his cock was clearer in his jockeys, having jizzed himself. Nate's spritely laughter was contagious, and soon Brent felt his chest shaking with every giggle. They fumbled around each other as they got back into their clothes, stinking of sex and sticky with semen, saying little and kissing occasionally. Eventually dressed but disheveled, Brent shuffled slowly to the door, struggling to phrase an apology for not staying longer, drunken anxiety creeping back into his mind. Nate watched him a moment before closing the gap and kissing him - a wet, inelegant kiss that gave Brent a taste of his own spunk. “Glad you came out, man,” he mumbled. Brent nodded. “Me too. Thanks.” Brent strode out into the hall, warily glancing both ways for onlookers. Nate leaned lazily on the doorframe, his arm dangling off him. “Text me when you ace that modes exam, dude. Hafta celebrate.” Brent grinned. “I will. Thanks, man. Later.” He turned and walked briskly for the stairwell before they got stuck in a farewell loop. Nate waved at him. “Later.” Nate stood against the doorway, staring at the empty hallway even after Brent had turned a corner. A smile still on his face, he slid back into his room and closed the door. It was true! He could almost guarantee it. That had been the first step, and getting a lead had been the second. Both had been important and very difficult, but Brent had facilitated both. Nate opened his window and lit up a cigarette. He felt kind of bad. Was he using Brent? Yeah, a bit. But he did like him, he was glad they'd hooked up, he looked forward to seeing him again and the thought of fucking him almost made Nate cum in his pants again. Besides all that, he knew that this was something that Brent wanted. “Fuck, dude,” he muttered to himself as he blew a plume of smoke out the window. “Brent, man? We're gonna be fuckin HUGE.” *** “...and by the time I woke up everything… like, Adam too, were both back to regular size and… well, I had breakfast with them and came home.” Jamie finished with a shrug and a sigh. Drew hadn't said much through the whole thing. He'd asked a few clarifying questions along the way, but by the time Jamie got into the real meat of his explanation, Drew had just shut up and let him talk. But his jaw was clenched and his eyes were bloodshot and he kept sniffing back tears but a couple had slipped out. Jamie didn't really know how to read him, which he him, which he found unusual and uncomfortable. Gauging people's reactions had kind of been Jamie's job and he had been good at it. But beyond “upset” Drew wasn't sending him any clear signals. Jamie wasn't sure that had ever happened before. He felt that prompting Drew was probably a bad call but the silence between them in that moment was torture. “So…..” Jamie began tentatively, “do….” “You're a fucking liar and an asshole and… and you're totally full of shit you fucking….” Drew sniffed and wiped tears out of one eye. “Did you… it's not even that you looked at my computer and…” Jamie's brow furrowed. “Whoa, wait, what?” “...and fucking… I don't even know how. No. Fuck you. I don't care.” Drew pushed himself off the couch and stood. “You think I'm this fucking stupid? You think you can fucking… distract me with….” he stopped, his mouth hanging open with incredulity. He stared at Jamie for a moment before darting away. Oprah hissed and scrambled under the couch. Jamie turned in his seat. “D? What are you doing?” Drew had disappeared to the bedroom, and came back with his jacket. He grabbed his wallet off the table. “Drew!” Jamie shot to his feet. “Jesus christ stop for a second!” Drew shoved his keys in his pocket. “Y'know you think you're so much better than all those sleazy ad execs but you're just as fucking manipulative and conniving and you'll say any fucking thing to get what you want. Y'know what? You're worse cuz you just slather everything in sarcasm and some… philosophical circle-jerking and....” he shook his head, sniffed, and composed himself. He cleared his throat. “I can't stay here tonight, I have to… I'll text you.” Jamie moved to intercept but Drew had already opened the door and was halfway out. “Drew fucking christ! You can't just…” “I'll text you,” Drew said again, and slammed the door behind him. Their home was suddenly cold and silent. Jamie almost chased him down the hall; had his hand on the knob, but he let it slip off. Jamie pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it back on. Battery Critically Low: Connect your charger, it reported. He drew up a text message as quickly as he could. Please come home Send. I love you Send. So fucking m Shutting down. The app closed and the screen went black. Jamie let it slip out of his fingers and it clattered on the floor.

