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  1. Of course I was waiting for you. Sorry – I can’t stick around too long tonight. I have to work some magic with some others – well, yeah, I know it’s not magic, but whatever. You know what I’m trying to say. Yeah it’s been fucking hot. The AC broke in this place last night and the bartender is trying to get it fixed. But I see the heat has prompted the move to basketball shorts? Ah, I see – look at you swagging and going commando. I see your treatments have been producing some results you like? I bet you still get hard every time you bump into anything or think about someone noticing your thickening manhood, huh? Let’s look at you, big boy. God – fucking – damn, look at you. Your monster is really coming along, isn’t it? You look at least five or six inches soft by now. Are you tender? That’s a lot of growth in these two weeks. Let me outline the head…aaaaand, there you go. Man, you get thick, don’t you? Pulling your shorts legs…man, look at those balls. You got them big, too, didn’t you? They’re probably also pretty damn tender. You can’t wear jeans because your cock and balls would be pushing out the front zipper, huh? Hmm, you orgasm already? Your dick is pulsing…oh, that’s just your pre? Shit. Your dripping on the floor and onto my sandals. Mmm…you smell good, too. You like what I’m giving off? More cock growth juice. The fact that it’s hot in here makes it even better – I’ve been pooling it on my skin and it’s looked like I’m sweating, but I’m not sweating that much. I can wipe it off with a towel and ring it into a shot glass for you? Oh, or you can do that. Jesus H. Christ, your tongue on my neck…fucking fuck. Ugh…not the nipples. Fuck. FUCK. You…tr…lick…all of…god… Feel you…fuck…even bigger…need release…. Please. Please. Let’s try the bathroom. Muscle boy Christian isn’t coming tonight. He said he’d come by tomorrow for a drink. Let’s visit the bathroom. I know it was just cleaned. -- Close the door and lock it. So, last time I told you I know ways to make changes happen really fast. Calm down. Let me explain first. You absorb best through mucus membranes. Your nose, your mouth. Your stomach. But a place that I have found does the best and fastest job is up your ass. The rectum is insanely vascular, which is why hemorrhoids is a real thing. And I get a direct shot at your prostate. Will it take me time? To what? Put the proper hormones into my cum? Please. I’ve been loading it up and abstaining from cumming for two weeks, ever since I started my project with you. Damn, boy, you look like you been practicing. Let’s just see if you’re ready for me… God fucking shit, you’re tight. Uhh…uh…uhh….mmm…your…mmmmmm…asshole…fuuuuuuuuuuuu…so tight…mmmmm… -- You…uhhhhhhhhhhh…ready? God, just…UUHHHHHHHH. FUCKING CHRIST FUCKING GOD FUCK. *breathes heavy* God your ass was so good. No, keep down that way. Let me admire my work. Plus you need to absorb it all, and fuck did I give you a load. I might have produced a monster with that one! My body? I’ll tell you about my body later. Yeah I think you might be fine. You’ll leak a bit but not that much anymore. You want it all to stick around. Like I said, I can’t stick around much tonight. Oh, you are still looking happy. Well, I guess if I gave you a present – fuck, I can’t grab your cock, it’s so goddamn thick – you owe me a milk shake, no? Heehee.
    8 points
  2. Chapter Seven In all the years that Mikey Maguire had fantasised about stepping onto a bodybuilding stage, he’d never once considered the possibility that, waiting in line to do just that with a group of equally shredded muscle freaks after having been painted from head to foot in deep bronzed competition tan, he’d be nervous to the point where he’d feel like throwing up. He was desperately trying not to think about the crowd of people on the other side of the curtain, sitting in the audience waiting for Mikey and his five fellow muscle freaks of assorted sizes and heights to emerge. The most monstrous sized of those bodybuilders was stood just a few feet away from him. A bodybuilder Mikey had seen in competition videos on the Internet countless of times before, and who just so happened to be one of the biggest and most well known pros in the world; twenty-five year old All American beef mountain Jackson James Jones. Jackson was nothing short of an absolute monster. Unlike Mikey, who just happened to look like a top five Mr Olympia competitor whenever his superpower came into force, Jackson James Jones actually was a top five Mr Olympia competitor. The man was so huge he bordered on looking like a cartoon character. Comically huge shoulders, obscenely sized pecs, thick blocky abs, insane quads, a ludicrously wide, barn door back, and one of the biggest arses on any current bodybuilder all helped to make up the monstrous mountain of muscle Jackson had the nerve to call his body. With his All American, clean cut, corn-fed looks, he also happened to be exceptionally good looking. The jaws of pretty much everyone in the backstage area had dropped when all 320 lbs of Jackson had casually waddled into the room. Completely alone, he had not spoken a word to anyone. He’d casually taken off his tracksuit to reveal his excessively sized mass in all it’s shredded-to-fuck glory, before picking up a set of barbells and pumping up his enormous sized biceps in a mirror, completely ignoring the gawps and stares from every other person in the room. “Do you think it’s really him?” “I wonder what his superpower is?” “If it’s not him then who the hell is it and exactly what superpower is at play here?” These were just some of the questions Mikey had piled on to his friend Pete Potter and fellow competitor Shaun Slater, aka, The Irresistible Ass Man. Both were as curious about Jackson as Mikey was, but neither of them could answer his questions for sure. “It’s most likely not the real Jackson James Jones. But who can say for sure?” Pete had pondered, before giving another few suggestions. “We could wait to see if his power emerges. Or we could always just ask him?” Mikey wasn’t sure about Shaun or Pete, but the notion of strolling up to a world renowned 320 pound American muscle God like Jackson James Jones, who also happened to be his favourite bodybuilder, and responsible for more of his blown loads than any other, and casually asking him what his superpower was didn’t exactly seem plausible. “There is another way of finding out his power of course,” Shaun had said, with a raised eyebrow and a knowing, mischievous smirk directed at Pete. Mikey questioned what Shaun had meant by this, but Pete had annoyingly brushed the question aside and Mikey hadn’t probed him any further. He was curious, but if Pete didn’t want to let him in on a shared secret he had with Shaun, then he had to respect that. As he stood in line to face the stage, Mikey’s eyes were fixated on Jackson’s monstrous lats and enormous sized bottom, now spilling out of a pair of shiny purple posers, which was trying, but failing miserably to cover up even a third of his absurdly sized rump. What Mikey certainly hadn’t expected in that moment, was for Jackson to swivel his head around, and, whilst locking eyes with him, flash him a warm and incredibly gorgeous grin. A smile which could even be classed as bordering on flirtatious. Mikey’s heart swelled, and a rush of adrenaline surged through his freak-show worthy, gloriously bronzed body. Was Jackson a massive tease who could sense that Mikey had been drooling over him since he’d entered the pump room (was he really that obvious?), or was something else going on here? The overwhelming increase of nerves that took over Mikey as he stepped from the pump room to the bodybuilding stage wavered, and all but seemed to disappear once he was actually standing on the stage and looking out to the sea of spectators. He hadn’t quite braced himself for what the atmosphere of the show would be like, or what standing almost naked in nothing but shiny, micro posers, while dozens of people ogled, gawped and marvelled at him would feel like. As he stood centre stage, barefoot with the heat of the stage lights beating down on his ludicrously wide back, the loud beats of the music filling the arena, and an audience of about hundreds cheering, clapping, jeering and gasping as they stared at his phantasmagorical physique, any nerves Mikey felt had completely vanished and been replaced by the most intense rush of adrenaline. Drenched in deep bronzed competition tan, and under the intense lighting, Mikey knew that his body had never looked more spectacular. He was almost overwhelmed at the sight which met him every time he looked down and saw the mounds of magnificent muscle mass looking back at him. Mikey had seen his body so many times before, but somehow, in this setting, it looked even more freaky, even more alien, and even more beautiful than it ever had. The sights he was met with as he turned to his left and right were equally spectacular and mind-blowing. On either side of him stood his fellow superpower wielding muscle freaks. The Amazing Abs Man had his arms behind his head and was crunching down on all twenty four of his crazily cut stomach muscles. The Human Road Map was standing with his hand on his hips and twisting and tensing his impressively thick and terrifyingly vascular quads, all the time looking down with a cocky smirk on his face, admiring his own freakish muscle. Bicycle Pump Boy had twisted to his side, and positioned himself into a side chest pose, his mammothly huge tits bouncing off his chest to a glorious degree and his face contorted into the most arrogant grimace. Shaun, aka, The Irresistible Ass Man was blowing up his tremendous sized, croquet ball biceps in a front double pose, his face scrunched in the cheekiest manner, as he growled through gritted teeth. And further down the line, a man who Mikey had shot multiple loads over in the comfort of his own bedroom, was top five Mr Olympia competitor Jackson James Jones, wowing the audience with his beast sized back and ridiculously huge, posing trunk devouring ass in a back lat spread. Every single one of his fellow competitors was showing off their mass to the audience. Mikey suddenly realised that he was the only one not flexing. Instead of feeling nervous, a rush of giddy excitement shot through him, and, giving the lucky audience exactly what they wanted, he geared himself up to crank out his favourite pose. The pose he loved to hit more than any other. With an excitable grin on his face, Mikey lifted both of his arms up, and with considerable force, cranked down hard into a brutal, mass exploding crab most muscular. Mikey was almost taken aback when the audience exploded in loud cheers in direct response to his pose. Hearing the incredible audience reaction seem to ignite something in all of the lads on stage, as every single one of them started crowding around Mikey and belting out matching crab most musculars in response, until all six freaks were hunched over with their traps exploding up to their earlobes, indulging in the ultimate bodybuilding pose; Mikey Maguire in the middle, revelling in the glory more so than any one of them. His only wish was that he could somehow see what the audience were seeing. If only they’d erect a huge mirror at the back of the auditorium. Or at least catch the whole scene on camera and project it so that Mikey and his fellow competitors could watch themselves cranking out, flexing and tearing up the stage. He wondered what was going on in the minds of the audience members as they stared at the six muscle freaks on stage showing off their mighty mass in their tiny, shiny posing trunks. Most of them were probably wondering just who Mikey was, where he had come from and what his superpower was. Many of them were probably fantasising about what it would be like to be as huge and monstrous as him and stand on stage, being ogled at and adored. And he was fairly sure a considerable percentage of them were currently turned on and battling huge boners in their jeans at the sight of the bronzed, shredded muscle bulls before them. He knew that his friend Pete was sitting somewhere in the audience. Maybe the man who had signed them into the venue was sitting there too, and maybe the insanely cute Tom Daley look-alike with the black specs was with him, looking on with the same look of awe he’d given Mikey earlier, his hands in his lap, desperately trying to conceal his growing hard on as a bunch of obscenely huge muscle bulls cranked out matching crab most musculars before him. Mikey’s adrenaline didn’t waver for one single moment throughout the entire prejudging part of the show. He flexed and posed without ever feeling tired (a nifty side effect of his superpower) and soaked up every second that he spent on stage, showing off his otherworldly body. But no moment was greater for Mikey than when he was stood in between Shaun Slater and Jackson James Jones, being cheered at by the audience in the final comparisons round. If the gawps, gasps and stares of the people in the street made Mikey feel like a freak, the show's audience reaction to him, and the two monsters either side of him made him feel like a God. As he, Jackson and Shaun blew up their magnificent biceps to a rupture of applause, a thought raced through Mikey’s mind. What if being a bodybuilder was what he was supposed to really be? And then more thoughts flooded his mind. What if this was his destiny? To be the biggest and best superpower enabled muscle freak on the planet? To be one of the greatest bodybuilders in the history of the Annual Superpower Games? Or maybe it was his destiny to be the most worshipped muscle monster in the universe? Maybe he was supposed to go out into the world, find any and every man with a penchant for huge, shredded bodybuilders and help them fulfil their ultimate fantasies of worshipping a real life muscle bull? And what if he’d gotten his superpower wrong? What if he wasn’t a lad who could transform his ordinary sized body into a hulking mass of worship-worthy muscle whenever he liked? What if he was supposed to be a once ordinary sized man who one day transformed into a 300 lbs bodybuilder, and stayed that way forever? Mikey was unexpectedly pulled from his thoughts when, mid way through an abs and thighs pose, with his arms around the back of his head, and his blocky abs protruding through his stomach like huge rocks trapped under his skin, he suddenly felt something alien brushing against one of his monstrously thick and ludicrously details quads. Mikey felt like his heart had caught in his throat as he looked down to see Jackson James Jones moving his fingers up and down the crazy feathering in Mikey’s right quad. The audience were going crazy as Mikey furiously blushed and tried to comprehend what was happening. Jackson, with the most devilish grin on his utterly gorgeous face, then went one step further and started giving Mikey’s quad a couple of playful slaps, causing Mikey’s expression to uncontrollably merge into a bashful smirk, and the bulge in his shiny black posers to pulsate with sudden force. As Jackson moved his hand away, his eyes met with Mikey’s, and he gave him a similarly flirtatious grin to the one he had when they’d been queuing up backstage. A flustered Mikey looked down at Jackson’s enormous quads, only slightly bigger than his own, and exploding in insane detail. Should he return the playful gesture, and give one of Jackson’s alien quads a cheeky slap, he thought? Mikey considered it for a moment, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. The only muscle he’d ever touched was his own. To feel and touch the huge, shredded muscle of another freakishly sized bodybuilder was something he’d dreamed of doing for so long. It meant too much to Mikey to do it in this setting, in front of hundreds of cheering and laughing audience members. But one thing was definite; having Jackson’s hands on his quads had felt amazing. As had the moment where their eyes had locked, and Jackson had flashed him that absurdly gorgeous, heart melting smile, and all of Mikey’s questions from earlier suddenly rose to the surface again. Was he in the presence of the real Jackson James Jones, and if not, then who the hell was this person beside him, and just exactly what incredible superpower did he possess that enabled him to morph into the body of one of the world’s best bodybuilders?
    3 points
  3. Part 15: Adrian The Master pulled his boot away and the sight turned Rodrigo's stomach. A crimson mess of gore stained Russell's crumpled shirt on the floor. “No…” he whimpered. “You didn't have to… he was only…” “You!” the Master shoved a meaty finger in Rodrigo's face and the tiny man stumbled backward with a start. “I knew you were going to be a problem eventually. I should've just added you to my gallery. Those clueless fucking douchebags can't save you, you pathetic little shit! They come at me they'll end up just like this shitstain.” “You're a fucking psycho!” Rodrigo suddenly exploded. “You need to turn people into toys just so you can… I don't even know! Feel like a big tough guy?” The Master shook his head in disbelief. “Oh you are fucking dead, roach…” “What difference does it make? When's it ever going to be enough for you you fucking pathetic loser! Can't even get a guy to come home with you unless you can fit him in your hand!” “Roddy, stop! Please!” Blake begged from the corner. “You're so fucking stupid,” Rodrigo went on. “No one notices? No one cares?” Rodrigo pointed at the pile of clothing. “He cared. His friends care. And when they come looking for him… god are you fucked.” “No one's coming for him,” the Master growled. “No one's coming for any of you, you dumb fucking bugs. Fuck…” he bent down and scooped up the pile of clothing, tossing the articles one by one in the garbage bin by the door. “I've protected you. Fed you. Cleaned up your piss and shit. And all I ever get from you is fucking grief. You think anyone out there gives a shit about some nobody ‘spic from buttfuck nowhere?” He returned to the cage, grabbed the water bottle from its side, and yanked it off, pouring the water out with a loud splatter onto the cement floor before tossing the empty bottle in the garbage. “Good fucking luck, dumbass.” “Master please!” Phil ran up to the bars. “Don't leave me! You know I'd never…” “Shut up!” shouted the Master. He reached out and unhooked the door of the cage. Rodrigo's eyes widened and he scrambled to the far side. But the Master reached inside and grabbed Phil around his waist, pulling him out and roughly depositing him in the front pocket of his shirt. Phil fumbled around to right himself. “Oh THANK you, Master! I…” “I said shut the fuck up!” the Master shouted again, and Phil clamped his hands on his ears, wincing. “Still looks a bit crowded in there,” said the Master, a crooked grin on his round face. He thrust his hand through the opening. Blake tried to dart to the other side but the Master's hand moved quickly, knocking Rodrigo to the floor as it did, and grabbed Blake by the leg. He pulled him to the ground, dragged him into the middle of the cage, then gripped him around the waist. “No!” Blake cried. “Please just leave me alone!” “If you say so,” said the Master as he pulled Blake clear of the opening. He turned, slid the door of the terrarium open, and dropped Blake inside. “No!” Rodrigo scrambled to his feet and rushed to the bars. “Please! Master I'm… I'm sorry! I didn't know what I was saying! Blake wanted me to stop! He respects you!” “Blake?” asked the Master as the terrarium door slid closed with a snap. “Who the fuck is Blake?” “Master I'm sorry!” Rodrigo pleaded. “I didn't mean it! Please take him out of there, I'll do whatever you want!” “All I want you to do is starve to fuckin death,” said the Master with a shrug. He turned and walked towards the door. “And it looks like that's pretty in the bag.” He flicked off the light and slammed the door behind him. Rodrigo raced to the side that faced the terrarium, already dizzy from the stress of the last few minutes, praying that Blake could at least hold out until help came. When had Penny been fed last? His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness and he couldn't see much of anything. “Roddy?” he weakly heard the quavering voice of Blake through the glass. “Be quiet!” Roddy hissed. “Where is she?” “Blake shut up, seriously!” said Roddy. “I can't see her. Don't say anything and don't move!” Would it help? Would it at least delay her? He had to believe someone would come for Russell. If Blake could hold out long enough, he might be saved. But how long? After all this time living inches away from her, Rodrigo still had little idea what Penny was capable of. He didn't really know how she hunted, or how often she needed to feed. He didn't know much of anything about tarantulas. *** Adrian’s heart skipped a beat. He could never really tell what that meant. His pursuits had been problematic from the start. He'd wanted to be able to see everything - to KNOW everything, but it had always been an issue trying to sort out what his spellcraft was telling him, and what his imagination was piecing together. Adrian had tried to supplement his magic with technology. He was fairly proud of his progress, though his innovations had been unsung by the majority of his peers. He had hoped his talents would award him favour with Harry; maybe gain him access to more resources, but only Russell and Mahtab seemed to take note of his value, and their involving him in their clandestine investigation had been more of a compliment to Adrian than the two of them likely realized. Adrian didn't know any details. His powers never laid it all out for him. All he ever got were feelings. Strange, instinctual spikes in his subconscious that were difficult to describe to others. And his instincts were telling him that something bad had happened. Something horrible, awful, and evil. And it had something to do with Russell. WHAT it had to do with Russell, he couldn't articulate. But the general feeling of unease he had had the whole day had intensified, and Adrian knew there had to be something more to it than just his imagination playing tricks on him. Adrian stared at Google Maps application he had modded. At the black square on Boardwalk Drive; the dead zone he had sent Russell into. Something had gone wrong. Adrian picked up his phone and dialled Russell. It went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. Russell had said his phone was dying… maybe it was nothing to worry about. But that's not what Adrian’s gut was telling him. He called Liam. “Hey Adrian,” Liam greeted. “How's it goin’?” “Not good,” Adrian replied. “I think Russell's in trouble. Can you pick me up?” Liam stuttered a bit. “Of… yeah, of course. Is… what's going on? What happened?” “I don't know,” said Adrian. “I just got a bad feeling.” *** The Master reached into his pocket and pulled out Phil, depositing him nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. Phil climbed to his feet. He wanted to express his gratitude for sparing him; reiterate his devotion to the living god, but he was wary of the Master's warning to keep quiet, so he stood still and watched in silence. The Master tore a square of paper towel from a roll hanging off the underside of a cupboard, wiping blood from his nose as he moved into the living room. He stood there a moment, looking around the room. “Fuck,” he swore quietly to himself. “Fuckin dicks.” “What's wrong, Master?” Phil ventured. “What can I do to help?” The Master rolled his eyes. “He's right. They're gonna come after him. I have to leave.” “Take me with you, Master!” Phil pleaded. The Master turned to look at Phil, and a slow, fiendish grin crept onto his face. “No.” “But Master, I-” “You've served me well, insect,” said the Master as he approached the counter. “Now is your chance to show me just how grateful to me you are. Prove yourself and I will show you power you've never imagined.” Phil felt giddy with joy. “Anything, Master.” “He's right. People are gonna come looking for them,” the Master pointed with his thumb at the door to the garage. “But you're going to be here waiting for them.” His grin widened. “And you're going to kill them all.” *** Mahtab stood in the crowded club with her arms crossed across her chest, scowling at Adam as he leaned across the bar, showing the servers a picture of Cassidy on his phone. This was the fourth bar on Church Street they had been into, and she'd already gotten hit on twice; once by a lesbian and once by a guy who thought she was in drag. Normally she was liberal-minded enough to not let any of that bother her, but she'd been irritated all day and it was not helping. Finally he turned, scowling into empty space as opposed to making eye contact with her, and stormed past her on his way out of the bar. Mahtab wriggled through the crowd and followed him outside, where he stood awkwardly in the middle of the street - closed for Pride - with his hands on his hips and his shoulders hunched, staring at the pavement. Mahtab walked up beside him, swivelling to face him, her hands in her jacket pockets, one fiddling with the fraying threads from the rip Adam had inflicted earlier. Adam stood up straight, craning his neck, grunting as he stretched his back. “He hasn't seen him,” he mumbled. “That's getting progressively less shocking with every bar,” Mahtab retorted. She glanced around. “Look the crowd’s starting to pick up. Pretty soon there'll be way too many people here.” “You go then,” Adam spat. “I'll stay here and actually…” “Adam - Christ - listen to me,” Mahtab waved a hand across his face. “I need to find Cassidy. We're on the same side here. We both want the same thing.” She