Part 2: Adam This was turning into a disaster, and Cass was not being accommodating. “Oh, it’ll wear off.” “Hey, it got the point across.” He kept on justifying himself when all Adam wanted to hear was some indication he knew he had taken it too far. That was the whole reason he had called Jamie in the first place. Things were starting to get weird. Fantasy had become reality and now reality seemed so fluid. He loved Cassidy but he wasn't helping. He only wanted to go deeper, but Adam needed to come back up for air. Even if just for a moment. Jamie was grounded, practical, cynical, and Adam trusted him. The years had changed both of them but it hadn't changed that. He needed someone with no connection to all this craziness to maybe offer some perspective. Done cleaning up the spilled tea, Adam sat down on the couch which briefly groaned under his weight. Cassidy smiled demurely as he handed Adam a rock glass half full of bourbon. Adam took it between his thumb and forefinger. It felt more like a shot glass in his big hand. He took a small sip and found he had drank nearly half of it. Cass held his own glass up as he snuggled up against Adam, his head dwarfed by the pillow of Adam's pec. Cass sipped his bourbon as he stretched out his arm and started running his fingers up and down Adam’s furry abs. Adam looked down at Cassidy, sleepily fondling his immense muscles. Cassidy hadn’t been on board at first, but he had come around, and now some of their most intimate moments came after Cass had worked his magic. Adam had been transformed and altered in many ways since they first got it to work, but it was this form of a hulking giant of a man that Adam had fantasized about since he was a child. The first time it had felt so perfect, as if he had somehow known despite all reason and logic that becoming this big, this powerful, was possible. He just had to find the way. Every time he grew, he knew that this was the body he had always been mean to have. As Cass dozed against him, Adam looked down at his mammoth pecs, and turned as he flexed his bulging bicep. It was such a turn on growing so big, even just sitting there he felt his immense weight in every movement. He relaxed his arm and moved his hand to his crotch, feeling himself getting harder. His hand snapped back to the armrest as Jamie trundled unevenly down the stairs, leaning hard on the banister. The large guest pajamas were tight over his pecs and ass. Jamie descended unsure of every step, apparently bewildered. Adam had never been out and out attracted to Jamie but always thought he was good looking. He had to admit, though. Cassidy had upgraded him to "smokin'." The noise brought Cass out of his half sleep, spilling a bit of bourbon on Adam's sweatpants in the process. Cassidy smiled drowsily and sat up. Jamie paused in the last step, seeing the two on the couch. "Am I... interrupting?" Cassidy shook his head. "Oh my god not at all! Come, sit." He leaned forward and poured some bourbon into the third, empty glass on the coffee table. "Hey, look. I'm sorry I did this to you without asking. That wasn't cool. I'm sorry. Seriously." Jamie walked forward and took the glass but Adam detected a vague hint of suspicion in his tone as he said "Thanks." Jamie took a sip. "And, yeah, I'm sorry for freaking out. Well, half-sorry." He lowered himself carefully into the lounge chair. “So…. how are things?” “Oh,” Adam shrugged, “pretty good. I’m working at Jack Astor’s these days. Trying to get into a masters program.” “Oh yeah? Linguistics?” Adam nodded. “Yeah there’s a good program at McGill but I’m not sure if I can do it correspondence.” “And what about you, Cassidy? Still with, umm…. that company?” Cass shrugged. “I’m working for PCA. Pearson Clinical Assessment. It’s like a liaison job. I get to work from home mostly, which is really great.” Cassidy’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, what’s the ad business like?” he gasped. “Have you been watching Mad Men? What did you think of the finale?” Jamie sipped his drink and nodded, then shrugged. “It’s…” he made an uncertain noise and shrugged again. “It’s a little rough.” He took a whole gulp and winced through the swallow. “So… how did you, uhh… learn to…. do that?” He waved his hand in the air. Adam went to begin but Cass interrupted with a laugh. “Well… did you want to tell it?” “You start.” “Ok, so, I’ve been sort of… dabbling I guess, in occult stuff since high school. And I mean, really, it’s mostly just like, a bunch of new age hippie crap. Which I was into, honestly. But like, it was all beseeching for blessings and boons for good luck and like, fortune telling? The kind of stuff where even if it was working it might as well not have been working, y’know? But then I started getting involved in this whole community and I found these people who, like, took it all really seriously. And I mean no one was shooting lightning bolts or anything but some of them were able to really make things happen. Or at least enough to convince you, y’know? And most of this was coming out of research they were doing on old translated texts from the middle east.” Adam stepped in. “Turns out the occult underground in Afghanistan had a huge smuggling operation to preserve ancient texts when the Taliban started destroying pre-Islamic artifacts and monuments, and some of these ended up in Toronto. The most fruitful was a set of Sumerian tablets. Cass’s friends were really going to town with them so he showed me a copy. Well, I guess these guys aren’t as up to date on linguistics as I am because there’s been a bunch of recent discoveries that have invalidated some older theories about cuneiform. So, maybe like... a quarter of everything was mistranslated. I went through it and… well, the results speak for themselves.” Jamie paused a second to process. “So… these tablets were… spells… for growing people into… giant hulks?” “Not exactly,” Cassidy answered. “It’s more like…. a sort of instruction manual? It’s difficult to explain. Once Adam told me…” he giggled, “what kind of stuff he was into, I looked specifically into transformation. We can actually do all sorts of things.” “We?” Jamie looked at Adam. “You can do it too?” “Well, Cass is teaching me,” Adam replied. “But it’s going pretty slow. He’s been at this a lot longer than I have.” “Oh you’re doing great, hon.” “So,” Jamie said slowly, “have you ever gotten bigger, Cassidy?” Cass laughed. “Adam’s the giant around here. We’ve done other things too, though.” “Like… have you ever given yourselves bigger dongs?” asked Jamie. Adam looked down at Cass, who returned his grin. “Once or twice,” Adam answered. “Nothing too extravagant.” “Would you like to…” Cass raised an eyebrow. Jamie’s eyebrows scaled his forehead. “Uhh….” “Whoa, hey,” Adam shook his head. “You’re sure you’d be ok?” “Oh yeah I’m fine. It doesn’t really tire me out anymore. And that’s hardly anything, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. I mean, for me.” Cass glanced back at Jamie. Jamie cocked his head, and took another gulp of bourbon before setting the glass down. “Y’know what? Go for it.” Cass grinned as he set down his glass, and began drawing his gestures in the air, whispering his incantation, and before long he saw the link connect itself right with Jamie's crotch. Jamie winked with an uncertain smirk but he didn't say anything. At first, anyway.... then his smile melted into a half-open mouth. He began breathing heavier, moaning with almost every exhale. His muscles flexing and releasing. There was a shuddering beneath the pajama pants. Adam found himself a little turned on. Jamie's package began to grow, like someone had stuck a balloon down his pants and started to blow. Jamie gripped the arms of the lounge chair, staring at the bulge swelling in his lap. He had stopped his heavy breathing, and was now holding his breath. It didn’t last long. Cass whispered his last cantrip with a sigh and dropped his hands to his side. Jamie finally exhaled, gasping. “Holy fuck. Oh my god.” Adam whistled. Jamie’s pajamas strained around the outline of a footlong cock sitting soft in his lap. “Wow. That’ll certainly be a show once you get it going.” Though even as he said it he could see it twitching to life. "Fuck man, this is so weird," Jamie reached down and adjusted himself. "Jesus..." They stayed up for another hour or so, talking about how they'd first started experimenting. Jamie was reminded of his oversized manhood every time he moved his legs, and frequently glanced down with renewed surprise. Eventually, the late hour and a few glasses of bourbon took their toll, and Jamie politely excused