folded her arms and sucked her teeth. “For the moment anyway.” “Then help me,” Adam waved his arms. “Don't just…” “I AM helping you you fucking doofus,” Mahtab hissed. “You're just too hopped up on adrenaline to give a shit. You just want to feel like you're doing something as opposed to something USEFUL.” “Hey, this is the only plan I got!” “Are you kidding me? This is barely even a plan.” Mahtab sighed. “Let's assume you're right and the idea was to stay away from YOU, he wouldn't go to the first place you'd go looking for him. His parents live in Toronto, right?” Adam rolled his eyes. “He wouldn't just show up there.” “Well he had to spend the night somewhere,” Mahtab shrugged. “Let's at least rule them out. We'll call them. You got their number?” “How am I supposed to call them without tipping them off?” asked Adam impatiently. “If he's not there and they know he's missing they'll lose their shit. They're lawyers. They're fucking nuts.” Mahtab rolled her eyes. “You can be such a fucking retard sometimes I can't even believe it.” She pulled out her phone. “Give me their number.” Adam just looked at her for a moment before sighing and pulling out his phone. She held out her hand and he shook his head. “Just look. We’re not doing all that again.” Mahtab snorted a derisive chuckle but didn’t touch his phone. She put hers to her ear and held up her finger for silence. “... Hi there, my name’s Shannon Ginsberg I’m calling from the office of York University alumni… affairs. I’d like to speak to Cassidy Hamilton, please?... Oh! Well of course I’m so sorry!” She pursed her lips and shook her head at Adam. “Uh huh?... Y-... Yes please; go ahead… uh huh… ok great. We’ll update our information; sorry to bother you… Uh huh? Ok great, thanks… Yes, you too… Uh huh, I will thanks.” She turned to Adam and rolled her eyes. “Ok great take care now!” She quickly hung up the phone. “Shannon Ginsberg?” Adam crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow. She shrugged, and glanced at her phone. “Oh shit! I missed a call from Adrian!” she exclaimed, quickly dialling again and holding the phone to her ear, sticking a finger in the other. “Hey, Mahtab?” asked Adrian from the other end of the line. “Yeah Adrian what's up? Have you heard from Russell?” Mahtab made her way to an empty driveway to get away from the crowd, and Adam followed. “No but…” Adrian hesitated. “His phone was dying… I… I went out to find him. Liam’s with me. We… we found Russell's car.” “Where are you?” asked Mahtab. “Boardwalk Drive. Around Queen and Woodbine. Russell was going to check it out. Cassidy’s trail ended here but it's… it's really weird, Mahtab. Something’s wrong I… I'm kind of… I just have a really bad feeling.” Mahtab nodded, suddenly feeling a cold heavy lump in her stomach. “I'll be there in just a second. I'm bringing Adam.” “You can't slip here, Maddy, it's a dead zone!” Adrian protested. “I'll figure it out, just wait for me!” Mahtab hung up and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She grabbed Adam by the elbow and pulled him down the alley. “Come on.” Adam yanked his arm up out of her grip. “I'm coming. Jeez!” “You're going to feel a little winded,” Mahtab explained. “You didn't eat much today right? That's good; sometimes people crap themselves their first time.” “I'll be sure to clench,” Adam quipped. “Don't get distracted, either,” Mahtab continued. “It’s… it's difficult to describe but… you'll know what I am, or like, you'll know what's me. I'll be holding on to you so it should all be fine but try to stay focused on me.” “Or… what?” asked Adam, dubious. “Well I don't know, no one's ever fallen out of a slip on me before but I'm not exactly itching to find out,” she sighed. “Like I don't have enough shit to deal with today.” They rounded a corner and found a trio of dumpsters stinking of rancid urine. She stopped Adam, waited for someone to pass them, then turned and grabbed him by both shoulders. “All right,” she nodded. “On three we both need to jump at the same time. It's way easier.” “So like; one two three jump or…” Mahtab rolled her eyes. “One two jump, Adam. That's what ‘on three’ means.” Adam nodded. “Okay… can we do one two three jump? I feel like I'm gonna screw it up.” Mahtab threw up her arms. “I… fine whatever.” She clamped back down on his shoulders. “All right. One, two, three…” And they jumped. *** “...and this slow cooker has literally changed our lives,” Wes spread his arms to the ceiling, his wine glass dangerously close to spilling. Jamie nodded. “Oh yeah.” “And I have to say I mean,” Wes paused and smiled mischievously. “I know it's not the best thing for you, but Grant and I have been putting bacon into everything lately. We just started experimenting with bacon and it just took right off!” he laughed, sipping his wine. Jamie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Bacon.” “Honestly, whatever the recipe is, you should add bacon,” Wes assured him. “You won't ever regret it. Do you do much cooking yourself?” Jamie tapped his foot. “Hm? Yeah all the time.” Wes put his hand on his chest and shook his head emphatically, “I just think it's so rewarding and it’s, y'know, I think it's important as just, like, a life skill? And so many people just don't know their way around the kitchen these days, I just…” The bathroom door in front of Jamie opened and Drew slid out. “Hey babe,” he greeted Jamie with a smile. Jamie, however, was already on the move, ushering Drew back inside and following him in, closing the door behind them both. Drew regarded him quizzically. “What the hell was that?” “This is for your own good,” Jamie assured him as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock in front of the toilet. “Wes is looking for anyone to talk at. About fucking… like he's a terrible cook, right?” he asked as he started urinating. Drew leaned against the closed door, taking out his phone. “He's actually gotten worse.” “I'm like; there's only one recipe for guacamole. I don't need to see yours. And what big secret ingredient could you possibly…” “It's bacon bits,” said Drew idly. “I can't imagine it's very good.” He sighed with defeat. “Ryan bailed.” “Called it,” said Jamie. Drew put his phone back in his pocket. “Congrats, you win!” he waved his hands with dramatic sarcasm. “Have you heard from Adam at all?” Jamie shook his head. “No. He never even got back to me about last night.” Drew sighed, moving in behind Jamie as he peed, rubbing his shoulders through his shirt. “When do you want to do that ecstasy?” Jamie shook the last dribbles of piss from his tool. “I was gonna wait til we get down there. Or like… are we TTCing down or what?” “Stan was gonna get an uber,” Drew shrugged. “Which… I guess yeah, I don't wanna be lovin’ out on the way down.” He released Jamie's shoulders as Jamie zipped up and sidestepped to the sink. “Man. Frank’s already blasted, eh?” Jamie noted. Drew nodded in agreement. “And he smells like a fuckin grow-op.” “Let's be in the middle of talking when we leave so Wes won't ambush us,” Jamie suggested. Drew snapped his finger and pointed at him. “Good plan. What do we talk about?” The bathroom door opened and Drew exited finishing a sentence. “...just be so cheesey if they killed Jon Snow and then immediately bring him back.” Jamie followed. “But Melisandre is like right there!” “I don't give a shit,” Drew shook his head adamantly. “If he's back in season six I am off the show for good.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You said that when they killed Roz.” Wes had paused in the bathroom doorway, to the annoyance of Stan who was next in line. “Are you guys talking about Game of…?” “In or out, Wes. C’mon man.” They entered the living room of Stan’s condo and Thanh, draped over the arm of the couch and leaning against his boyfriend Elliot, wagged a finger at them. “One to a stall, ladies,” he chided, followed up by one of his trademark, deep-throated chuckles. “Whatever, Thanh,” Drew countered. “Everyone knows you two have been sneaking handies when you think nobody's looking. News flash: they ARE.” “Lies!” Elliot shook his fist in the air. “Liza Minnelli!” Hasan, on the other side of Elliot, leaned forward and waved his hand. “Guys, Jamie's getting uncomfortable. Quick we gotta butch it up!” he curled his lip with a growl and flexed his arm. “Grrr! Hockey jargon! Car engines!” Thanh joined in though he sounded more like a pirate. “Grr! Home repair!” “Entourage!” Elliot chimed in. Jamie pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. “Christ, they should give you idiots a sitcom.” He jostled his phone. “Sorry just a sec,” he added, and turned away to walk into the foyer. “Oh great now he's a sadsack,” Hasan gestured to Jamie. Drew rolled his eyes. “You guys gonna be this bitchy all night?” Thanh nodded matter-of-factly. “It'll probably get worse.” Jamie leaned against the wall and put his phone to his ear. “Hey Adam, we were just-” “Look I don't have a lot of time,” came a harsh, whispered voice over the line. Jamie barely recognized it as Adam. “Jamie…” he said, then after a pause. “Jamie I'm in trouble. I need your help.” “Adam?” Jamie stood up off the wall, lowering his voice. “What's wrong? What's going on?” “I can't get into it right now,” Jamie whispered. “It's Cassidy. And… some of the people we used to work with. I don't…” there was a windy rustling over the line. “I need you to come to me. I'm in the Beaches, but…” he took a couple of heavy breaths. “I don't know what's gonna happen. They're like… they're dangerous.” “Do you…” Jamie asked quietly and slowly. “Should I call the cops?” “No,” Adam answered quickly. “No cops, not yet. Just be careful and keep your distance until I can… shit. Look I gotta go. I'll text you the address. Can you come?” “Yeah,” said Jamie with a nod, and the other end hung up. Jamie shoved his phone into his pocket as he searched for his shoes in the pile at the foyer, an excuse to leave already taking form in his head until he realized… Drew. Drew would want to go with him. Drew would see through the bullshit he fed Thanh and the others. They had agreed: no more secrets, no more lies. The last one had nearly ruined them. But he couldn't let Drew tag along into this. Jamie had no idea what was going on, but Adam sounded afraid, and Adam had never been afraid of anything. He was Jamie's friend, not Drew’s. He was Jamie's responsibility, not Drew’s, and Jamie wasn't going to let Drew put himself in harm’s way for the sake of someone he had met two nights ago. Jamie found his shoes and stood up, exhaling slowly, trying to calm himself down. He relaxed his shoulders, rehearsed a couple of casual hand gestures; nonchalant facial expressions. He took another deep breath, and sauntered back into the room. Jamie walked up next to Drew and put a hand on his shoulder. “You're gonna hate me.” Drew turned to him with a sigh. “What.” “That was JC. There's some disaster at work. I gotta bail.” He shrugged powerlessly. “I'm really sorry.” “It's like eight-thirty on a Friday!” Drew protested. “The client’s in Tokyo and it's nine-thirty AM there. They're just seeing a presentation. They're freaking out.” “Well…” Drew’s shoulders drooped with dismay. “You're just a contractor. Can't they get someone else to handle this? Come on man, it's Pride!” “I know, and I'm sorry, but I gotta take care of this.” Jamie felt his voice quaver a bit, so he leaned in and kissed Drew on the cheek. “Sorry.” He gave a quick wave to the room. “See you around guys,” he called, and went back to the door. He was dismayed to see Drew following him. “Tokyo’s AHEAD of us, Jamie. It's Saturday morning there!” he complained as Jamie put on his shoes. “Can't they wait til Monday?” Jamie hadn't realized that. “Look, I don't know the details. But it's red alert and all hands on deck. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” Done tying his laces, he stood up and gave Drew a kiss. Drew wrapped his arms around Jamie, and made a quick goodbye peck into a long and sensual one. Jamie thought he was going to break. He withdrew, forcing a smile. “I'll text you later,” he chirped, and quickly exited the apartment. Drew heaved a disappointed sigh and turned back to the party. *** Adam quietly slipped his phone into his pocket and loudly faked a cough, wetting his mouth with spit. He stood up and wiped it off again. “Sorry,” he croaked hoarsely. “God, Adam,” Mahtab spat, “You have any organs left?” “I'm sorry that fucking teleporting doesn't agree with me,” he fired back. “Whatever. Let's go,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and smoldered down the sidewalk. Liam and Adrian were waiting awkwardly on the corner of Boardwalk Drive, a residential side street, populated by a row of nearly identical houses. Adrian spotted the two as they approached and waved his hand needlessly, as the street was otherwise deserted. Mahtab gave them a nod as they met. “Hey,” she muttered. Adam drew up beside her. “Hey guys.” Adrian hadn't changed much since he saw him last. Rail thin, straight black hair down to his shoulders, small black spacers in both ears. It looked like his arm has acquired a few more tattoos but Adam couldn't really remember. “Adam,” he greeted him with a note of uncertainty. “Been a while.” Adam shrugged. “Yeah.” “No sign of Russell, huh,” Mahtab noted, glancing at Russell’s car parked across the street. Adrian pointed. “It's up here,” he started up the sidewalk, and Mahtab fell in beside him. He started discussing his tracking spell, and the difficulty he'd had with the dead zone. Adam hung back, quickly entering the address in a text message and sending it before anyone could notice. But it looked like Liam saw him putting the phone away. “How's… how was hanging out with Maddy?” he asked quietly. Adam sighed. “It's been a stressful day for both of us.” “Yeah,” said Liam. “You know how she is. She's just worried. And now with Russell…” “Honestly, Liam?” Adam raised his hand to cut him off. “I'm past giving a shit. I'm here to find Cass and then I'm not dealing with any of this ever again.” “C'mon man don't be like that…” Liam protested. Adam bit his lip. “Seriously? Everything was fine until this bullshit came back into our lives. And even if we prove Cass has nothing to do with all this garbage, it's not like Maddy’s gonna apologize for being such a psycho. I'm done. For good.” Liam looked down at the sidewalk, saying nothing. Mahtab led them up the walkway to the house, a nondescript two-storey, distinguished from its neighbours only by its clay-brown colour. Adrian glanced around to see if anyone was watching while Mahtab glanced in the windows. “I can’t see anything,” she reported quietly. Adam stepped up onto the narrow cement slab that served as a porch. He stood in front of the door for a moment, and turned the handle. Unlocked. The door swung inward with a soft creak. “Is that a good sign or a bad sign?” Liam whispered. They all crowded around the doorway and peered inside. All the lights were off and all the curtains drawn, but even then it seemed unusually dark, and it was hard to see. Adam could make out a dark doorway on the left, a staircase, and an open room on the right with an outline of furniture. He took the initiative and stepped inside. He paused once he crossed the threshold, listening carefully, hearing only silence. He took another slow step within, and heard the others follow behind him. Hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs, Phil watched the four, silhouettes in the light of the doorway, creep into the house. His lips curled into an unseen smile. The time had come to prove himself.
    3 points
  4. 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
    1 point
  5. Previous Parts Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 8.5 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 11.5 I got into my hometown on a Thursday afternoon. I’d flown a quick two hour flight from my city. Honestly, other than my work (now my former work, since I’d been fired along with Jeff), it was the longest I’d spent in public since Jeff and I started living and growing together. I hadn’t expected the large number of looks I got. But I had to admit, I loved the attention. Kids looked at me like I was a superhero, and I’d flex my bicep for them, usually causing them to laugh. Many women looked at me as an object, and I was ok with that. Some looked at me as if I was grotesque, and I didn’t really mind. Some of the more upfront and courageous ones would ask to feel, and I never passed up an opportunity to flex the guns. And men looked at me with looks of jealousy, lust, and admiration. I was even more excited when they wanted to touch the guns! I couldn’t be the only 5’7” 205 lb muscle beast, but I could tell I wasn’t common. I was going to stay with Tom, a guy who was like a brother to me. I didn’t have any family left around this area, and Tom was the guy growing up who was always there for me. He was a few years younger than me, having just turned 22. He was still in the area, working a good job. We hadn’t talked as much recently, but I knew that he’d been a loner lately, no relationship with a lady currently on the books. He’d turned to the gym a couple of years ago, and he’d made good progress. He’d always been slender, but had put on some decent muscle. He came in about 6’, 155 lbs. He left me a key to his place, and had told me to let myself in as he’d be late tonight from work. I pulled up in my rental car, got out and carried my luggage to his front porch. As I got his key out and fiddled with the lock, I heard a whistling cat call. I looked up and it was Mrs. Ryder, his long time neighbor. She was a single woman, older than us by about 25 years, but incredibly...voracious. And very attractive - not just for someone in her fifties, but attractive, period. I had come back from college after my first semester and Mrs. Ryder showed a lonely young man some attention for the couple of weeks that I was there. It was a short-lived holiday fling, and we had both long since moved on. She did love herself some younger, more rambunctious men. “Hey good lookin’, don’t be a stranger!” Then it dawned on me...I don’t think she recognized me. I had plenty of time to be polite and neighborly later, so for now I just raised my arm and waved in her direction. When I did, her hand went to her chest and she undid a couple of shirt buttons and began fanning herself. I forgot...these biceps were still somewhat new to me. Apparently they held power beyond strength! I got in the house, put my stuff down, and felt my phone buzz. I pulled it out and read that it was from Melissa, my ex-girlfriend from high school days. We had dated for two years, but when we both went away to college, we decided it was best for us to split up and find our own ways in life. We had remained good friends and talked periodically. She was my first and would always hold a special place in my heart and mind. >>Hey Bryce, you in town? <<Yeah, I’m at Tom’s just settling in. He’s working late. >>Super! Hey, want to get a bite to eat tonight and catch up? <<Sure! I’m going to shower, let yourself in when you get here. I peeled off my clothes (all my clothes have to peel off these days, they’re so tight on my bulging muscles) and went into the bathroom. I stopped in front of the mirror and admired my throbbing pecs. Just a few months ago, I thought it would be a dream to be half the size I am now. These things are a wet dream come true for me! I was pretty sure all this growth and cum sharing had affected my libido, because sex was on my mind about 75% of the time, and 100% of the time when I caught my reflection in a mirror. My foot long cock sprang to action, and I gave myself a quickie into Tom’s toilet (I think I cracked the back of it firing my load). Then I jumped into the shower. I’d been in the shower a few minutes when I heard Melissa come in. “Bryce, I’m here! I’m just going to watch some TV, no hurry!” I could see her in the mirror in the bathroom. She looked like a more grown up version of the girl I had known over ten years ago. She was slender, took care of herself, had short cropped hair, and was wearing some casual clothes - shorts, a nerdy t-shirt, and a ball cap. She was just a shade taller than me at 5’8” but that was one of the things that we liked in our time together. She was lightly tanned and had a perky chest that wasn’t too big, wasn’t too small, was just right (see, sex on the mind). “I’ll be out in a few minutes, Melissa. Good to see you!” At that moment I got a text from Jeff. >> Hey dude...crazy ideas I’ve got rolling around, want to help me out with one while you’re out there? << Sure! >> OK. Remember how we wondered if my cum mixing with yours might have made any kind of reaction? << Yeah… >> So...let’s test it out. If you have a chance for a hook-up or two...take it! Let’s see if anything happens. << Jeff...you’re serious???? >> Yeah. I know how reunions can go at times. Let me know how it goes, gotta run. TTYL. That was odd, I had to admit. I wonder what “crazy ideas” he had going through his mind. I’m sure I’d hear all about it in a few days when I was back home with him. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and came out of the bathroom to get clothes. I walked by the living room where Melissa was. We’d been so close at one time that being naked in each other’s presence wasn’t anything that bothered either of us. “Hey, Melissa, good to see you!” I said as I passed by. She turned around to face me and jumped up from the couch. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. Uhoh, I had forgotten...she’s never seen me anywhere like this, with all this newly packed on muscle and size. “B...Bryce? I...is this...you? I…” “Yeah, it’s me. I’ve...been…” I stammered. Melissa collapsed. I reached out and caught her. With my strength, she felt light as a feather. I felt bad for frightening her and causing her to faint. But then I realized, she hadn’t passed out. She was moaning, and her eyes were rolling around up into her eye sockets. And her legs were flexing and twitching, her feet pushing out straight. And there was a very large wet spot on the crotch of her shorts. She was orgasming. The first spontaneous orgasm I had ever seen. This went on for a couple more minutes as I held her gently against my naked torso. As she slowly came out from the haze and realized her hand was against my granite veiny pecs, she reached her hands into her pants and caused it to happen again. She panted and gasped in my arms. When she came out of it again, her hands immediately went back to her pussy, but I grabbed them with my hands and held them. She pressed them against my chest, constantly groping lightly, never quite getting a good handful because of the thick density of the muscle that prevented much of a grip. “Melissa...I’ve been working out…” “Mmmm...yea, I can see.” Then I remembered Jeff’s text: “If you have a chance for a hook-up or two...take it!” Then I remembered a conversation with Jeff months ago, about his ex-wife: Melissa had already taken off her clothing. Yes, she was definitely taking care of herself. She had a slight squat booty and a flat stomach. Her boobs...they had no sag whatsoever. She began to undo my towel. I held her hands again. “Honey...there’ve been some changes down...there...too. I should warn you.” She looked at me and I’d swear she growled just a little bit. And down went the towel. She grabbed my shaft with both hands and pumped. It took only three pumps to get me fully erect at 18 inches, and only two more after that for me to shoot my load. She showed that coordination she was known for by leaping and grabbing my shots in midair in her mouth and swallowing. “You taste better than ever.” And she leaped onto my naked torso, behaving for all the world like she would devour me. Short of orgies with Jeff, I had never been this turned on. So, since I had Jeff’s blessing to do this, I lifted her ass with one hand and planted her on my rock hard dick. She screamed, first a scream of surprise, then becoming a scream of ecstasy. She rode me for the next hour, and I pumped and pumped into her constantly. I barely had to do any work, she was so excited and aroused she practically used my dick like a pogo stick. After an hour in which I showed no signs of losing any stamina or erection, she finally succumbed to exhaustion. I picked her naked form up, took her to the bed in the spare bedroom where I was staying, and laid her down on the bed gently. Her angelic form spread across the bed like a blanket with no life. “Don’t...stop Bryce. I can’t keep going...but I think you can. Keep it up.” I had always been a little heavier than Melissa, so I had experience being on top without being a pain. Now I carried twice the weight, but I could still please her without crushing her. She brought her hands up and rubbed my lats. I flared them out as she did, filling her fingers and causing her to gasp once more. I gently slid my cock up her and slowly pumped, working to protect her from harm. After another hour, I decided it was time to quit, even though I could still go. I laid down beside her, the smell of intercourse hanging in the air. I looked over at her and brushed her cheek with my hands. She groped my bicep with one hand and traced my abs with the fingers of her other hand. “Tomorrow, you’ll tell me more about this...but tonight...let’s just sleep. Like the old times.” “Yeah,” I agreed. Her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. “We’ve had a busy day.” She rolled over under the covers onto her back. “Good night, dear Bryce. I’m glad we got to see each other.” And then I noticed...her boobs...were perkier, pointing outward, and they looked slightly smaller. And her stomach bulged where it hadn’t before….