himself, wavered on his feet, and carefully climbed the stairs to the guest room. Cass leaned in. "You didn't tell him." Adam sighed. "I know. He had a lot to take in tonight. Too much as it is." "I know you think we're... too detached or whatever." Cass snuggled up beside him. "But you don't need his approval." "I just want his opinion," said Adam. he put his hand on Cass' knee and Cass began rubbing his forearm. "But hopefully it won't be another five years before I see him again." He felt Cass nodding against his arm. Cass' hand drifted off his forearm and slid down the front of his tight sweatpants. Adam smiled with a pleasant moan as he felt Cass' warm hand around his cock. Mildly wary of fooling around with Cass in their doorless living room while Jamie was only upstairs in his guest room, Adam nevertheless pulled his sweatpants down, briefly lifting himself off the couch to get them over his butt. Cass stood up and yanked them off over his thick thighs and bulging calves. He tossed them aside as he looked Adam up and down. He grinned,pulled his shirt off, and began to slowly slip out of his khakis. Adam watched, rubbing his hands on his bare thighs, feeling his cock beginning to engorge. As he climbed out of his trunks and exposed his already full erection, Cass stepped up on the couch, a foot on either side of Adam's hips. Adam reached up, gripped Cass around the shoulders, and leaned forward, kissing his cock on its head. He slid his hands down Cass' slender body, coming to rest at his ass, tracing the line of his crack with his fingers as he licked the length of the shaft. Cass gasped and moaned, taking Adam's head in both hands and tousling his hair. Adam took one hand off Cass and wrapped it around his cock, now standing at full attention. Cass pushed Adam's head off his dick and leaned down to kiss Adam on the forehead before Cass brought his ass down on top of Adam's cock. Adam guided it to his hole and began pushing in with a gasp. Cass hadn't done anything to grow Adam's cock but it had remained in proportion as the rest of him grew, and it was a tight fit. They tried to keep the noise to a minimum but were both moaning lustily as Cass worked his way down onto Adam's dick. "Oh god!" Cass breathed, "I love you so much. I love how huge you are." Every word sent a throb of pleasure through Adam's gigantic body. He moaned through his smile. "How big am I?" Cass took the final inch of him with a grunt and began grinding slowly on top of him. "You're the biggest fucking monster in the world. You're the biggest man who ever lived. You're massive. You weigh as much as a car." Cass began bouncing gently up and down, his cheeks slapping softly against Adam's thighs. Adam took Cass’ cock and teased it with his fingertips. Adam growled in bliss. Cass felt so tight on top of him. In fact, it almost felt like he was getting tighter. Adam didn’t think anything of it until Cass reeled back and grunted: “Oh my god!” and Adam felt his back begin to stretch across the leather of the couch. He was growing again. “Cass? Cass what’s happening?” Cass merely moaned and began pumping harder. Adam looked down as his pecs slowly inched larger and larger, felt his bubble butt inflating further, heard the leather shifting beneath him. Part of him was worried about hurting Cass, but as he felt his body get heavier with mass, his biceps swelling against his pecs, his back sliding up the couch as he grew taller, he gave himself over to it and let himself enjoy it. He bucked his hips against Cass and felt the pressure building. Adam released with a staggered gasp of ecstasy. Cass clapped his hands over his mouth and grunted loudly through them. Adam reared back as he rocked volley after volley of cum into Cass, who whimpered in bliss with every thrust. He felt splashes on his chest as Cass came as well. When they were both finally spent, Cass collapsed forward, panting against Adam’s chest. Adam wrapped a thick arm around him and they sat there together, basking in the afterglow. *** Jamie lay in bed staring at the ceiling, as wide awake as ever. The monotonous hum from the radiator was occasionally punctuated with moans from Adam and Cassidy’s lovemaking downstairs. Jesus… Jamie shook his head at the thought, amazed that Cassidy hadn’t already been pulverized ten times over. “Isn’t it obvious?” Regular king of comedy, that Cassidy. Magic. Magic was real. What did that even mean. It sounded so silly in his head. He kept on imagining Richard Griffiths wagging his fat finger at him and scolding “There’s no such thing as magic!” Jamie had always been a critical skeptic. He liked to think he was well read and well educated and it was hard to put one over on him. But now… there was no way around explaining what had happened. Everything he knew about the world had been called into question. The spiraling dialogue he was having with himself made it impossible to even begin getting to sleep. Well, that and the sixteen inch erection. He glanced down at it. The pajamas had been too tight so he’d taken everything off before he got into bed. It looked exactly like the cock he had known and jacked off for years - every vein and wrinkle in the same place - only nearly three times bigger. Standing upright and engorged it felt so heavy, and so difficult to ignore. He had a rule about masturbating in other people’s homes, although… he had repeatedly broken it in the past. And if this was going to wear off in a matter of hours, didn’t he owe himself to take it out for a test drive? Biting his lip, Jamie tentatively reached out and touched the shaft with one finger. He ran it down to the base, and shuddered. Fuck, it was so sensitive. He glanced around, pulled a few tissues from the kleenex box on the nightstand, and pulled himself back into a half-sitting position. He reached out and gripped his shaft with his hand. A spike of pleasure quaked through his body and he began to stroke, running his other hand up his abs and feeling his pecs, teasing his nipple. “Fuck,” he whispered. It was like he was jacking off for the first time. As he slowly stroked the length of his cock, he felt a strange tightness again, and his cock throbbing. He looked down at it. “Oh no fuckin way…” Large as his dick had become, it was stretching itself bigger. At first he thought that maybe he had only been half-hard, but he knew better; he’d been at full mast already. His cock grew slowly fatter, forcing his grip open, inching its way further and further into the air. His gaze was transfixed by his swelling manhood, but he felt his balls engorging as well, inflating against his thighs. As his cock passed the two foot mark Jamie took his other hand from groping his pec and started stroking with both hands. It was as thick as a two-litre pop bottle and was still slowly growing. It felt so heavy pushing down on his crotch, and got heavier every second. Murmurs of why he should be worried trickled around in the back of his mind. Does Cassidy know this is happening? Is this normal? What if it doesn’t stop? But they were drowned out by the bombastic shouting of Oh fuck yes, Holy fucking god, This feels fucking amazing, and so on. His cock had grown too long for his hands to read the head, but rubbing his shaft was doing more than enough. Finally it tapered off at what had to be over three feet, and Jamie’s jaw hung open in awe as he marveled at the thick heavy pillar of meat towering above the bed, throbbing against his hands. He started stroking faster. God, he was gonna blow any second now. He glanced furtively at the kleenex he had prepared. Even if he could reach the tip it wasn’t going to be nearly enough. He hated to be an inconsiderate guest but he was long past the point of no return. “Fuck it.” Rolling his hips, his giant schlong swaying with every movement, dribbles of precum running down his shaft, his chest heaving with every panting breath he drew, Jamie stroked faster and faster, until he felt the whole thing start to shudder, his melon-sized balls churning, and pleasure flooding every pore of his body. He took his hands from his shaft as it strained into the air, as if his cock itself was unsatisfied, and wanted to get even bigger. He thrust his hips and moaned, gripped the sheets beneath him as he came, firing thick spurts of semen into the air. The first volley splattered on the ceiling, the second fell in a coiled rope on his chest, the third splashed onto the window behind the headboard. The fourth, fifth, sixth, and maybe more he lost track of. He was paralyzed with ecstasy, his mouth hanging open, unsure whether or not he was breathing. The colours seemed more vibrant, his skin seemed more sensitive, his own feverish heartbeat filled his ears. He couldn’t move. He tried to make himself but he couldn’t. He felt himself drifting off to an inescapable sleep. His mind reeling with sensation, he closed his eyes and was out almost immediately.