    1 point
  6. Very good and descriptive story. It is probably one of the first stories I have read where the story line was more about friends, traditions, and growing up. Not all about muscle growth, lust, and sex. Very mature. Helps the imagination. Thank you!
    1 point
  7. 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.
    1 point
  8. 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.
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  9. Part 2 As soon as I finished measuring Mariusz I wrote it all on the little paper I found on my desk. Height : 6'8" Weight : 310lbs Neck : 20" Shoulders : 33" Chest : 70" (!) Biceps : 24" Thighs : 35" Calves : 21" For a moment I just stood there, reading those numbers and I was thinking : "Is this even human?" Mariusz was always a bigger boy, sure, but this? -So what do you think? - Mariusz said with a grin on his face. -What do I think?! I think this is what some professional bodybuilders could imagine of! Where are you working out? -Nowhere. I dropped the paper and looked to his beautiful blue eyes, and I dont know when I did that, but I was sitting on his hands so my lips could actually touch his. We kissed like that for 3minutes, groaning, wanting more. When suddenly he stopped and we both looked to each others eyes. -So are you going to finish measuring me up? - Mariusz said with a huge grin on his face. -Ehm, did I miss something? I think we have got everything - I said wondering my eyes so I'm thinking what could I miss. Mariusz said nothing for a minute so I snapped back to him and then I realised he has his hands on my cheeks, after 10second my brain finally connected the dots and I quickly looked down, yes, I was sitting on his di- no, on his bulge. I jumped off from it and looked at it, his shorts went up a lot just to cover the bulge. Soon enough Mariusz started to strip the shorts away. What I have seen is indescribable. I gulped and took the measuring type and I measured it... 15 inches long and 10 inches around. This was NOT happening! -Can I... can I touch it please? - I asked still looking at the beast in front of me still being flaccid. Mariusz roared with laughter and then nodded with his head still having this sweet grin. The feeling of toaching this beast was the best feeling I ever got, and of course I didn't even notice when my dick got hard as well, I quickly hided it with my hands embarrased. But Mariusz was quicker, he was holding my hands with his own holding him like a guardian. "Don't" he said, "Don't be embarrased". So I stripped just as he did, my dick was only 8 inches long and 5inches around. Our dicks touched and then he quickly with his gigantic strength pulled me in a bear hug and started kissing me on my face and then quickly enough started going lower and lower when he finally was around my dick with his mouth. I don't even know what was going on, it was that fast. He started sucking it with his strength, God it felt amazingly. Soon enough I started cumming into his mouth, to my surprise he drank it all. He stood and I promise he was even higher than before! "Measure me now" He roared. Height : 6'9" Weight : 310lbs Neck : 20" Shoulders : 33" Chest : 70" (!) Biceps : 24" Thighs : 35" Calves : 21" Wow you grew! This is amazing! How did you do that?! He laughed, took my hand and slowly went to the kitched, ducking under any doors just to not hit the ceiling. It made me hard again. He showed me some weird color liquid. -You see, this is the mixture that I created from formula from that mysterious man, this thing right here makes me grow like a Hulk! -But, you grew without any mixture just from sucking my cum, so how is that possible? -I just discovered it right now as well, I want to see if anything happens if we mix both our cum with this mixture, care to help me? Lover? My knees went weak when he said that lover, I nodded and he quickly started to suck me off. When I was just about to cum he quickly started to jerk off his huge monster with both his hands, now hard 18long and 11inches around. We both cum into the bowl with the mixture, my load was a bit smalle than before but when I looked at Mariusz's load, my eyes went wide to the level I could break my eyes. Streams of cum was literally pumping out of his cock, into the mixture quickly filling it up to the maximum so the cum was flooding out of the bowl dropping at the floor, quickly making a small layer of liquid I stood in. My load was finished a long time ago but he still stood there nearly touching the ceiling with his short dark hair but the load isn't even near to end. Then he snapped back from his beautiful moments and targeted his dick towards his mouth and drank the cum, it finally started to stop. -Why did you drink your cum? Does it make you grow too? -Nah, just was thirsty and just look how much cum there is already on the floor, you don't want to clean that don't you? I then realised how much cum there were actually on the floor, it was reaching my ankle. Wet white and tasteful cum.. all that wasted. Mariusz grabbed the bowl with his huge a bit hairy hands and drank it all. His belly was a bit blowed up. And then, I heard the loudest BURP I ever had, I think some may think it was a earthquake. He dropped the bowl to the ground, making a blop sound when it hit the cum. He started moaning and fell to his knees splashing cum all over me with his weight. Quickly he started growing! In front of my eyes. His hands, feet everything started to grow! After about 20seconds of growing he finally stood up, hitting the ceiling with his head. "Measure me now" His voice went deeper a lot, some old man vikings couldn't even match his voice now! I quickly got the measuring tape and started measuring everything. Height : 7'2" Weight : 345lbs Neck : 24" Shoulders : 37" Chest : 85" (!) Biceps : 27" Thighs : 38" Calves : 25" And then he hit the biggest double bicep pose I could ever imagine! His biceps getting nearly to the height of his head, nearly touching the ceiling. I asked if I could measure the feet as well, he nodded. He raised his huge leg with his huge feet out of the cum so I could actually measure it. Feet : 14 (By American feet size system) But then I saw something, he started growing hair! There were a bit facial hair, his pecs had a visible layer of hair, his armpit had a forest of hair, sweat just going out and out from that swamp infinitely, his forearm was huge and densed with hair. His Huge layer quickly went across his pecs and stone sized abs to his bulge. Balls were still visible under all that fur but it was hard. Oh and his bulge, I forgot to measure it ! Cock : 20 inches long hard 14inches around hard. The monster was covered by hair, down to his gigantic thighs and calves, his knee was covered with a bit hair! His feet were already huge but now it had a nice line of hair across his feet fingers. -Holy shit, Mariusz, this is incredible! What you are going to do about it now? -We are going to show our strength to the World and I will grow even more, making super professionals super small compared to me, and you will help me, right? -Of course darling, I will. End of Part 2 So there was the Muscle Growth I promised There will be more and more with each chapters, thanks for reading! (Fun fact, I was hard through the whole time writing this part and I jerked off to it after finishing, haha)
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  10. Many thanks, CMiller, for gathering in this important site! I'm not sure I've said it this way before but as a retired academic librarian I want you to know how much I appreciate the fact that MUSCLE GROWTH serves as the de facto ARCHIVE OF RECORD for muscle fiction. Not everything is here, of course, given the preferences and idiosyncrasies of individual authors, but it's more comprehensive than any other source I have come across. The librarian (as well as the muscle fiction lover) in me thanks you from the bottom of my heart. :: Hugs :: Richard
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  11. This is the last chapter of Chuck the Size Thief! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with the whole story. It was a long process, well over a year to write this on and off, and it feels great to finally be done with it and post it! Hopefully you all liked it. I'll be back with more stories soon, I have a few ideas for shorter, smaller stories that I hope to write before the end of the summer. In this chapter, Chuck, now a two-mile tall titan, seeks out another power source to grow even bigger. Chapter 17 Chuck made his way to the power source. He could feel it, hidden from him, strong and getting closer as he walked. His steps covered thousands of feet, and he moved with terrifying speed considering his massive size. He had to waddle; his gut and huge legs and wide shoulders made walking an effort to itself, but he didn’t mind. He could be gradual and slow. Eventually, inevitably, he knew it would all be his. Need. Power. Hungry. As he got closer, he noticed the ocean on his right as he headed north, and saw the city come into view. It was a big city, with skyscrapers and a dense downtown of tangled streets. He vaguely remembered coming here before when he was smaller. It had seemed small then, but now it was even more tiny. Parts of the city lay in ruins, and from the outside it appeared abandoned, but Chuck could sense the energy pulsing on the outskirts of town. He flared his nostrils, grunted in anticipation, and felt his cock swell with excitement. Feed. Fuck. Grow. As he reached the outskirts of town, his massive heavy boots crunched through suburban homes, strip malls, and infrastructure. The earthquakes and shockwaves of his steps devastated structures for thousands of feet in every direction, shattering windows, collapsing buildings, and crumbling bridges. He didn’t notice or care about the destruction he caused; he was focused on his goal, and anything else that got in his way or was caught under his treads was of no concern. Huge. Strong. More. Simple thoughts controlled his every action, and he mindlessly, ceaselessly approached his target. He could feel the energy getting nearer, but where exactly? It was well-hidden. They were trying to keep him from it. He frowned, angry at the little people interfering with him. He would consume their energy too. He took a deep breath and felt the muscle dance and tense across his chest, heavy pecs hanging over his round belly, meaty nipples pointing down. He flexed his arms, chest, and shoulders, feeling the muscles bulge out, heavy bulky masses of power all over his big body. The muscle felt so good, the size he always dreamed of. He had to have more. He came to the strongest point of energy but didn’t see a power plant or anything like he was used to. He reached up and scratched his beard, the grinding, rubbing sound of his huge fingers through his coarse red beard audible far and wide. He reached up, adjusted his huge hat, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His whole body was sweaty, and the stench of long-unwashed musclebear surrounded him like a miasma of musky funk. He lifted an arm and turned to sniff his furry armpit. Chuck did not usually notice his smell, but he liked the way he stank when he sometimes caught a whiff. It was a masculine, raunchy smell that reminded him of the gym, and fucking, and lifting. It turned him on. He looked down past his chest and belly and realized the energy was beneath him, throbbing underground, pulsing like a heartbeat. He could feel it. He NEEDED it, every drop. Chuck crouched down, the leather of his boots creaking, and then slammed his huge, neighborhood-destroying ass onto the ground. His huge squat butt sunk many feet into the ground, crunching houses, streets, and everything else underneath him, spreading out for blocks under his two-mile tall frame. He shifted around, getting comfortable, his massive legs spreading out for a mile each way, surrounding the epicenter of the energy. His skin-tight gym shorts rode up all the way to his crotch, exposing the massive quads. His thighs were so large, they towered over the ground, rising into the air hundreds of feet, sheer cliffs of hair-covered muscle, twitching and tensing as Chuck got comfortable. The giant musclebear sniffed and snuffled and leaned forward, pawing at the ground, clearing away debris and buildings with just his hands, pushing them aside like they were toys. He grunted, quietly at first but then growing in intensity as he started digging, scooping up huge fistfuls of earth and pushing them away. He growled, his voice booming. “MORE,” he intoned, his voice stupendously loud, rumbling like a subwoofer. “MINE, NEED MORE,” he growled, digging away at the ground savagely, burrowing down hundreds of feet in a few seconds. The survivors living underground panicked, their entire makeshift town crumbling around them, caving in as the giant’s huge fingers pierced their way into the ground, like a reckless child digging up an ant colony. Chuck dug until he found it, the source of the power, a massive industrial generator burning natural gas. It was no bigger than his fist, but it was the biggest meal he had seen in days. His eyes lit up, literally glowing a bright blue, and he licked his lips in anticipation, drool dripping down from his lips and into the huge hole he had created. He reached in like a bear stealing honey from a bee hive, and with a single finger tapped into the powerful generator. His body erupted with power, glowing blue with energy, sparks and lightning tearing across him in a familiar ecstasy as he consumed all the power he could. He gasped, groaned, and roared in exultation as he felt himself growing, just a little bit considering how much power was required to make him grow now at his size, but feeling it. Thicker, broader, taller, stronger, fatter, wider. He wanted it all, had to have it, needed MORE. In his reverie, he didn’t notice or care that the entire survivor colony collapsed under him, the ground crumbling underneath him, flattening it all. Finally, the energy went dead, and Chuck stopped growing. He sat up straight, his huge back muscles bulging and flexing with new power, and he sighed in contentment. Nothing felt better than growing bigger. He looked down at the hole he had created and spit it in. He noticed his massive, thick, hard cock throbbing and leaking precum in his shorts, creating a big wet spot. The hole would be a perfect fit. He pushed his shorts down and revealed the massive, sticky head of his cock. His rock rose a thousand feet into the air, like a huge fleshy skyscraper, streams of precum dripping down it like a waterfall. He pulled his shorts down more, shifting his weight to pull them down past his massive powerlifter bubble butt, unleashing his entire cock and balls. They pulsed and throbbed as they were freed, stinking up the area with dried cum and ball sweat. Chuck shifted his legs, leaned forward, and then spread his huge arms forward. His fists bulldozed blocks of houses and homes, massive upper arms flexing and bulging as he layed forward, supporting his tonnage. He spread his legs back, the treads of his boots pushing up mounds of dirt and debris, and pressed his massive gut and steel-hard cock against the ground. The debris underneath him rubbed against this shaft, and a shiver spread up his giant body. Chuck pushed his cock down into the hole he had created and thrust. His cock slammed down and forward, digging deeper into the ground, making a huge cave with his cock head, his invincible body crushing into the dirt. Chuck groaned as he fucked the remnants of these pitiful survivors and thrust again, deeper and harder, compacting the earth under him, the ground shaking for miles around. He pounded again, grunting and groaning, again, the booming of his bassy voice echoing through the abandoned skyscrapers in the distance, again, the veins of his cock throbbing and tensing as it grew even bigger, again, his back and shoulders and biceps flexing as he supported his massive weight, again, his huge exposed ass jiggling with muscle as he pounded away. Chuck fantasized about growing even bigger. It was the only thing he was capable of thinking about anymore. The need for power. The hunger for more. The deep-down desire to feed, fuck, and grow. It was all that mattered. The earth shook around him as he pounded ceaselessly, unstoppably into the ground until finally he filled the entire underground chamber with a flood of cum, the two-mile titan spraying out untold gallons of semen. The giant groaned and grinned, satisfied for a moment. When he was done, Chuck pushed up off the ground, kneeled, and then rose to his feet, air and clouds whipping around him as he stood. He pulled up his shorts, tucked his enormous leaking cock back into his trunks, and stood. He spread his boots wide and breathed deeply, his chest expanding bigger than before, his head rising taller than ever. He sniffed, hocked a loogy, and spat into the ditch his huge body had created. Chuck raised his right arm up and flexed, admiring his bicep. “BIGGER,” he boomed with a smile. He tried to reach over and feel the hardness of his bulging mound of muscle, but his chest and shoulders were too big and musclebound to let him do it. He boomed a laugh and then leaned over and flexed his chest, traps, and arms, groaning and grunting. “FUCKIN’ HUGE,” Chuck rumbled, admiring his own gains. “NEED MORE!” he said, mindlessly echoing whatever ran through his thoughts, a slave to the nanomachines that controlled him. Chuck looked towards the ocean in the distance and started walking towards downtown. The tallest buildings left were only 6 or 7 hundred feet tall, and they only came up to his ankles. He didn’t even notice them; they crumbled under the shockwaves his tonnage created, and then were crushed under his boot treads. He barely felt them. He didn’t care. He headed towards the ocean. Something was drawing him that direction. Far away, across the sea, Chuck could sense something. More power. He was done with this continent. It was time to take on another. He stepped into the water, dipping deeper into its depths, and walked, gradually but unstoppably, towards Europe.
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  12. Part 13: Mahtab It was a grey, overcast morning and the hotel room was dark. But the sun peeked out from its cloud cover and moved slowly across Mahtab’s face. When it reached her eyes she squinted and awoke groggily with a moan. She sat upright in the chair, rubbing her aching neck, and glanced over at Russell, playing on his phone in the desk chair on the other side of the room. Adam was asleep on the bed, full clothed and on top of the covers. “Still nothing,” said Russell quietly, shaking his head. “Fuck…” Mahtab whispered. She glanced at Adam. One hand was on his chest, rising and falling at a slow, measured rhythm. “You sure he didn't warn him somehow?” Russell nodded. “You still got his phone right?” Mahtab checked her pocket and felt Adam's iphone right where she had left it. “Yeah…” “So what now?” Russell asked. Mahtab sighed. “I dunno. See if Adrian has anything?” She paused. “We should keep an eye on Adam, though. For leverage if nothing else.” “What if…” Russell glanced at Adam and set his phone down, leaning toward her and lowering his voice further. “What if whoever's actually responsible has gotten him, too?” “Just as we're staking him out?” asked Mahtab. “Coincidence much?” “You said it yourself, Matty,” Russell countered. “Him coming to Toronto was the perfect chance to confront him. If someone else had been after him…” “But who?” Mahtab shook her head, and hoisted herself out of the chair, stretching. “All the most likely suspects are missing already. Unless you want to start looking at the Circle again.” “Look, it could be anyone,” Russell spread his hands. “One of our own, one of theirs… even a hedge mage. Or another organization is trying to weaken both of us before they let us know they're here.” He sighed and stood up. “I'm gonna see what Adrian has. If he’s still got a read on Cassidy it may lead us to whoever's been doing this, one way or another.” Mahtab nodded. “Okay. I'll stay with Adam, see what he has to say. But take Adrian with you if you're going to check it out, all right?” “I'll be fine.” “Suit or no suit you're not invincible,” Mahtab quietly reminded him. “Just be careful.” Russell rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah. I'll be in touch, okay?” Mahtab nodded as he made his way out the door. “See ya.” He grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the box on the desk and left, shutting the door behind him. Mahtab turned back to look at Adam sleeping on the bed. She sighed. “Fuck.” *** Tyson hit the snooze button on his alarm and turned onto his back. His big, broad, V-shaped back. He took a deep breath, feeling his heavy chest rise and fall, and ran a hand from his pecs down to his abs. Well, he thought to himself, I guess it wasn't a dream… Continuing down his body, his hand found its way around his cock - erect as usual at this time of the morning - and he gave it a lazy stroke. Oh wow… He had to sit up on his elbows to see over his pecs, and smiled at what he saw. It seemed that his muscles weren't the only part of him that had been upgraded. His schlong had grown from its usual six inches to a thick ten, at least. His testicles had fared similarly, bloated to the size of tennis balls. “Fuckin’ A,” he mumbled aloud, and lowered himself back down to lie on his back as he began to stroke himself. One hand pumped his cock while the other slid over his torso, tracing ridged abs, his pronounced obliques, and his big furry pecs, lingering on his nipples. His cock was primed and ready to go, already leaking pre just a few strokes in. Tyson closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the night before. As alarmingly weird as it had been, it had been so hot to watch. Not just the transformations themselves but the looks on everyone's faces - shocked, disbelieving, ecstatic, thrilled. It defied all explanation but by the end of it he didn't care. Either he was crazy and it wasn't happening at all, or it was happening and it was fucking amazing. He remembered again feeling the leather straps of his harness constricting around his bulging body, how the sound of it popping off was one of the sexiest things he'd ever heard. That, evidently, was enough to push him over, and with a loud, sultry grunt, his big balls pushed a big fountain of cum out of his big dick and he gasped and moaned and writhed on his mattress, feeling every bulging muscle through his whole body tense. When finally his cock was spent, he went limp on the bed, idly wiping his jizz-soaked hand on his covers, and dozed happily for another twenty minutes until his alarm went off again. He checked his phone. Text message from Carlos: Mandatory staff meeting 12pm sharp. BE THERE Gee, Tyson smiled. Wonder what that could be about. Tyson got up, his big flaccid dick flopping between his thick thighs, and made his way over to his bathroom. The tiny mirror over his sink was too small to get much of a complete picture of himself but he checked himself out one section at a time, flexing muscles he hadn't even realized existed. He was carved out of marble. He was huge and shredded. God it felt so good. He'd never given being this big any serious consideration, but now that he had this size he was almost amazed he had never tried to get there on his own. He had no trouble getting guys as it was; now he felt like he'd never sleep alone again. With some awkward maneuvering he squeezed into his standing shower and cleaned himself off, noting at one point that he'd be going through a lot more bodywash from here on in. Having favoured tight-fitting clothes his wardrobe options were fairly limited. He ended up going with a bright turquoise tank top that had once hung loose off his shoulders that he now had to squeeze himself into, and a similarly tight pair of large athletic shorts he wore to play basketball. He slipped into a pair of sandals, threw on his charcoal Puma ball cap and Oakley shades, and swaggered out the door. The second he got outside he saw how grey it was and hung his shades off his collar, where they nestled in his pec cleavage. People were staring at him on the streetcar. Some he recognized as familiar faces from his commute, probably trying to figure out whether it was him or not. Others were strangers who apparently just liked to look at him. It became a routine after a few stops; he'd catch people with their gaze locked on him and they'd bashfully avert their eyes, and then he'd grin. Tyson overshot Church Street so he could get a green tea frappucino and a bagel at the Starbucks on Yonge. He munched and sipped as he walked across Wellesley Street, still with plenty of time to spare. “Uhmm… Tyson?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned with his mouth full of bagel. It was a short guy of average build, with long black hair and a matching big bushy beard. Tyson wasn't sure who he was until he recognized the Guided By Voices band shirt. “Darcy? Is that you?” The guy grinned broadly, stroking his beard. “Yeah man.” He gave a laugh and fell in step next to him. “Last night, right?” Darcy was the occasional DJ at the Black Eagle, who had until now sported a bright red swoop and no facial hair whatsoever. “I always assumed you were a redhead,” Tyson noted. Darcy laughed. “Hah! Yeah. No, man. Been dying it for years.” He took a lock of his hair between his fingers. “Cut off the ends this morning. It looked retarded,” he confessed, then slapped Tyson on the back. “Shit, dude. You got huge!” Tyson felt himself blush a bit. “Yeah… well it was a very… strange shift last night.” “Fuck, man, tell me about it,” Darcy nodded. “Hey check this out.” He lifted the shirt to reveal a rug of dark dense body hair covering his chest and belly. “I was fuckin bare as a newborn before last night,” he announced with pride. Tyson took another sip of his frap. “Looks good on you, man,” he nodded. Darcy scoffed. “Yeah, so does the, like, hundred pounds of Schwarzenegger on you, man.” Tyson smirked. “Heh. Thanks,” he said, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. He stole a glance at Darcy’s crotch, noting with a chuckle that he was sporting a big bulge. “This is so trippy, man,” Darcy remarked. “I've never been able to grow decent facial hair and now I look like… like an extra from Vikings or something. Hey!” he smacked Tyson's arm. “Gay marriage in the States!” Tyson shrugged. “Yeah. Was gonna happen sooner later.” “Maybe,” Darcy conceded. “Still, though. Exciting times.” They entered the bar at ten minutes to noon, but pretty much everyone was there already. The room looked like a circus side show. Everyone was either gigantically tall, swollen with muscle, hugely fat or excessively hairy - all except Simon, who had had the night off and was staring around in bewildered shock. Chairs and barstools were arranged in a crooked circle, and a cardboard pot of Tim Hortons coffee was on a table next to an open box of timbits. Tyson and Darcy poured themselves cups and munched timbits while the last of the employees filed in. Tyson broke off from Darcy and sat next to Paul, who was wearing the same extra-large staff shirt he had taken to go home. Paul greeted him with a nod but said nothing, looking annoyed. Pretty much everyone was poorly dressed in worn out gym clothes or old clothing they didn't care about stretching out or ripping. Paul, who famously detested sandals, was wearing an old pair of too-small flipflops, which Tyson noted with a chuckle. “Hey,” Tyson nudged him and grinned. “What's your shoe size now?” Paul just looked at him. “I don't wanna talk about it.” Tyson shrugged and sipped his coffee. They waited til quarter after when they seemed to decide that anyone who hadn't arrived wasn't going to. When the cops had shown up Tyson’s instincts suggested to him his buzz was about to be killed, and he left as quickly and quietly as a guy his size could. In the chaos he had missed out on a few of his colleagues’ changes, among them the co-owner, Carlos. As he heard the heavy stomps coming up from the private rooms in the basement, Tyson assumed it was Daniel, but then saw him already standing by the bar. Daniel had decided - or perhaps had been forced - to forego wearing a shirt altogether, revealing the hugely muscled torso last night's antics had afforded him. Daniel had been hulked out into a giant swole freak, his vascular muscles snaking with veins even when he was relaxed. His neck had essentially disappeared beneath bulging traps that led right into massively thick shoulders and arms. He'd had to walk sideways through most doorways. So if Daniel was there, who was coming up the stairs, rattling the bottles behind the bar with every thudding step? Tyson gaped as he watched Carlos squeeze his bulk through the door with a bemused grin on his face. Carlos, who had formerly been shorter than Tyson and of a similar lean physique, had been rendered all but unrecognizable. He stood at least seven feet tall, and everything about him had gone from average to gargantuan. A huge belly stuck out nearly a foot in front of him, and his big thick arms were covered by a layer of fat that did little to soften the powerful muscles beneath it. In place of his neatly trimmed goatee was a huge bushy beard, and in place of his buzzcut was a thick mane of hair he had tied back into a tail that reached halfway down his back. While everyone else had apparently struggled to cobble together an outfit that would fit their new dimensions, it almost looked like Carlos had been prepared for this day, wearing a thin white muscle shirt under a black leather vest, tucked into dark blue jeans topped by a leather belt clasped with an ornate belt buckle of a goat's head overtop a pentagram. What really sold the whole piece was his thick leather boots ornamented with thin steel chains and spiked buckles. Where the hell had he found boots like that to fit his huge feet in the, what, six or seven hours since he had gone up a few sizes? Carlos was a pretty friendly, laidback guy, and his newfound gigantism hadn't dampened his attitude. With Daniel flanking him from behind, he sidled up onto a barstool, one boot resting flat on the floor. His ample package was plain to see as he sat down, and Tyson did a quick sweep of the room, noting that every man there - regardless of whatever other transformation he had undergone - had also been upgraded in the dick department. Carlos smiled with a note of bemusement. “First I just want to update you guys on Jorge. He’s fine, he got released from the ER and he’s sleeping at home. Second I want to thank everyone for coming out on such short notice,” he said with a bemused smile and a nod. “And I'll cut right to the chase. Obviously last night was… a bit of an event.” “A bit of an event?” came the incredulous query from Dennis, the barback who had gone from five-foot-eleven twig to six-foot-six bear. “Man I gained a hundred and fifty pounds in thirty seconds.” “Yeah,” Carlos agreed. “Well obviously a lot of us went through some significant changes.” “Okay seriously,” the patio bartender Rosharon held up her hand. “Does anyone have any notion what the fuck actually happened? Cuz this?” she gestured to her breasts which had blown up a few sizes, “makes no fuckin sense at all.” “Look, I don't know,” Carlos admitted, and was about to say something else when Paul cut him off. “That's not bloody good enough. This is impossible to explain!” Paul gestured around the whole room. “What am I supposed to tell people?” “All right hold on,” Carlos raised his hands defensively, “this is actually what I wanted to talk about. CP24 aired a piece on it this morning. They seem to think it's a hoax.” “Yeah so do the fuckin’ cops,” said Rosharon. “They were talkin’ about public mischief charges.” “Okay look,” said Carlos, “I've already spoken to my lawyer and we're gonna handle that. In the meantime though I need everyone to give no comment if you're approached by the media or the police.” “What if we get subpoenaed?” Carlos briefly pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Jesus christ Rosharon they're not gonna subpoena you for public mischief.” “Have you tried getting in touch with that cop that's always coming in?” asked Darcy. “Whatsisname… Vince something? He could vouch for us, right? At least confirm we aren't just making it all up.” “How’s that gonna go?” spat Paul. “‘Yeah no guys it's cool all these guys just spontaneously grew for no reason.’” “Vince is at L A pride and will be back in a week or so, I think,” said Carlos. “When he is I'll reach out to him but for now…” “So what are we supposed to do about all the customers we had?” asked Paul. “How are you gonna get them not to say anything?” “Obviously there's nothing we can do about them,” Carlos conceded. “Which is why it's so important we keep a unified front on a media blackout, all right? At least for the next few days.” He adjusted himself and brightened. “Now otherwise, I think we need to see the opportunity we had here. I know it was strange but I think we can all agree…” Carlos gestured to them gathered around the room. “This isn't such a bad thing.” “Are you bloody kidding me?” asked Paul incredulously. “Carlos we have absolutely zero idea how or why this happened. What if we all end up getting cancer or something?” “Aside from Jorge’s panic attack the paramedics said everyone checked out fine,” said Carlos, “and I realize thay doesn't cover everything but I mean, has anyone had any adverse effects? Me, I feel great.” “Adverse effects?” asked Paul, and began counting off on his fingers. “I'm too big for my bed, my entire wardrobe is rubbish…” “These bitches gon’ give me back problems before long, I'll tell you that,” Rosharon mumbled. “But c'mon, man,” said Darcy. “You gotta admit this is pretty fuckin cool, right?” “Pretty cool?!” Paul shouted at him. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Doesn't anyone care HOW this happened? Doesn't anyone care that this is bloody impossible?” “Magic,” Daniel suggested with a nonchalant shrug of his mighty shoulders. “Magic,” Paul repeated dryly, “that's the explanation we're goin’ with: magic.” “What else you got, sonny boy?” asked Daniel archly. “Look around. The short boys get tall. The skinny boys get big. The big boys get bigger.” - here he gestured to himself - “An’ I wager all your little tonkys got a nice growth spurt too, ah?” he tried to fold his arms over his chest but his huge biceps clashed with his giant pecs so he settled for putting his hands on his hips. “You got another word for wishes comin’ true, now?” Tyson raised an eyebrow. What the hell are tonkys? “Hey, I didn't wish for this,” said Paul. “Oh come on,” Carlos protested. “You're honestly telling me you never wanted to be taller?” Paul went to say something and then threw up his hands, sighed, and smoldered moodily in silence. “Okay,” Carlos said with a nod. “We don't know how it happened but it did. It's Pride Friday and the Internet is goin nuts over this thing. Tonight is gonna be a total shitshow, and I need all hands on deck. Even if you weren't scheduled. I've gone ahead and cancelled dirty bingo and we're not gonna open til six. And as far as your rubbish wardrobe goes, Paul, I've dipped into some discretionary funds and everyone is getting two hundred bucks so you can buy some new threads for the new you.” Tyson smiled. “Sweet.” Carlos continued. “I know two hundred bucks doesn't go too far but it's the best we can do for now. I know this is weird,” he chuckled with a nod. “It’s a goddamn mind-fuck. But we’re a family here and we got your backs. We'll have time to try and figure all this out later but we're primed to have one of our biggest weekends in history if we play our cards right.” He rose up off the stool, the floorboards creaking as he shifted his weight. “That's about it, then. If you can make it tonight let me know, and I'll see you all back here around five.” Everyone went past the bar to pick up their cash and then exited in single file, as only a handful of them could fit through the halls at the same time. Tyson said goodbye to Darcy and Simon and jogged to catch up with Paul, who was sulkily walking down the sidewalk. “Hey man,” he greeted. Paul responded with a halfhearted nod but didn't say anything, fishing a cigarette out of his pack. He offered the open pack to Tyson who slid out his own. “You… you seemed pretty angry in there,” Tyson noted as Paul lit his cigarette. “Everything okay?” Paul glanced at Tyson as he handed him the lighter, looking over his big beefy body, and shook his head. “It's just so fuckin’ weird.” Tyson lit his cigarette and handed back the lighter. “No argument there, man.” “I just…” Paul sighed. “I like to think I have some control over my life, and if something can just come along and… do THIS to me? I mean what else could happen?” “There's not some part of you that's happy about it though?” asked Tyson. “Oh well sure. The inner teenager in me is losing his shit,” Paul admitted. “But like, when I was younger I always wanted to be taller, and even in my twenties I was like, holdin’ out for a late growth spurt. But when it didn't come, I accepted it and came to terms with just bein’ a little guy. An’ now…” “You're a tall guy,” Tyson finished with a shrug. “Could be worse.” “Okay fine, but what if we all suddenly go back to normal?” said Paul. Tyson frowned. That hadn't occurred to him. “Why would that happen?” “Why would ANY of this happen, that's my bloody point,” Paul explained. “If I can spontaneously grow a foot and half taller, waking up one morning to find I'm back to five-foot-four wouldn't particularly surprise me.” He paused. “An’ even thinking about it now, I don't want that to happen. Which means I never really came to terms with being a little guy in the first place. An’ if I have to do it again…” he shook his head dejectedly and took a drag from his cigarette. “You're overthinking this,” said Tyson. “If you don't know what's gonna happen you're just gonna drive yourself crazy guessing. I feel like you gave me that advice yesterday.” “Well,” Paul rolled his eyes. “Yesterday was a very different day.” Tyson nodded, and they walked together in silence until they finished their smokes. “Hey,” Tyson nudged Paul. “Wanna go shopping?” Paul shrugged. “Yeah all right.” *** Brent stepped out of the shower to find a text waiting for him from Nate. It upset him a bit that he got so excited just to see the notice. You're falling too hard for this guy, he mentally reminded himself. You're just a summer fling to him. He resisted the temptation to pick up the phone right away, deciding instead to take his time toweling off and getting dressed. He'd really been looking forward to Pride this year. It was his first one in Toronto and his first one with a boyfriend - or, not-boyfriend, or whatever the hell was going on with Nate. But it was Friday and they still hadn't seen each other. Maybe Pride just wasn't Nate’s thing, or maybe he had legitimately become suddenly swamped with things he had to get done, but in Brent’s experience if you wanted to do something you made the time to do it, or at least explained yourself with more detail than “I'm too busy.” When he finally decided he had exercised an appropriate amount of restraint, Brent picked up the phone and checked the message. There were two. I wanna c u U home? Is ayush there Ayush was out for the day at some kind of panel at U of T, and had invited Brent to join him and his friends at Crew's and Tangos after dinner. He had given a wishy-washy, non-committal response; holding out, he later realized, for Nate to make plans with him. No Ayush is out U can come over, Brent sent back, and soon Nate replied: K omw He did a hurried survey of the house and a rudimentary tidying of his room. He laboured over what he should be in the middle of when Nate showed up, and settled on playing Far Cry 4. He'd just finished losing an Outpost match when he heard a knock on the front door. Brent did a quick mental inventory of his outfit. Hemp shorts, boxer-briefs, and his Patriots jersey. Just another day lazing around at home. What did he care if the guy he was totally into showed up at his door? Not much, was the message he hoped he was sending. He opened his door staring into the bare chest of some guy who was taller than the doorframe. “Uhhhhhh,” said Brent. “Sup, man?” the lanky body ducked under the frame, forcing Brent back a step. Who the hell was this guy? Was some gang of giants about to do a home invasion on him? How did - holy shit… “Nate?!” he shrieked. He was at least seven feet tall, probably with an inch or two to spare. He smirked down at Brent. “Somethin’ wrong, man?” he chuckled. “What… what the hell happened to you?” Bren sputtered. Nate shrugged nonchalantly. “Same thing that happened to you.” Brent was lost. “What?!” “That night at the Black Eagle?” Nate grinned. Brent's eyes somehow got even wider. How could he know? How could anyone know? He hadn't said a thing to a single person about it. “S’all right, man. Don' sweat it,” Nate slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I learned how to do it too.” “This… how… this doesn't make any sense!” Brent protested. Nate shut the door behind him. “S’only gon’ get worse, brah…” he laughed, his impish eyes twinkling. Brent suddenly felt a strange electric jolt in the pit of his stomach. It was the origin point of a swirling liquid warmth that pumped through his veins and quickly flowed through his whole body. He felt a bit lightheaded. “What… ooooh,” he moaned, staggering back a step as he felt his jersey sliding across his body. It felt like that night at the Eagle but so much more intense. Brent felt his pecs getting heavy with pure muscle, his shoulders widening and swelling with brawn up his neck, thickening up against the collar of his jersey, his biceps blowing up like balloons of meat. Soon the once-loose jersey was hugging tight to every contour of his expanding frame. The shorts which had been pretty snug on his already-thick thighs stretched to their limit around his inflating butt. Brent was overwhelmed by the sweet feeling of warmth and weight pumping through his body. His eyes fluttered in ecstasy and he felt his cock twitching with excitement. His rational thoughts were being smothered by a serotonin fog of bliss but as he looked down at himself and saw how huge he was getting he groaned. “No… no this is too much! What’ll…” His expansion seemed to subside. “Naw man don’ worry ‘bout it. You'll be back to your old self in a few hours,” Nate assured him with a smarmy wink. “S’just enjoy ourselves, aright? C’mere.” Nate took a step towards him and leaned down, lifting Brent's chin so their lips met in a kiss. Nate's long arms reached down and his hand cupped Brent's balls before sliding over his thigh and clutching his ass. Despite Nate leaning down, Brent had to stand on the balls of his feet to reach him. Nate released Brent from their kiss, standing again to his full, intimidating height. He chuckled. “Bet you don’ reach up to kiss anyone too often. Mmm…” he ran his hands from Brent's neck over his shoulders and down his arms. “Flex for me, big boy…” Brent raised his arm slowly, looking at it as if it was someone else’s, but feeling the push and pull of all the new muscles blown up under his skin. He made a fist and flexed, watching his bicep ball up and feeling the sleeve of his jersey tight around it. Nate ran his hand over its peak, first as a gentle caress then with a firm squeeze. To feel his hand against it was utter bliss. All that size resisting his grip, tight and hard and huge and hot. Brent felt so powerful, stronger than ever before. He puffed out his chest, felt the mesh fabric of the jersey taut across them, and envisioned Tyler seeing him like this. His imagination turned Tyler into a cartoon, jaw dropping down to the floor while his eyes bugged out of their sockets. Brent smirked to himself. Nate meanwhile was hard from not only watching Brent transform, but his telepathy allowed him to virtually experience it. Every sensation and thought that passed through Brent's conscious mind moaned its way over Nate's. It was all he could do to keep from creaming himself, and the peak of the tent in his sweat shorts was dark with a growing stain of pre. Nate shook his head. “Aright, gotta get ya to the bedroom.” He clapped Brent on the shoulders and pushed hjm in the direction of his bedroom. Brent felt heavy and thick as he trounced down the hallways, his bulging muscles rubbing against each other as we walked. His thighs were so big he couldn't walk normally, and staggered in front of Nate as he pushed him towards his room. “No it's… it's fine… Ayush won't be back for…” “Naw man, jus’ gettin’ you comfortable,” Nate explained with a chuckle, “cuz ‘fore long you gon’ be too big to fit through the doorway.” Brent gasped. “Wait, what?” Nate pushed him into his bedroom and he wavered to stay upright. Nate massaged his shoulders briefly with a moan, leaned down to peck him on the cheek, then circled around, pulling him around to the foot of his bedframe. It only took a nudge to push top-heavy Brent onto the mattress. Brent sat up with a giggle. “Jesus… Nate how big can you make people?” Nate’s grin widened. “Haven’ tested my limits yet, man. Sky's the limit s’far as I know.” To demonstrate, Nate stretched taller right before his eyes, his body growing in proportion, the cigarette pack, lighter, and wallet in his shorts bulging prominently in his pockets, along with his growing package. He averted his eyes upwards, taking a step to his right to avoid hitting the light fixture. “Or in this case the ceilin,” he added with a laugh. He grunted, adjusting his balls through his shorts, pulling the head of his cock out of the top of his waistband, dripping with a thick sheen of pre. “Christ man, you're huge!” Brent exclaimed, looking up and down Nate's body. He dwarfed the room around him, made Brent's desk, chair, and bookcase all seem like miniature movie props. “Damn right,” Nate agreed with a smug nod. “Think you like me now, jus’ wait man.” With a grunt, Nate bobbed his cock up and down, and Brent watched mesmerized as it stretched larger, lengthening up Nate's abs and fattening up nice and thick. His balls grew big and heavy, further weighing down his shorts. “Ah… mmmm,” Nate grunted again, then sighed. “Whoo! 'At's always a rush.” Nate wormed his way out of his shorts until they were down around his ankles, and kicked them away, knocking his head against the light overhead with a blush and a chuckle. “Nate you gotta be pushing eight feet tall!” Brent shouted. “This is unreal!” Nate gave his huge hard cock a playful wag and stepped closer to the bed. “Naw man, s’all real,” he thrust his hips a little and his dick bobbed up and down. He nodded at it. “Touch it.” Brent put his meaty hands around the thick cock, feeling the heat coming off it, feeling the stickiness of his pre. “Fuck…” “Mmmm,” Nate moaned as Brent began to stroke the two-foot length of his shaft. “Yeah, man. We can do whatever we want now,” he cooed, running his hand from the crown of Brent's head down his burly neck to his huge shoulders. “Can make you as huge as you want, man. You deserve it…” “Can you make me as tall as you?” Brent looked up at him. “Nuh-uh,” Nate winked and shook his head. “Tonight I get to be the tall guy. An’ you…” - Brent felt that same kinetic warmth through his body and his jersey shifted across his skin - “...you get to be the big swole fuckin’ beast.” Again his body began to swell, already huge muscles bulging with even greater size. His felt his shorts straining against him until they burst, and he looked down in amazement as he watched the fabric tear away, revealing thighs that were getting massive with hard, heavy meat. The boxers underneath were still holding out but he didn't put much faith in them lasting long either. It was phenomenal. He was actually outgrowing his clothes. His jersey was beginning to succumb as well as his chest blew up with bulging muscle and his biceps inflated with brawn. He felt his traps stretching out the collar, his lats straining the back. Finally it began to give way, the tiny holes in the mesh stretching larger and larger until finally they opened up across his chest and back. “Oh god,” he moaned as his expanding body continued to rip the jersey apart. His muscles were growing larger than he'd ever seen on anyone before. The sounds coming from his body were almost hotter than the feel of it - skin and tendons stretching like rubber, muscles squelching against each other as they fought for space, bones popping as they thickened and lengthened to support the increasing weight of his frame. He clenched his pecs and they rose up against his chin. He flexed his arms and his biceps blew up to the size of watermelons . He flared out his lats and they obliterated what little remained of his jersey. “How much do I weigh?” Brent asked with a gasp. Nate laughed. “Fuck if I know, man,” he licked his lips. “Mmm… you're so goddamn hot, bro.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on Brent's shoulders, his ridiculous cock thrusting against the deep tight valley between Brent's pecs. Brent tried to reach forward to take it in his hand, but found with amazement his arms had actually become too thick to bend all the way. Nate laughed at his struggle. “Don' worry ‘bout me, man. These puppies -” he reached down and pinched each of Brent's nipples “- are doin all the work for you.” And Brent was only getting bigger. His growing arms forced his hands further from in front of him as his pecs surged forward and enveloped Nate's dick. Nate began to slowly buck his hips, and Brent felt his big thick cock sliding up and down between his pecs, unable to help but smile as Nate winced every time he flexed them. He could barely believe it. He was getting too huge to even move. He tried to stay upright but his giant thighs were growing into his lap, forcing his torso slowly onto its back. He could hear his bedframe whining in protest under his endlessly increasing mass. It was a strange contradiction to feel so empowered with strength and yet nearly immobilized by the giant muscles that were granting it to him. It didn't matter, though. Every time he attempted to sort out the logistics of his impossible size a jolt of pleasure would hit him, hit reset on his thought process, and he'd have to start over. Before long he simply abandoned the effort, letting sensation and bliss ooze into every corner of his mind. Nothing else mattered, just the feel of the throbbing cock lodged in his chest and the strength and size blossoming inside his body. Sweat dripped off Nate onto Brent's chest and abs. Nate’s breath was coming in heavy gasps accented with grunts and moans and mumbled cries of “Aww yeah.” Nate shuddered, groaned, and Brent felt a flood of hot cum gushing between his pecs. His continental shelf of a chest blocked his view he could feel the spunk oozing out from his sternum and down his abs. Nate braced himself on Brent's pecs and lowered let his head bob down, taking a moment to swallow a few breaths before he raised his grinning face, leaned forward across his chest and kissed him on the lips. Brent tried to reach forward to hug him close but his gargantuan arms wouldn't permit it. Nate stood up, his cock slurping out from between Brent's pecs, flopping against Nate's thighs as he went flaccid. “This s’ gon’ be so awesome man. Fuck. Can’ wait ‘til next season. We’re gon’ be so huge all the guys’ll be shittin’ emselves the second they see you strut out on the field. Tyler's head’s gon’ fuckin’ explode, man.” Brent closed his eyes as he felt his hard cock getting warmer and warmer til it was like it had become white hot. He shuddered and moaned as it began to expand, inflating bigger with every throbbing heartbeat. His balls groaned as his sack stretched larger, pressing against his thighs. He felt Nate's hands clasp around his shaft. He assumed Nate had bent over but when he opened his eyes he gasped in shock. Nate was still standing at his full height, and Brent's dick was already well past the four foot mark and still rising, still inflating thicker, throbbing veins getting fatter, pre issuing freely from the tip. “Oh my fucking god!” Brent cried. “YOU'RE a fuckin’ god, man,” Nate murmured as he ran his hands down either side of Brent's shaft. “Fuckin’ look at you, man. Wide as a fuckin’ truck.” The cock was still inching higher, bloating thicker, getting heavier on his crotch. “How…” Brent sucked in a lung full of air, “how big are you gonna… oooooooh.” Brent's query trailed off into a moan as he watched his cock surge another two feet taller before his eyes, and as it rose past Nate's head Brent realized with awestruck bewilderment that his own cock had gotten as long as Brent was tall. A tremor of pleasure quaked through his body as his pre-soaked tip pressed up against the ceiling. Make that: longER. Nate took a step forward and threw his arms around Brent's tremendous shaft, pressing his body against the underside of his cock, moaning and licking pre from the head. Brent shuddered and tried to reach up to stroke it but his cartoonishly swollen muscles prevented him from doing anything but grab clumpfuls of blanket from beneath him. “Holy fuck!” Brent coughed. It was amazing. It was beyond amazing. Every inch of his huge sweaty body and monstrous tree-trunk of a cock was alive, hot and electric. As Nate continued to work his shaft, jostling Brent's beachball-sized testicles with his knees, bringing him closer and closer to climax, Brent's reality outside that moment disappeared in a flood of blood cum and sweat. He had always been here, in this moment, gigantically swole and titanically hung, being serviced by an eight foot plus giant. York, the Fox, the Lions, his friends, his family, Far Cry 4 still on the main menu in the other room - it all melted away; had never been. The world ended beyond the door to his bedroom. This bed, this body, this cock, this man. That was all that was. His huge balls convulsed and he felt a geyser of cum bubbling up his pillar of a cock until it erupted out the tip, spraying back off thr ceiling and raining downon him with the force of a pressure washer. Nate was getting a similar onslaught, but had the disadvantage of being on his feet and at proportions he was unaccustomed to. He shielded his eyes and staggered back a couple steps, bumping his head on light fixture again before falling on his ass with a crash that shook the room and knocked a couple of books off their shelves. Brent's orgasm seemed to last for days. A torrential stream of jizz kept blasting out of his giant cock until finally he was spent, and he let his head fall back with a grunt, feeling the cum oozing across his body and dripping down in thick gobs from the ceiling. Nate climbed back to his feet, giggling maniacally and dripping with semen. He was still laughing as he climbed on top of Brent, the bedframe creaking in protest, his hands and knees slipping across the thick layer of cum. He settled face down on top of Brent, his long legs straddling the gargantuan cock that teetered unevenly as it slowly went soft, his pecs over Brent's face, rising and falling with every breath. “Aww fuck,” Nate squealed impishly, his own cock humping lazily against Brent's abs. “Fun, huh?” Brent could barely move he was so overblown with muscle, and his room was covered in a pool of cum he couldn't even begin to think about cleaning up. But he felt so good there, lying there with Nate, bigger than anything. All he could do was laugh back at him. “Heh. Yeah.” *** “Absolutely not.” Mahtab crossed her arms, firmly shaking her head. “Mahtab,” Adam growled. “This is getting ridiculous. Give me. My fucking. Phone.” “No,” she shrugged like it would settle the matter. “There's a lot of balls in the air here. I can't let you contact Cassidy.” Adam took a deep breath. “Mahtab…” “You think it's a coincidence we come to confront him and he never shows up?” she asked archly. “If by confront you mean fucking ambush,” Adam retorted. Mahtab rolled her eyes. “Don't be so dramatic.” “I'm…” Adam sputtered incredulously. “You come in here and accuse my husband of kidnapping - or worse - and I’M being fucking DRAMATIC?!” his voice rose to a shout. He was about to scream something else at her but fumed inwardly for a moment, before laying his hands open in front of him. “Look, either your ambush - which it fucking WAS - failed, or it didn't and Cassidy never came home last night for some other reason. Do you not get this?” Adam pointed at himself. “MY FUCKING HUSBAND DIDN'T COME HOME LAST NIGHT!” “Jesus christ, will you keep it down?” Mahtab hissed. “If Cassidy tries to contact you I'll let you know. But he hasn't responded to any of the texts I'm sending from your phone. What makes you think he'll reply with you at the keyboard?” “Call him,” Adam barked. Another shake of her head. “Absolutely not.” Adam lunged for her jacket and she clamped her hand down on her pocket. He tried to pry her hand off and she grabbed at his wrist, trying to wrench it away. They grappled for a few seconds more before she twisted out of his grip, hopping a few steps away and holding out her hand to ward him off. “Fuck you, man,” Mahtab glared at him. “You think this only goes one way? If Cassidy's on to us then we're all in danger, and Russell is out there right now. No way I am hanging him out to dry.” “Mahtab, seriously,” he massaged his forehead, “you have completely lost your fucking mind. I mean…” he cut off as he lunged at her again, this time fending off her hand with his left and jabbing into her pocket with the right. He ripped his iphone away, tearing her pocket and knocking her own cell phone to the floor. “You dick!” Mahtab cried, and jumped to grab it back out of his hand, but Adam held it out of reach. When she persisted, he put his free hand on her face and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, tripping over the armchair and slamming her shoulder into the desk. “Fuck,” she swore, wincing as she grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet. Adam glanced at her, a brief look of concern flashing across his face before he scowled, and hastily dialed on his phone, putting it up to his ear. “Adam…” Mahtab warned grimly, taking a step towards him. He pulled away and held his hand up. She sighed, picking up her phone. “You ripped my jacket you asshole.” Adam turned his palm around and flipped her off. “Bill me,” he spat. He stood glaring at her until he pulled the phone away from his face with a dejected sigh. “Just goes to voicemail.” Mahtab strode over to him. “Was it worth it, you dumb fuck?” she asked, and punched him in the jaw with her right, injured arm. He reeled back, swatting at her, as she winced and turned away, clutching at her shoulder as pain crackled down her arm. They stood there nursing their bruises, glowering at each other until finally Adam shoved his phone into his jeans. “Alright; fuck this and fuck you.” He grabbed his keys and wallet from off the bed. “I'm going to look for him.” Mahtab laughed. “Oh my god. Fucking where, you retard? You have any idea where he is?” “No but I'm not gonna stay here with you in this goddamn hotel while he's out there somewhere not answering his phone,” Adam replied. “Well I'm coming with you,” Mahtab insisted. “Until I see Cassidy I'm not letting you out of my sight.” “Good!” Adam spat. “I'm really looking forward to seeing the look on your face when you realize what a vindictive cunt you are.” Mahtab rolled her eyes and walked over to the door, holding her arm out. “After you, Captain Class-Act.” Adam gave her a sour glare but walked to the doorway. “You're too kind.” He heaved a sigh and turned to face her. “Look. We're both pissed and might be talking a lot of shit right now, so I wanna make something clear.” He nodded. “If I find out that you've been lying to me and that you took Cassidy, or hurt him in any way, I will fucking murder you.” He paused. “Understood?” Mahtab brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and returned his gaze with a subtle shake of her head. “Crystal clear.” “All right,” Adam walked out the door. “Let's go.” *** “Okay,” Adrian warbled through Russell's phone speaker, “I think I got him.” “You think?” Russell asked, turning off of Danforth and slowing his car to a crawl down a narrow residential street. “Yeah. I THINK,” Adrian curtly replied. “Look I told you; something happened downtown. He… it's different. But I'm pretty sure this is him.” Russell sighed. “Where?” “I'm still zeroing in…” said Adrian. “Somewhere in the Beaches.” “You think Cassidy is trying to hide from you?” asked Russell. “I'm… not sure,” Adrian stammered over the phone. “That's not what it feels like. I've never seen anything like this before.” Russell rolled his eyes. “So I'm just driving around hoping I run into him?” “I'm working on it!” Adrian replied peevishly. Russell kept the line open but drove wordlessly towards the Beaches, his phone obnoxiously beeping periodically to remind him it was low on power. The grey skies were darkening prematurely, and Russell resolved that if Adrian didn't get a break soon - preferably something more substantial than a gut feeling - he was going to give up and reconvene with Mahtab to plan their next move. The more he thought about it, though, the worse he felt. Mahtab insisted that things had changed; that they didn't know Adam or Cassidy anymore. And maybe they didn't. Cassidy had always been a bit of an unknown quantity, an unpredictable liability, but that was only because he was cavalier, not malicious. Russell couldn't believe what Mahtab kept trying to convince him. Cassidy didn't want to hurt anyone - and if he ever did, Adam wouldn't stand for it. In Russell's experience, people changed glacially, at tiptoeing steps at a time. That Cassidy had gone from well-meaning if reckless to insidious, plotting, and malevolent in such a short span of time just rang false to Russell. Maybe he was just being naive. He sighed. Magic had been supposed to make their lives easier, and now it felt like a constant headache. “Whoa…” came Adrian through the phone. “Okay, I definitely found something.” “Don't keep me in suspense, man,” Russell chimed. “There's a dead zone on Broadway Drive,” said Adrian. “It's a house.” A “dead zone” was Adrian’s term for an area that had been warded to prevent a scryer like him to see what was going on inside. The craft to maintain it wasn't too elaborate and many of the Coven had taken such precautions once things had started becoming tense with the Circle - Russell included. Cassidy had woven one around his own house in Caledon. Though it kept a curious scryer from seeing what was going on inside, it made it obvious that someone was trying to hide something. “Anyone we know?” asked Russell. “Don't think so,” Adrian replied. “Cassidy's trail is spotty but it leads to that area… it could be a coincidence.” “Yeah it COULD be,” Russell shook his head. “What's the address?” “I'm gonna pack up and meet you there,” Adrian announced. “I'll be at the corner of Woodbine and Queen in…” “No,” said Russell firmly. “You stay there and keep an eye on the area. If Cassidy is on the move again we have to know.” “Russell I don't like this, there's something… there's something strange about this one. I don't like it. Wait for me and we'll go in together.” “No,” Russell repeated. “Stay there and keep your eyes out.” “Russell…” “Adrian we don't have time for this,” Russell shouted at his phone. “We played our hand. If Cassidy goes off the grid we might lose him for good, and then we're all in danger. Give me the address. Tell Mahtab and she can back me up.” “Mahtab’s not gonna slip anywhere near a dead zone,” Adrian pointed out. Russell rolled his eyes. “Then she can back me up the old fashioned way. Adrian. Tell me where I need to go right fucking now.” Adrian paused, and let out an extended sigh. “You got a pen handy?” “I don't need one,” Russell shook his head. “Shoot.” *** Rodrigo sat in the middle of the birdcage while Phil and Blake snored quietly against opposite walls. The trouble that came with trying to breathe at this size, coupled with the blurring divide between night and day, made it difficult to maintain normal waking hours, but Rodrigo tried hard to fight the sleep that threatened to overtake him. Mostly the trouble was that he was so bored. There was nothing to read, no Internet to surf, no Netflix to binge, no music, no Xbox, no porn. The Master insisted they work out - he didn't want his toys going soft - and had arranged a crude set of weight fashioned from bolts and wingnuts, ball bearings, and thick rubber bands that smelled like broccoli. This helped to pass the time but anything that was physically exerting couldn't last too long at four inches tall. Even masturbating had him breathing too heavy and left him on the verge of fainting if he ever managed to get himself to completion. If the guys had been awake, Rodrigo would've sung to himself. Cesar had been in a band that did Spanish covers of the Doors. Singing “Jinetes sobre la tempestad” always afforded Rodrigo a sliver of comfort, and his gringo cellmates seemed to enjoy the familiar rhythm. Now he did sit-ups to perk himself back up whenever he felt himself begin to doze, but he could only manage five or six before he saw stars and had to stop. He heard fumbling around the door; more than usual. Rodrigo closed his eyes, praying the Master wasn't drunk. When he was drunk he was paranoid, unpredictable, impossible to assuage. He evidently liked Phil and Blake more than many of his earlier cellmates. They had lasted far longer than some of their predecessors, and the Master hadn't brought home anyone new since Blake. But if he was drunk, all bets were off. Rodrigo felt like even his own life was in danger. But the metallic clatter at the door continued. Rodrigo pulled himself to his feet and approached the wall of the cage, sliding his arms through the bars and leaning against them. What was going on? It had been over a minute now. As chaotic as his internment here had been, there was a level of routine to it. Something felt strange and different, and Rodrigo felt a cold fear sucking his chest in. Finally the lock turned with a loud clack, and the door swung in a few inches, hanging there a moment before a figure appeared in the doorway and entered with trepidation, taking small quiet steps and glancing around, as if afraid he was being watched. Rodrigo squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any details. It wasn't the tall, burly silhouette of the Master, but a shorter, skinnier figure. Was the Master being robbed? Rodrigo spent a few seconds guessing what a stranger might do if he found them, before he began to discern some familiar features. “Russell?” he whispered in disbelief, then raised his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Russell!” Phil started awake with a gasp. “Whuzzuh… what's going on?” Russell's ears perked and he glanced bewildered around the room. Rodrigo frantically grabbed one of the bolt-and-nut weights off the floor and clanged it against the bars. This roused Blake, who sat up groggily. Russell looked straight at the cage as Rodrigo clanged the weight again. Russell searched the wall for a lightswitch, and when he found it the fluorescent lights overhead flickered on. Rodrigo was briefly blinded but saw a shudder of motion in the terrarium and caught a glimpse of Penny's furry legs disappearing into the foliage. Russell approached the birdcage, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. It was so nice to see any face other than the Master's Rodrigo nearly burst into tears. Phil had backed up to the far side of the cage. “Who the fuck is that?” he hissed. “Holy shit…” Russell whispered. “Roddy? Holy shit…” he glanced around. “What the hell is this place? Who did this to you?” “Roddy what's going on?” Blake asked quietly. “Where's the Master?” Phil blurted. “Who are these guys?” asked Russell. “Russell…” saying his name; talking to anyone from his old life… Rodrigo felt suddenly like a person again. Everything was going to be all right. They were going to be free. But he shook his head. “Russell there's no time, you gotta get out of here.” “What?!” Blake shouted. “No! Dude, get US the fuck out of here!” “No,” Rodrigo was adamant. “He'll be back any minute. He might be in the house right now.” “Who?” asked Russell. Rodrigo shook his head. “I don't know who he is but he's more powerful than anything I've ever seen before.” “I'm not leaving without you,” said Russell, reaching to undo the clasp. “The Master's going to fucking kill him,” Phil mumbled darkly. “What the fuck, Phil?” Blake demanded. “Russell, no!” Rodrigo banged his hands against the bars. “Go get help! Come back with the rest of the Coven.” “I'm not leaving you!” said Russell again. “Russell I'm telling you: you cannot handle this guy. Get out. Right now.” He came out of nowhere. Materialized out of thin air. The Master appeared behind Russell with a hammer in an upraised hand. Rodrigo's eyes went wide and he tried to shout but already the hammer was falling. The Master struck at the back of Russell's head, and with a loud, electrical crack it deflected off the energy field Russell had learned to surround his body with. He called it his suit. The impact was absorbed by the suit but its force propelled him forward, and Russell stumbled with a loud “Fuck!”, bracing himself against the table. The birdcage rattled and its occupants were thrown to the floor. The Master looked dumbfounded at the hammer, then struck again as Russell turned to face him, landing the hammer soundly on his jaw. Rodrigo could see the energy disperse across the suit - a white electric ripple coating Russell's body like a second skin. Russell was prepared that time and barely flinched, swatting the hammer aside and delivering a swift punch to the Master - a left to the jaw, a right to the nose. The second jab sent the Master back a step with a grunt of pain. Russell rose to his full height, hopped away from the work table, and raised his fists in a practiced boxer's stance, light on his feet and waiting for an opening to strike. The Master held the hammer out defensively in front of him, his other hand going to his nose and finding blood dribbling down his face. “Oh you're… you fucking trash nigger asshole,” he licked blood from his upper lip. “You're fucking dead.” Russell prepared for another assault but the Master just stood there. He spat blood on the cement floor and tossed the hammer away with a loud clatter. Russell glanced at the hammer in the floor, then gasped sharply as he felt a strange, unnameable pull tugging at his insides. His clothes began to shift over his body, and he felt suddenly lightheaded. “No…” Rodrigo gaped. “No no no no no!” he slammed his hands on the bars and felt hot tears welling in his eyes. “Master no! PLEASE!” Russell looked in bewildered horror at his hands as his body began to contract. His sleeves slid down his arms as they shrank, his collar sank down his chest. He fumbled to grab at his pants as they fell off his hips but his now-billowing shirt got in the way, and he tripped over his shoes which were becoming three, four, five sizes too big for him and more. He swore and fell forward, finding himself swimming in his tent of a shirt, even the weight of it overpowering his quickly-diminishing body. The Master looked on, arms folded across his thick chest, a smug, victorious smile on his face. “You dumb fucking shit. You thought you could beat ME? Hurt ME? KILL ME?!” “Master!” Rodrigo banged his fist on the bars. “Master he doesn't know! Master PLEASE don't!” Russell fought his way out from under his shirt, and staggered to his feet. He looked up at the cavernous room, dizzy and disoriented, silently praying this was a vivid nightmare. The Master took a step towards him and the tremor he sent across the floor nearly threw Russell back on his knees. “You fucking stupid, tiny asshole,” the Master continued, ignoring Rodrigo's pleas. “You can't kill me. I can do anything. You dumb fucks think you're so fuckin great. I'm so far beyond you. You're just pathetic. Fucking pathetic.” He took another step towards Russell. Russell tried to back away but tripped over a fold in his shirt, falling back on his ass, gasping for breath. The Master closed the gap, towering over him like a skyscraper. “This is what happens,” the Master barked. “This is what you get when you try to take on fucking GOD.” He raised his workbooted foot aloft and held it there over Russell, its gargantuan shadow enveloping him. Blake had started to hyperventilate, and crouched low in the corner, closing his eyes covering his ears and shaking his head back and forth. “No! Master don't! Just put him in here with us!” Rodrigo rattled the bars of the birdcage, his voice getting hoarse. “Master please don't do this!” “Kill him, Master,” Phil had appeared next to Rodrigo at the bars, a strange, fanatical look in his face. “Show him how small he is. Show him how powerful you are.” “Phil shut the fuck up!” Rodrigo shrieked, pushing him away. “I might be persuaded to change my mind,” the Master grumbled, steadying himself on the workbench as he continued to hold his foot aloft. “I might spare you. Forgive your transgression.” He wiped blood from his lip with his hand and sniffed. “If you plead your case. Beg for your life. Show me you know that you belong to me now.” Russell opened his mouth to speak but he could barely breathe, and only managed a strangled squeak. The Master spat again. “Stupid fucking roach,” he grumbled, and the boot fell with a wet, sickening crunch.
    1 point
  13. MrAlice, Seu loves to hurt people, ALL people. We will see what The Masters have in store for him in the future.
    1 point
  14. Part 9: Russell Russell didn't like the way the secretary kept glancing over at him. He knew they would look out of place but had at least gone to the effort of wearing a suit jacket and cufflinks. Apparently that didn't make up for the corn rolls. Mahtab looked uncomfortable too, tapping her fingernails in staccato rhythm on the dossier in her lap. She would halt whenever she caught herself doing it, but her mind would drift and she'd fall back into it. A light blinked on the secretary's phone and he lifted the receiver, listened for a moment, and set it down. He nodded at Russell and Mahtab. “He'll see you now.” Mahtab smiled politely and nodded, standing up and adjusting her suit jacket. Russell had to admit she cleaned up nice. The suit made her look like an Indian Jackie Brown. Harry's office was pretty awesome. Lots of neutral tones with deep red accents, a well-stocked minibar, a bookcase full of autobiographies with a turntable on top. Very nice. The walls were mostly decorated with pictures of Harry arm in arm with various old white men. The only one Russell recognized was Joe Clark. Harry was sitting on the other side of a glass desk sparsely accented with a white flat-screen with matching wireless keyboard, an abstract ebony sculpture, and a golden pen. Behind Harry was a wall to wall window and the city sprawled out beyond. Harry was unsurprisingly frowning as Russell and Mahtab wordlessly sat down on the other side of the desk. “I believe we had discussed this,” he reminded them chidingly. “You're lucky I didn't call security.” “I know, Harry, and I'm sorry,” said Mahtab, “but this is a bit of a sensitive matter. We couldn't risk anyone else finding out about it.” “All right, well, let's try and keep this short, shall we?” Harry looked annoyed and impatient. Russell and Mahtab exchanged glances. No turning back now. Russell leaned forward. “We've been losing people, Harry. The coven’s had members going missing for months.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Who? What are you talking about.” Russell took out his phone and reviewed his notes. “No one's heard from Robyn since before Christmas. Sara since February. Dave, Mohan, and Hong have all disappeared, and now Rodrigo…” “All right let's not sensationalize,” Harry interjected, holding up his hands. “Sara was talking about moving to Montreal and Hong might have gone to follow her. Dave was never really reliable to begin with. I don't know about Mohan but he never seemed that invested in the craft. And Roddy went to stay with family in Mexico. You knew that.” Mahtab cleared her throat. “Roddy and I had a few projects on the go and he had planned to check in with me. When he didn't I managed to get in touch with his cousin who said he never arrived. I'm still looking into it but it looks like he never got on the plane.” Harry paused, then sighed. “Robyn was approached by the Circle. She probably decided to switch teams.” “If she did, she didn't go to the Circle,” Russell shook his head. “I've had their phones monitored and no one's heard from her on their end either. On top of that, they've had a few people go missing too.” Harry nodded thoughtfully, his expression darkening. “You're sure this is reliable?” “Cops put out a missing person for Oded Hume two weeks ago,” Russell explained. “If they're on to me and trying to string me along I don't see what the endgame could be.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “You're sensationalizing,” he insisted again. “It may be a coincidence,” Mahtab acknowledged, “but I feel at this point it's too great a risk to just ignore. If we're under attack…” Harry scoffed. “Really, Mahtab…” “IF we are being attacked,” Mahtab steamrolled his interruption, “we need to prepare some response.” “Even if something has happened,” Harry conceded tersely, “it could have been an accident. It could be anything.” Mahtab nodded. “All the more reason to get to the bottom of this.” “Harry we've looked into this,” Russell assured him. “I'll give you Dave and Mohan, I wasn't able to confirm them yet, but the rest - that's five people, counting Oded - have disappeared without a trace.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Without a trace?” he chuckled. Russell nodded mirthlessly. “Without a trace. Clothes still in their drawers; passports at home; cell phones, sometimes… Hong even had a load in the wash. Nasty as shit by the time I got to it.” Harry was frowning again. “You think they’re dead?” “Well, I don’t honestly know,” Russell shook his head. “But I’m not holding out much hope.” Harry leaned forward. “So what are you proposing?” “More thorough investigation, for starters,” said Mahtab quickly. “Get everyone we know we can trust, any contacts we can exploit, and look into every detail we can find out about the last time these people were seen. We can begin by going through the coven and making sure everyone else is accounted for.” “Does anyone else know about this?” Harry asked. “Adrian's been handling the surveillance spellcraft, and...” Russel glanced at Mahtab, “he said Liam suspects something's up. He knows they're missing Oded. Not sure how much he's put together.” Harry nodded. “Are we considering reaching out to the Circle?” Russell pursed his lips. “Not at this point. Let’s see what we can find on our own and then we can figure out how to approach them. Even if they’re not responsible we shouldn’t let them know we’re shorthanded.” “But you don’t think they’re responsible?” Harry asked. They both shook their heads, and Harry grumbled. “Then who? Is there a new group that slipped into the city without us knowing it?” Russell turned to Mahtab, who hesitated for a moment, but carried on. “I… have a bit of a theory in that regard.” Harry shrugged. “All right.” Mahtab sighed. “When Cassidy Hamilton proposed a public revelation of our work the reaction from the coven was a mostly hostile one.” Harry leaned back and fixed Mahtab with a deadpan glare. “We've been over this ad nauseum.” “Let me finish,” Mahtab snapped. “I believe Cassidy may be on track to actually go through with this. Going public.” Russell quickly held up his hand. “Just to be clear: I am not on board with this theory.” Harry looked back and forth at both of them while Mahtab shot Russell a sour look. “What makes you think that? Have you kept in touch with Cassidy?” Mahtab shook her head. “No. And this isn't based on much, I'll grant you that, but…” she shifted in her seat. “Okay look: Cassidy first started that conversation because Adam wanted to be… enhanced on a full time basis.” “Yes but ‘enhancing' as you put it was the only thing Cassidy was any good at,” Harry reminded her. “What does that have to do with making people disappear.” “Well,” Russell added reluctantly, “our own progress took a big hit when Adam stopped coming around. Access to Adam could make all the difference. In theory.” “Here's all I'm saying,” Mahtab interjected. “If Cassidy were going to go public, there are those in the coven who would take action to stop him. Do either of you disagree?” Russell frowned, glancing glumly at Harry, though neither said anything. Mahtab continued. “If Cassidy perceives us as a threat he may be taking preemptive measures to protect himself.” Harry drummed his fingers on his desktop, examining Mahtab judiciously. “I'm surprised this is coming from you, Mahtab. As I recall you and Cassidy were on the same side of that issue.” “We still are,” she replied archly. “But that doesn't mean I'm going to overlook this.” She gestured to the three of them. “We keep each other in check. I mean, five years ago we never even imagined we would be able to do anything near what we've been doing. It messes with your head, but we've all been there to call each other on it when we… lose perspective.” “Yeah,” Russell had to agree on that front. “If Cassidy's been exploiting Adam's resources he could be on a whole other level now.” “With no oversight,” Mahtab added. Harry steepled his fingers and nodded thoughtfully. “I'll put a scrying team on Cassidy. If he's still active I'll look into hiring a P I.” “There's no way he's not still practicing,” Mahtab shook her head. “Regardless,” Harry sighed. He paused, and glanced out the window. “So… if anything turns up… what kind of response are we discussing?” Mahtab looked apprehensively at Russell. “Well…” she said slowly. “If we can figure out a way to take away his powers, I mean… if that's possible…” “We haven't even begun that vein of research, though,” Russell muttered. “If he's using his powers for harm, then there's no question, right?” Mahtab glanced back and forth at the two of them. “If we can't stop him from using the craft then we'll have to…” Russell finished as she trailed off. “Stop him, period.” *** “I punched a little girl in the face today.” Drew moved the tiny potted plant centrepiece to the side of the table as Ryan set down their vodka-Red Bulls. “Ryan don't take no shit from nobody!” he barked. “It was more like an elbow; on the streetcar. I went to check my phone,” Ryan mimed reaching into his coat pocket and made a popping sound as he nudged his elbow outwards. “Right in the face.” “How old are we talking about?” asked Drew as he fished an ice cube out with his tongue. “Eight to ten, maybe?” Ryan guessed. “I mean I'm not a big guy. I'm not used to people gettin all up in my whatever.” Drew nodded sympathetically as he crunched the ice cube. “Plus she was probably talkin’ shit bout you the whole time.” “Fuck off,” Ryan laughed. “I need to get my bike fixed, man. TTC is fucking killing me.” Drew grunted as he wiped off his mouth. “Y'know I gotta say that Saint Clair streetcar rocks. I mean I've just given up on the Queen Street one it's a nightmare.” He shook his head. “Dedicated lanes man. Should be standard issue.” “You say that now,” Ryan retorted. “Wait til midwinter when everyone just en masse loses their fucking minds.” “Well I think I'll have this sorted out by then.” Drew said it casually, but as the words were leaving his mouth he realized he had brought up something he didn't want to talk about. He took a long sip while Ryan awkwardly tried to gauge his mood without making eye contact. He fiddled with a napkin. “Any, uhh… developments on that front?” Drew set down his glass with just a swish of his drink inside. “Yeah… no. I dunno. Jamie’s texted me a few times but…” he threw back the last of his cocktail and didn't finish his sentence. “You, uhh… responded to any?” Ryan prodded carefully. Drew shook his head. “I just don't really… I don't know how to…” he struggled. Ryan sipped his drink and nodded. Drew had been tight-lipped about the details of whatever had happened between him and Jamie. It was hard to be there for him and he didn't know what comfort Drew was looking for. When he had first asked to spend the night Ryan had just thought it was a spat. When he had come back the next day with a gym bag full of clothes… It didn't help that Ryan was desperately horny like all the time, and had always had a thing for Drew. That had been buried under their friendship - which he valued too much to make his own move - but for longer and longer stretches each night Ryan lay awake staring out the window and hoping Drew would climb up off the sofa, plod across the dining room, wordlessly slip under the sheets next to him, and fuck him til sunrise. Sometimes Drew got up during these periods and Ryan would stop breathing, feel his heart rate skyrocket, and only regain himself when he heard the bathroom door close or the kitchen sink go on. He wanted to be a good friend but it was, he was beginning to realize, slowly driving him crazy. “Still with us?” Drew broke what had evidently been a long silence. “Sorry I was just thinkin,” Ryan mumbled, finishing his drink. “‘Bout what?” asked Drew. “Asses,” Ryan replied with a shrug. Drew nodded. “That waiter must've walked into your field of vision.” Ryan looked over the rim of his empty glass pretending to drink. The big beefy blonde had a size-too-small Firkin shirt stretched across his thick pecs, chatting up an older couple sitting by the window. Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Really? That's your thing?” “Are you kidding me?” Drew asked incredulously. “Have you seen his ass? It looks like it's got a mind of its own.” “This is you trying to convince me this is appealing? I'm literally picturing a talking ass.” Drew looked backward over his shoulder. The waiter caught him looking and smirked. “Shit he caught me,” Drew hissed, turning back to the table. “Oh shit he's on to you,” Ryan smiled, and continued narrating, lowering his voice. “Oh shit he's coming over. Oh shit he looks pissed.” His wide shadow fell across the table and Drew looked up at his wide, dimple-pinching friendly smile. “You boys want another?” He pointed an open hand at each of them, glancing back and forth. “Could I get a whiskey sour?” asked Ryan. The waiter clapped his hands together and nodded. “Whiskey sour and…?” he swerved back to Drew. “Uhh....” Drew didn't want another vodka-Red Bull but hadn't thought up any alternatives. “Umm, uhh… a cosmo?” “Tasty,” the waiter winked at him. “Comin right up, guys.” Ryan narrowed his gaze at an ass that, he had to admit, seemed to dance all over the top of his legs with every step. “Okay, is it just me or is it not insulting for straight bartenders to flirt with gays?” Drew rolled his eyes. “That wasn't flirting.” “Okay fine; he was being flirty.” “Oh good,” Drew purred, “a semantic argument with Ryan.” Ryan flipped him off. “As if you didn't start it. You often wink at people when they ask for an increase on their credit limit?” “Well…” Drew exaggerated a thoughtful stare, “I wouldn't call it ‘often.’” “I'm just saying,” Ryan sighed. “it's just such blatant tip-bait I'm almost embarrassed for them.” “Guh,” Drew slumped forward on the table, briefly palming his forehead before rhyming off points on his fingers. “First? Don't get snobby about other people's jobs; you're better than that. Second, people come to a bar to be social, and when it comes to gay dudes, half-joke-flirting is an easy go-to icebreaker for everyone. Third, bartenders flirt. Flirting just comes with the job. Get over it or don't go to bars.” “Okay sure,” Ryan ceded, “but this guy's not taking any men home tonight. How is that not deceptive?” “Jesus christ, Ryan, if you're coming to bars expecting to leave with the bartender I don't know what I can…” The big buff waiter sidled up next to their table apparently out of nowhere. He set their drinks down in front of them and nodded. “There you go, guys,” he chuckled, and grinned as he turned and walked away. “Fuck he totally heard me,” Drew glanced at the whiskey sour in front of him and switched their drinks. “Yeah and he probably thinks it means I wanna fuck him,” Ryan raised his glass. “Thanks for that,” he added before he took a sip. “What has you so convinced he's straight?” asked Drew. “Do you know this guy?” “No, but what indication has he given that he's gay?” “That's heteronormative thinking,” Drew pointed at him. “We talked about this.” Ryan shook his head. “No, you ranted about it and I bit my to tongue because in MY experience HOMOnormative thinking just ends up disappointing you.” Drew shrugged. “Yeah mine too.” They stayed there alternating between conversing and bickering and deriding each other's taste in nearby men for another two hours and three cocktails. They finished off with shots of B-52. Ryan dropped his phone as he wobbled out the door. Drew picked it up while he steadied himself on the wall. “Steady on, bro,” he chided playfully. “S’not my fault,” Ryan slurred. “Gettin drunk off hardly anything s’part of my ancientscultural heritage.” “Yeah but so is drinking enough vodka to put a horse in a coma,” Drew handed him his phone. “I feel like they should balance each other out.” Ryan had tuned out as he checked his phone. He only made it a few steps before he stopped, his face lit up from his screen and his thumbs tap dancing over his keyboard. Drew stopped and looked back. “Everything okay, man?” “It's Casey,” Ryan moaned. “He's drunk and horny.” “Casey, Casey....” Drew thought a moment then ran a hand up his arm. “With the tattoos?” “Yeah.” “The part-time model?” Drew persisted. Ryan nodded. “Dude what are you still even doing here?” “‘M too drunk!” Ryan whined. “And he's jus’ gonna try and feeds me more booze.” “Get an espresso and just dive right into the fucking,” Drew shrugged and sighed, musing to nobody: “Kids these days don't even know how to booty call right.” They had come straight from work and it was still pretty early, so it wasn't long before they came across a Starbucks that was still open. Ryan got a latte instead but was already sobering up by the time they left for the subway. They parted ways at Wellesley station, Drew patting Ryan affectionately on the ass before bidding him good luck and sending him on his way. Drew's phone had been buzzing against his thigh since they left the bar but he had been ignoring it, figuring it was probably Jamie. He paused on the sidewalk to check, holding out hope it was that six-foot-five Nordic rowing champion he had met on Grindr a while back. Nope; it was just Jamie. He almost didn't bother reading them. They were generally one of three varieties: short apologies, short platitudes, or lengthy appeals. None of them had really satisfied the kind of violation he'd suffered. It was one thing that Jamie spun up that ridiculous story, it was worse that he had cloaked it in the fantasy Drew had worked very hard to keep hidden. Sometimes in the early morning when he was still half-asleep and delirious Drew found himself thinking what if it's all true? The resulting erection offered a nice jumpstart to his routine morning wank but once the endorphin rush wore off he'd dispelled the notion. He knows you want to believe that. That's why he told you that story. He's a fucking ad man. That's what they do. How had he even found out? How long had he known? Drew was so careful whenever he went to anything macro related. It was almost reflex at that point. Never save passwords, always go incognito… he knew it wasn't foolproof but had Jamie actually gone digging? Was this some elaborate psuedo-gaslighting? Drew was already putting his phone away again when he saw there were six messages from Jamie, which was unusual. Jamie had always played his hand conservatively. Drew pulled his phone back up and opened his messages, mildly concerned that something had happened to Oprah. “Hey. I really need to see you tonight. Please come back to the condo. It won't take long.” “D I know you're upset but I can make it all right i just need you to come back tonight.” “Please at least just let me know one way or the other.” Those had all been sent roughly ten minutes apart from each other two hours earlier. The next three had been sent right after each other only thirty minutes ago, as they were leaving the bar. “I need to show you something. It might not fix everything but I think it'll fix a lot.” “I can't text it to you.” “If you don't stay after I won't try to stop you but please come and see.” The tone was different. There was a certain assuredness to him that hadn't been around before. He had something to “show” him? What the hell did that mean? He had half a mind to just text him “go fuck yourself” back but instead just put his phone away and went into the station. There was no point indulging Jamie. What could he possibly show Drew that would undo his bullshit? As he walked down the stairs to the platform Drew began to second guess himself. How long was he planning on keeping this up? What was he waiting for Jamie to do or say? If he admitted it was all a lie would that be enough? Drew couldn't stay at Ryan’s forever and they had to sort it out eventually, one way or the other. Drew missed Jamie. He missed Jamie and Oprah and all his stuff and movie nights and spooning on Saturday mornings and getting stoned listening to post-rock and everything the way it had been. They'd quibbled before and even had pretty heated fights but there had never been anything like this. Did that mean it was all over? A subway pulled into the station and Drew backed up for people to get out, but once the parade of exiting passengers had ended he just stood there looking at the open doors. Don't you want to try and fix it? Shouldn't you at least hear him out? The doors chimed and Drew had an urge to just bolt in, sit down, think about something else and go to sleep on Ryan's couch. But the doors closed with him still on the other side, the transparent reflection of himself staring back from the window, looking miserable. The window slid away, thundering down the tunnel with the rest if the subway. Drew climbed back up the stairs, and pulled out his phone again. Coming be there soon *** Cassidy reached down and scratched Oprah behind the ears as she nuzzled his ankle. “Aww… you're such a friendly little guy.” She purred and licked his fingers and he giggled. “It's weird she's usually terrible with strangers,” Jamie noted. “Oh my god, really? I was just gonna say cats like generally hate me. Oh my god this one friend of Adam’s? His cat is just like hissing nonstop whenever I see him.” Oprah hopped away and up on the couch, and Cassidy flicked stray cat hairs off his fingers. “It's like I'm a human vacuum cleaner.” Oprah climbed up on the couch next to Jamie and toppled onto her back so he would start petting her belly, and he obliged. “How old is she?” asked Cassidy. “I'm not sure,” Jamie shrugged. “Like four or five I guess. We inherited her from one of Drew's friends when she moved in with a guy who was allergic.” He grinned. “Then they split up and she wanted her back and we were like ‘nooooope!’” Cassidy chuckled. “Did he say how long he was gonna be?” “No. Sorry man. I'm honestly amazed he gave more than a one-word reply.” He sighed. “If you gotta take off, don't worry about it.” “No no no,” Cassidy shook his head. “I can stick it out. I'm just not a fan of like night driving.” “You can always…” Jamie stopped short as he heard keys rattling at the door. He froze. Cassidy looked at him uncertainly for a moment before he stepped into the foyer. Outside, Drew continued jingling his keys as loud as he could before he actually put his card in the lock. He didn't want to barge right in but knocking on his own door seemed retarded. He opened the door and saw a short, skinny guy with glasses and dark hair. He had a sort of expectant but nervous look on his face. “Sorry, wrong…” Drew at first assumed he was at the wrong condo but reminded himself he had just unlocked the door with his key. “Wait… what…?” The stranger stepped over the small pile of shoes near the door. “Drew right?” he put out his hand. “I'm Cassidy?” Drew looked at him and his extended hand dubiously. “Okaaaaay,” he said slowly. “What's, umm… where is…?” “Jamie's right inside.” Cassidy quickly cut in. He laughed self-consciously. “I'm sorry, I know this must be, like…” “What exactly are you doing here?” Drew interjected. Cassidy swiveled his eyes towards the living room. “Umm… let's just like, go talk to Jamie, alright?” and with that he darted around the corner. “Oh my god, you didn't tell me he's so cute!” he said. “Yeah,” Jamie's voice grumbled. “Hey D,” he called. Drew closed the door behind him. Jamie sounded strange. He didn't really know what was wrong with it it just seemed… different. He wriggled out of his shoes and padded through the kitchen, grimly noting the sink full of dirty dishes Jamie hadn't bothered to clean even with company coming over. Drew rolled his eyes and muttered “Figures,” as he rounded the corner and nearly had a heart attack. Drew felt his neck tighten up, his lungs shrivel, and his sphincter squeeze shut. His eyes had widened so full it made his face ache and he wanted to blink but couldn't bring himself to look away even for that instant. He was afraid he would miss something that would betray the illusion it had to be. Jamie sat on the couch and nearly filled the whole thing. He was enormous. It was impossible to guess but even sitting down his head was at least a foot higher than the usually taller Drew. The coffee table had been moved to the side to make room for Jamie’s legs, one of which was bent and the other splayed across the floor, his foot upright resting on his heel, its toes easily reaching up to Drew's knee. A bath towel had been draped across his lap to maintain some modesty. And he was impossibly jacked. Wide round shoulders arched over two thick hard arms and a prodigious chest with a deep cleft in the middle. His thighs were huge, and even his calves looked bigger than his waist used to be. But it was Jamie's face smiling sheepishly at him on top of it all. Scratching Oprah’s back while she nuzzled his sausage-sized fingers. “Look who’s home, Oprah!” said Jamie. He lifted his hand off her and the cat hopped down, frolicked over to Drew and arched her back against his leg, mewing quietly. It was all fucking true. It didn't make any sense at all but he couldn't deny what he was seeing. He thought he might be dreaming but he'd imagined Jamie like this a thousand times and his imagination was not nearly this vivid. Every detail was beyond perfect, like he had busted his way out of his fantasies and became flesh and bone. Drew tried to speak but his neck was still constricted. He quickly relearned how to breathe and managed to croak out “How?” “Kinda a long story,” Cassidy chuckled. “Short answer, I guess I'm like a wizard?” Drew nodded. He took a step toward Jamie. “I'm so sorry…” “It's okay,” Jamie assured him. He drew his outstretched leg in and beckoned Drew closer. “No,” Drew shook his head, closing the gap. “Yes,” Jamie replied. “C’mere.” Drew could smell him as he closed in. It was that familiar musk he had gotten so used to waking up to and had missed without knowing it. Up close he looked totally gigantic. His wide, impossible frame filled Drew's field of view. He began to climb up onto him, and Jamie cupped his meaty palm under his butt to help him up to straddle his thigh. His huge arm barely even flexed, lifting up Drew with the effort most men took to pick up an apple. “I've… dreamed about you like this. Fantasized,” Drew moaned. Jamie smirked. “Really?” he blushed. Drew nodded, biting his lip. “Fuck. I'm so hard right now.” Cassidy, who Drew kept forgetting was even there, leaned against the wall, watching them. He'd expected there'd be more questions, more explaining to do, more fear. But Drew seemed right at home, leaning in against Jamie's meaty torso, resting his head on his pec, running his palm over his abs. A certain puzzle piece clicked into place, connecting what had been disparate ideas, and a slow realization dawned on Cassidy. As he watched them, Drew raising his hand to Jamie's shoulder, running it down his arm, pausing to squeeze along the way, Cassidy became more and more convinced that his theory bore out, and the more convinced he became the wider his smile grew. “Drew, you… you want in on this?” he asked. Drew turned back, his face flushed, almost in a trance. “Oh fuck yes.” If that didn't clinch it he didn't know what could. Cassidy chuckled. “You might wanna, like, take your clothes off.” Drew shook his head. “No.” “But…” “Fuck the clothes.” “Wow,” Cassidy exclaimed. “You sure? I don't wanna…” “Seriously,” Drew cut in forcefully, “fuck these clothes. I'm on board.” Drew felt it first in his gut, that same kind of tug like he hadn't eaten all day. From there the same feeling seemed to creep up his torso and wind down through his legs. It was like every part of him was starving. It struck first in his ass, and he gasped as he felt it blow up with thick muscle. His suit pants were already tight from the weight he'd gained and it didn't take much for them to split, first at his hip then across the seat. His thighs swelled and the legs began to shred, first with threads split apart and digging into his muscle, then tearing open completely. He felt his calves expanding and the pants faring similarly down there. Drew moaned as his chest began to grow out from his ribs, buttons clinging for dear life before splitting open. He looked up at Jamie who was watching Drew's transformation with his mouth hanging open. Drew reached up to Jamie's shoulders and pulled himself to his feet, standing on the couch and only barely higher than Jamie. He leaned in as the last of his buttons popped off, his undershirt clinging to his growing body, abs pushing out from under his modest paunch until they were visible through the thin cotton. Jamie put his hand on his back and squeezed him close. Drew looked into his lover’s face and couldn't believe he had ever doubted him. Of course it was possible; somewhere in the wishing and hoping he had known it, too. Drew leaned down and kissed Jamie as he felt his shoulders growing hard and round, his arms stretching to heavyweight proportions, biceps bulging with beef against his sleeves. God, it felt so transcendentally amazing, his shirt sleeves tightening, straining against his arms. Concerned for a microsecond that they would somehow win the fight against his inflating flesh; relieved and excited as he heard and felt the material give way to his thick, cut biceps. With his sleeves hanging in tattered strips from his shoulders, Drew raised an arm and flexed, watching his already bulging muscles engorge themselves even more. His neck thickened with brawn, couched in traps that rose as his lats descended, spreading his dress shirt further apart, beginning to test the limits of his already stretched undershirt. He flexed his chest, felt his undershirt sliding across his hard nipples. He felt energized and powerful and so fucking horny he couldn't believe it. Drew pulled away from Jamie as he felt a pressure building in his crotch, looked down - with some difficulty to see past his pecs - to see the boner clearly visible through his tight underwear begin to pump larger and larger. He reached down and maneuvered it out the top of his waistband and felt the head sliding up his abs. It had to be a foot long, at least. He pinched the head a couple of times, moaning at the jolts of pleasure that pulsed out from his groin, then went back in to kiss Jamie, who grunted and thrashed his bigger tongue around Drew's mouth. They were only able to kiss a few moments before Drew was pulled away, and found himself looking down at Jamie as he grew taller and taller, his body continuing to swell with muscle to maintain his insane proportions. Drew stepped down off the couch as his head neared the ceiling. He was nearing Jamie's height at that point and was now better positioned to explore his body. He gripped Jamie's bulging traps, his huge shoulders, rubbed across his pecs and slipped under his arms, digging his fingers into Jamie's rockhard lats. As he felt his own body expanding beneath his skin, bones creaking larger, balls pushing his underwear to their limit between his thick thighs as they inflated, he felt and rubbed and squeezed all over Jamie. He was so warm, damp with sweat, thick and hard and so huge even Drew's growing hands seemed unable to really get a good hold on anything. Drew sensed the ceiling approaching from above and slowly lowered himself to his knees, kissing his way down Jamie's body, lingering briefly on his nipple, before he pulled the towel off the tent already pitched in Jamie's lap, revealing a thick fleshy half-hard cock throbbing its way to full-on boner over a pair of balls that were probably the size of cantaloupes, though Drew's altered proportions had messed with his perspective and the scale was all off. He glanced back, his chin jabbing his swollen shoulder, and saw Cassidy standing there watching, giddy but intensely concentrating, heedless of Oprah pawing at the cuff of his dockers. They seemed smaller and detached, like he was watching them on TV. Drew's growing seemed to have subsided for the moment. Drew turned back to Jamie and gaped in surprise as he saw his cock raised to full mast yet swelling even bigger. Jamie moaned and leaned back on the couch, taking one hand and gripping a cushion. Drew hunched forward and licked the head of the rising cock, and Jamie’s huge body shuddered in reply. It was nearly three feet long, thick as a two-litre bottle, already leaking precum, and still getting bigger. It was completely unreal. A sudden ache in his groin prompted Drew to look down just in time to see his cock, strangled by the taut waistband of his underwear, swell big enough to snap the elastic and burst free. Though his junk had been growing throughout, it was nowhere near as big as Jamie’s, though it was still well over a foot long. Drew wondered if Jamie’s asshole had grown large enough to accommodate it, as he reached down, ripped the remains of his undies off himself, and maneuvered his head towards Jamie’s asshole. Jamie gasped as he felt him pressing in, then grunted in pleasure as Drew licked a line of pre off his shaft, following it to its source at the tip of his giant cock, then slathering the head with his spit, tonguing the urethra. Drew gently thrust deeper and felt with some alarm his cock begin to grow, pushing even deeper and pressed tighter in Jamie's ass, but the pressure was relieved as, to Drew's rapt delight, Jamie's whole body had begun to expand even larger. He shifted his butt forward off the couch and onto the floor, Drew following closely, chained by his dick to Jamie's ass. Jamie has his elbows on the seat of the couch and continued to lean back as he grew, moaning and laughing as he did. Drew bucked his hips into Jamie, looking up at his massive body. His cock had gotten so big the head was out of reach for Drew's tongue, but he kept rubbing it with all of his thick bulging arms, hugging it against his pecs and bouncing them against the shaft. He moaned into every thrust, marvelling at how far he could withdraw without pulling out completely. “I'm close,” Jamie rumbled, his voice an octave lower. Drew started stroking faster and faster, jamming his hips back and forth at a greater pace as he felt his own cock throbbing inside Jamie, achingly close to climax. He craned his neck forward past his huge pecs, licking the underside of Jamie's pillar-like cock, then nuzzling it with his face, hearing Jamie's heartbeat throbbing within. Jamie grunted, grabbing the towel off the floor and throwing it over the head of his cock. He drew a sharp breath. “Oh… holy fucking god!” Jamie's gigantic cock churned out an explosion of cum that immediately soaked the towel, the second spurt flowed through the fabric and drizzled down his thick shaft, soaking into Drew's hair and down his face and he tasted it, hot and musky on his tongue. He continued to plow harder and harder into Jamie, who was still spewing out a fountain of jizz as Drew came. His mouth hung open and his eyes squeezed shut as he felt shockwaves of bliss explode out from his cock, his whole huge body scintillating with hot, buttery ecstasy. Another gob of Jamie's spunk fell into his open mouth and he turned, licking more from Jamie's shaft and gulping it down. Drew unleashed volley after volley into Jamie's welcoming ass, his body seeming to act without any input from him, running on instinct or inertia, he couldn't say, but he felt as though his brain had short circuited from an overload of pleasure, and he just needed a moment to let everything get connected again. He collapsed on top of Jamie, letting his feet slide back across the floor, feeling the edge of Jamie's calf along the top of it. Huge as Drew was, Jamie was somehow even bigger, and as he put his arm around him, Drew felt like a child by comparison. Cassidy whistled from the kitchen. “Well, looks like my work is done.” He theatrically clapped his hands together. “Have a good night, boys.” “Wait! Cassidy!” Jamie had to push Drew's big round shoulder out of the way to get Cassidy in his sights. “I just… I really, uhh… y'know.” “You're welcome, oh my god,” Cassidy laughed. He laced up his shoes. “If I hadn't just seen you get fucked up the ass I'd swear you were straight.” “You can spend the night if you want…” Jamie gestured back to the bedroom. Cassidy laughed. “Oh my god! Like there's any room in here for anything other than you two. I'm like almost concerned for little Oprah here.” Drew propped himself up on his elbow. “Nice, uhh.... nice meeting you,” he raised his hand to wave and scraped his fingernails on the ceiling. “Thanks so much, I just…. You have seriously no idea.” “I think I might have a clue,” Cassidy replied as he laced up his shoes with a smile. “Y'know we should all like, go out sometime. Drew I have a feeling you and Adam would really get along.” He stood upright and winked through his glasses. “Have a good night,” he said again, making an awkward little half-wave before he made a wide stride over the boots near the door and let himself out. Drew sighed. “Jamie…” “How was Ryan’s?” Jamie cut him off. “I need to explain,” Drew pressed on. Jamie shook his head and pulled his thick body closer. “You don’t need to do anything, okay? It’s a… a very peculiar situation. We can deal with all that later, all right?” He kissed Drew’s giant pec. “I love you.” Drew smiled warmly up at him and snuggled closer, their huge muscles pressing against each other. “I love you too.” Jamie sighed contentedly and nodded. “Then we’re all set.”
    1 point
  15. Part 8: Josh A shrill ringing woke Josh up but he still couldn't raise his head. It took a lot of effort to open his eyes a little bit at a time, and more of an effort to compel them to focus. His suspicions of those two black blurs on a blurry grey field were eventually confirmed. He was looking at his sneakers on the pavement. “Hey. Hey big guy!” A second staccato bell ring managed to prompt his head upright, and he found himself looking at a skinny black kid on a bike a few feet away from him on the sidewalk. Josh appeared to be waiting at a bus stop at an intersection he didn't recognize. It was late night and kind of cold. The kid nodded in Josh’s direction. “You all right, man?” “Abizwaash,” Josh replied. He coughed, spat, and pulled himself upright. “Yeah… I'm good.” “You, uhh… there's like blood all down your face man.” Josh put his hand to his face and felt what was probably a pasty, almost dry line of blood. He followed it up his cheek and into his long hair, where he found fresher blood and winced as he touched the edge of a wound. “Shit,” said Josh. “Yeah,” the kid replied. “You, uhh....?” “All good. Gonna call an Uber.” “Uhh…. You got any idea where you are, man?” Josh found the street signs but it took almost twenty seconds of staring at them before he could read them. Wyoming and Orangelawn. “Oh. Shit.” “Yeah. Might wanna hop over to campus or somethin, man.” “Thanks dude, I'll figure it out.” he searched through his pockets, relieved to find his phone and his Mastercard. “Hey,” the kid nodded again as if he was restarting their encounter. “Got a smoke, man?” Josh searched through his pockets, but paused. “How old are you?” The kid made a face at him. “C'mon man you tryin to parent my ass n’ shit? Sleepin at a bus stop at four A M with blood all up yo’ face?” Josh sighed, found his pack and took it out, found two cigarettes left, took them both out and held one forward. The kid waddled closer on his bike and took it. Josh started looking for his lighter but the kid whipped out a worn out Zippo, opened and lit it in one elegant gesture. He held it forward for Josh then lit his own before snapping the lighter shut. He nodded at Josh. “Thanks,” he said out the side of his mouth, then hopped on the bike properly and rode off down the sidewalk. Halfway through the first drag Josh got so lightheaded h thought he was going to puke. He threw the nearly complete cigarette to the ground and leaned forward, ready to hurl. “Oh fuck,” he groaned to the empty street. But Josh didn't throw up. He sat there for a while waiting to, settled for spitting a few times, stood up on wobbly legs, and staggered off, his head swimming with visions of of a neighbourhood swarming with ubers. *** Liam blinked. “So…what did you do?” Cassidy set down his tea on its saucer. “Oh my god are you kidding? I grabbed my stuff and fuckin booked it.” “Leaving this guy… how big?” “Oh, like at least fifteen feet tall, probably closer to twenty,” Cassidy grinned. “It was something else.” Liam looked away and massaged his brow. “Jesus christ, Cass.” “Look,” Cassidy held up his hands defensively. “I totally know, okay? It was a bad idea. I let things get totally out of hand.” “Totally out of hand?” Liam asked him incredulously. “What if he had hurt you… what if he'd KILLED you?” “Oh he's all talk,” Cassidy shrugged it off. “Tahar’s not going to hurt anyone.” “At that size you don't have to mean to, Cassidy. God…” Liam paused to have some more tea. “Cass you have got to rein this shit in, man.” “That's totally what I mean!” Cassidy nodded. He waved his band like he was wiping clean a dirty window. “Butch is like, so retired. I'm going to be way more careful. Not get into situations like that again.” “Y'know it doesn't actually sound like you have any intention of stopping.” Cassidy just smiled. “You tell Adam about any of this?” Cassidy rolled his eyes. “We've got a don't ask don't tell arrangement.” “You're talking about extra-marital sex here, though. Right?” Liam smirked. Cassidy sighed impatiently. “Oh my god. He'd just be worried.” “He should be. I fucking am.” “Oh don't be such a diva,” Cassidy sucked his teeth. Liam poured himself another cup of gyokuro from the teapot. “I still can't believe, you've got all this amazing power at your fingertips and you just use it like a sex toy?” “What, you want to follow Adrian’s suggestion and throw magic into a warzone?” asked Cassidy. Liam set the pot back down. “It's easy to make fun of when it's not your family dying over there. Bring the craft to Syria and the war would be over in a month. Guaranteed.” Cassidy laughed cynically. “Oh my god! You're joking, right? You think one lightning bolt will make these people just roll over? You think all the rebel factions will just settle down and get along?” “It's better than nothing, Cass.” “Really? Is it?” Cassidy sighed. “You start weaponizing magic you'll just start an arms race that will get SO MANY people killed.” “You think that won't happen if we'd ‘gone public?’” asked Liam, raising his fingers for air quotes. Cassidy frowned peevishly. “Once again: that is not what I said.” “Oh please.” “ALL I SAID was it was a discussion we should start having,” Cassidy poked the air with his finger to accentuate every word. “Oh my god, I'm not retarded. If I had flat out made a proposal they'd have, like, lit me on fire or something. Can they turn people into frogs yet?” Liam shrugged, blowing on his tea. “Don't think so.” “Oh thank god,” Cassidy put his hand to his chest. Liam took a sip and set down his teacup. “You should really meet with Harry,” he said. “Talk things out. Everyone misses you. Adam too.” “Yeah well like ‘not welcome here anymore’ doesn't leave much room for interpretation.” Cassidy shook his head. “I'd love to come back but they'll have to come to me.” Liam sighed dejectedly and took another swig. “So… what's it like being Butch? Like, how's it feel?” Cassidy grinned. “Amazing… like, I'm not really into guys like that but having all that weight, being so strong....it's so hot. And man, like guys just hang off him.” “Well yeah at the Black fucking Eagle,” Liam chuckled. “Oh my god, don't be such a bitch,” Cassidy slapped his knee. “Besides, he's popular up and down the village. Twinks, jocks, gym rats…” Liam counted off on his fingers. “Gay stereotype four; gay stereotype five....” “Oh my god, shut up,” Cassidy giggled, punching Liam’s shoulder. “You fucking asked.” He grinned. “You wanna find out for yourself?” “Nope! No no no no no no. No.” Liam held up his finger for the last one. Then he relaxed and sat back. “Gotta get back to the girlfriend. Maybe some other time.” Cassidy nodded. Liam was kind of tall and a bit chunky, but he had a great smile and Cassidy had had fantasies about him in the past, though he was tragically straight. The thought of turning him into a big burly bear was tantalizing, but he knew it would be pushing his luck. Cassidy sighed, picking up the teapot and shaking it, the last few sips splashing around with the rattling diffuser. “Should I make another pot, or…” “Nah I should probably head home soon,” Liam stretched. “Any more tea and I'll have to pee in a Wendy's cup.” The door opened in the foyer and Adam came in, leaning on the wall as he took off his shoes. Cassidy got up to greet him. “Hey Cass. Oh! Hey, Liam. Long time no see.” Cassidy and Adam kissed each other's cheeks. “Hey Adam, how's it going?” asked Liam, standing. Adam shrugged and shook his hand as he walked past. “Can't complain. What smells so good?” “I made us grilled cheese,” said Cassidy. Adam unzipped his hoodie and made his way to the kitchen. “Sweet. How's things with you, Liam?” “Good, man, good,” Liam replied, meandering to the kitchen. “Erin and I got engaged.” “Oh yeah I saw that on Facebook,” Adam nodded as he unwrapped some cheddar. “Congrats.” “Thanks.” “How's the crew? Everything, uhh…?” Adam trailed off and didn't finish his sentence. “Still going good, yeah. I mean not as good as when you were helping out but we're still making progress.” Liam wavered his hand in the air. “Bit of a lull at the moment but it'll pick up again once Roddy gets back from Mexico.” “If you ever wanted me to take a look at anything,” said Adam, “I'm here for ya.” “Yeah…” Liam leaned against the doorway, “probably not gonna go over well with the higher ups.” Adam shrugged, cutting slices off the cheese brick. “You stayin for dinner?” “Nah I was just about to head out,” said Liam, standing upright. “Oh cool,” Adam set down the knife to give Liam a handshake. “Come around more often, man.” “Yeah, for sure.” Cassidy paused cleaning the teapot to show Liam out. Adam's sandwich was nearly done by the time he came back to the kitchen. “We still on for tonight?” asked Adam. Cassidy slid onto a barstool across the counter from him. “As far as I know, yeah. I've been trying to Skype him all day but he hasn't responded.” Adam turned off the stovetop. “Want to get started without him?” Cassidy shrugged. “We’ll see I guess. Uhh, like How'd it go with Jamie?” Adam paused, slid the grilled cheese onto a plate and sighed. “I don't know, he.... well he's not really feeling it.” “I told you he wouldn't,” Cassidy reminded him. “Yeah well I didn't really expect him too either but I needed to try,” said Adam, a little annoyed. “You don't need his approval, Adam.” “I know I don't need his approval,” Adam groaned, “but he was my best friend for a long time and I WANT his approval.” he sighed, walking over to the counter and holding the sandwich out in front of Cassidy. He leaned forward and took a bite. “Fuck,” he swore with his mouth full. “Hot.” Adam took a bite for himself. “Oh it's fine. Calm down.” *** Josh had convinced a cab to take him and slept most of the ride home, then collapsed on the futon and slept through the morning fully clothed. By the time he woke up it was almost three and his head was pounding. There was blood all over the afghan and dried in crusty chunks through his hair. His mouth was dry and he drank three glasses in a row, which helped some. He took a shower, ate the rest of the chicken curry he'd had left in the fridge, drank a bunch more water, and watched an episode of Survivorman. Josh was mostly cured of his acute hangover but was still exhausted and when he saw the e-mail reminding him he had a show scheduled in an hour he groaned aloud. He squeezed a limesworth of lime juice into a glass of water and chugged it while he checked his e-mail on his phone. sundancekids85. That sounded familiar. Oh right, it was that cute married couple he’d met on the old Evolution forum and then again on the Muscle Growth Forum after the old one shut down. Hmm… Their roleplays were always pretty hot, fairly straightforward, and generally wrapped up in good time. Plus, usually by the end of his shows with them, they were already going at it, and more than once Josh had just stuck around and watched them fuck. And he hadn’t seen them in nearly a year, if he remembered correctly…No, there was just no way. He was too exhausted. It would be a shitty show and he was doing them a favour backing out. Josh poured himself another glass of water and went to his room to sit down at his computer, still not sure whether or not this would be a good idea. Tired as he was, he was still horny. He squeezed his junk through his jeans while his Digital Storm booted up. No, fuck it. He’d just rub one out before bed and that would be that. Still, sundancekids85 were a nice couple and repeat customers, so he didn’t want to alienate them and leave them hanging. He double-clicked the Skype icon and saw sundancekids85 with an optimistic green icon nested in their avatar and a notice that they’d left ten messages. He sent them a video call. The smaller one with glasses - Cass? - popped up on the screen. He smiled and waved happily, and said something before Josh realized he hadn’t turned on his speakers. “Sorry man, what was that?” “I said I wasn’t sure we were gonna see you tonight,” said Cass. “Well, yeah,” Josh nodded nervously. “Hate to do this, man, but I’m gonna have to cancel on tonight?” Cass frowned and groaned theatrically. “Awwwww really?” “Yeah man. I’m sorry I just had a really rough night and I’m just totally exhausted,” Josh shook his head. “I know it’s a dick move, but it’ll probably be better for all of us.” “Uhh... “ Cass glanced away for a second. It looked like he was looking at something behind his monitor. “Like, are you sure I can’t convince you?” “Sorry man,” Josh shook his head. “I’ll send you my next video for free, okay?” “No no no, wait, umm....” Cass paused. “I think you might want to stick it out, tonight.” Cass was being a little more presumptuous than usual and Josh was beginning to regret the face-to-face call. This was kind of annoying. Josh played it off with a chuckle. “Heh, I definitely want to, buddy, but the flesh is weak. Need sleep.” “Okay, just, umm… one sec.” Cass adjusted himself on his chair, sitting up straight. “I was gonna do something a little bit different, tonight? Like, just give me five minutes, okay? And if you’re, like, still not feeling it or whatever we’ll just forget about it and I won’t, like, say anything.” “C’mon man…” Josh groaned. “Five minutes. Josh, seriously, I swear to god, you will NOT regret it,” said Cass, hints of a smirk on his face. Josh checked his clock. He sighed. “Okay, five minutes.” Cass clapped his hands and giggled. “Oh my god! Okay. Okay great. Okay look, umm… get your dick out.” Josh sighed, but undid his jeans and reached into his briefs. “No big guy tonight?” “Hm? Oh, Adam? Yeah he’s, umm…” Cass hummed for a second, “he’s just taking care of something, it’ll just be me.” That was too bad, Josh had always thought Adam was the hotter one. He pulled his cock out over the top of his waistband, wagging it at the camera. “Hi!” he said in a cutesy high-pitched voice. His hardon generally peaked at five inches, and he started palming the head to get it there sooner. Cass laughed. “Okay, you know how we R P all kinds of stuff about, like, you getting big and huge and, like…” “Like all our chats, sure,” Josh nodded. “Right,” Cass nodded. “So like, if you could just… if you had, like, the actual chance to be a bigger guy, like, would you take it?” This seemed like a weird track to take but whatever, Josh was game. He moaned, starting to rub his cock. “Mmm… you know it, man. In a heartbeat.” Cass, however, didn’t seem satisfied. “Okay but like seriously, would you be into it? Would you want to be, like, way bigger in real life?” Josh shrugged peevishly. “Well I mean I guess.” He checked the clock. It hadn’t even been thirty seconds yet. He sighed. “Okay,” Cass nodded slowly. He was really getting into the role this time. It was a bit weird. “Okay. So like, I can make that happen.” Finally, here we go. Josh smiled. “Ooooh yeah, bring it on.” “Like, I know you don’t actually believe me?” said Cass, “so I’m gonna start just with your cock so you can see what I’m talking about.” Josh felt a strange twist in his stomach, that seemed to bounce up his spine and disintegrate. He checked the clock again. Four minutes left. So far none of this was anything out of the ordinary. Josh stroked his cock. “Yeah, start with this big thick cock and go from there.” Josh’s cock suddenly stretched in his hand. He felt it get thicker and heavier, gaining three inches in as many seconds. He stopped stroking, gaping down at his cock in disbelief. It was still getting hard, and it was bigger than he’d ever seen it. “Whu… how is… no way.” “Josh this is permanent, okay?” said Cass. “Like, I can't reverse this? I mean I figured pumping your cock up some was pretty safe but like, I can give you all that stuff we R P about.” Josh shook his head, fist still clenched over his shaft. “This is fucking nuts.” “So… do you want me to?” asked Cass. “I mean this was why I asked for the show but if you want to like take a few days to think about it, like, I'm cool with that. And like keep the money, obviously.” Josh didn't say anything. He shook his head again. “I'm not gonna get, like huge into details but the short version is, umm,” Cass pursed his lips, “this is magic,” he explained academically, “and I guarantee you there is no danger at all.” Josh was still mesmerized by the cock in his unmoving hand. “Josh?” Cass prodded. “Josh oh my god, will you please say something?” Josh slowly moved his hand up his shaft, feeling it's new girth. He gasped when he reached the head. Cass grinned. “Well… do you like it?” Josh managed a quick nod, realized he was holding his breath. “Bigger,” he heard himself say. Cass giggled, and Josh drew a sharp breath as his dick grew another two inches in his hand, with thickness to match. He stroked it more liberally, down then back up, now at full mast. It had to be ten inches long, at least. He glanced at the clock on his desktop. His cock had doubled in size in under five minutes. “What d’ya say, Josh?” Cass raised an eyebrow. “Wanna be bigger all over?” Did he? What would people say? What would he tell Shane? Or his parents? What would he do when people gawked at him on the street? What would he do the next time he walked into Hayloft and watched everyone's jaw drop? What would he say when they begged to be taken? When they pleaded for the chance to worship him? When they touched his thick, huge body and gasped at how hard and ripped he'd become. “Yeah,” he said it before he knew what he was saying. “Do it.” Cass smirked. “You wanna be a freak, huh?” Josh could already feel something begin to churn around inside him; a pressure building up and impossible to contain. It got worse and worse, tightening up his insides, twisting through his whole body until he felt like he was going to split apart. When his pecs suddenly heaved out from his chest and stretched the fabric of his shirt across them it felt like they had been finally unbound after years of being tied down. His arms felt like tightly wound coils suddenly released and allowed to resume their proper shape. It felt like that, but the sound of ripping cotton reminded him that he was getting bigger, reaching sizes he'd never even bothered to hope to achieve. His socks began to rip, and he glanced down at his feet, probably size sixteens at that point, splitting his socks open as they grew before his eyes. His jeans began to tear along the seam, and he felt his ass plump up on the seat. “Fuck…” Josh breathed. “More.” The webcam was on a pretty narrow zoom and only showed his face but it was clear that Cass was jacking off. He paused to wipe sweat off his brow. “Well duh.” Josh felt the backrest of his chair sliding down his widening back, his feet sliding across the floor as his legs seemed to stretch longer and fill in any gaps with hard, tight muscle. He was taller. Taller and taller and taller. He'd always fantasized but never even in his wildest dreams would he have ever expected any of this. “Oooooh,” Josh moaned, “pecs. Get this shirt off me.” He'd barely finished saying it than his pecs inflated with size and muscle and his shirt ripped open down the back. His arms and shoulders were hit with another growth spurt and took care of the sleeves. The feeling of his growing body shredding that shirt drove him nuts. He could feel it losing the battle with his bulk, becoming thinner as it stretched. Every tear was a triumph. He leaned back and…. And the chair buckled a second before giving out underneath him. Josh fell backward with a crash, kicking his desk and knocking over the webcam. “Oh my god, Josh!” he heard Cass. “Josh?” Scrambling to his feet tore the pants to shreds. His briefs clung stretched tight just under his ass but kicking the chair aside snapped them in half. “Josh? Are you okay?” Josh reached down, righted the webcam, and smiled at how far he had to bend to do it. He stood up, dressed in nothing but the tatters of his shirt, its once-wide V-neck now tight around his traps. Cass put a hand over his grin. “Holy shit…” he whispered. Josh looked at his reflection nested in the corner of Cass’ window. He was easily seven feet tall. Probably closer to seven-foot-five. He looked himself over, from his size twenty-two feet to his thick bodybuilder physique. He had the same proportions as all the idols he masturbated to nearly every night - Callum Von Moger; Craig Golias; Jay Cutler. He'd give any of them a run for their money, and was willing to bet none of them had a thick, foot-long cock (though he constantly imagined they all did). He was enormous; the biggest guy he'd ever seen. But the desire had gotten inside him. He felt it swirl around in his stomach, boil up his throat and blurt out of his mouth. “More…” Cass laughed as a drop of sweat trailed down his face from his hair. “Oh my god, get a grip Josh! You get any bigger and you won’t be able to leave your house. This isn’t like, going away.” “C’mon man,” Josh huffed. “Just some more in the arms…” “Maybe next time,” Cass smirked. “Is your Paypal down or something? Cuz like, I’m pretty sure I paid for a show.” Josh furrowed his brow. “What?” “Well like, why don’t you take that big shiny dick out for a spin, hm?” Cass tilted his head, “See how it handles? What the like… brake… pressure is like? Honestly I don’t know like anything about cars.” Josh put a hand around his dick, slowly bringing it up to the head then back down. God it felt so thick and hot. “Vroom vroom,” he moaned. Cass giggled. Josh let his hand stroke back and forth on his shaft while his other hands roamed along his body, exploring and discovering every new feature. These are my abs…. Oh fuck this it my ass… this is my thigh; GOD these are my fuckin balls. Sweet jesus these are my pecs, and my lats. This is my body. This is all mine. It couldn't be real. It was a dream. Or he had died when he hit his head last night and apparently been a really good guy his whole life because if this was Heaven (or Hell, for that matter) then he would've fallen down the stairs, or whatever the hell happened, long long ago. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be real but it fucking WAS. It felt more real than anything he'd felt before. There was so much more of him now, and it was all ablaze with the electric, kinetic bliss cascading out from his huge, sweating cock, its shaft sticky with pre, its head throbbing with every beat of his heart beneath his big beefy chest. Cass was leaning back in his chair, moaning and groaning, wiping sweat out of his face and biting his fingers with the one hand that wasn't hidden off camera furiously jacking himself off. Oh god, thought. “Oh GOD!” he shouted, and he came with an exploding firecracker of how sweaty spunk then in graceful white ribbons that arced across his room. The first slashed across his monitor, the second knocked an empty can of ginger ale off his desk, and the third slopped across his webcam, veiling his display in a wet gaussian blur. Josh staggered backward, his knees buckling under his heavy torso, and collapsed sitting onto his bed. The metal struts gave out on that side and slammed onto the floor. He sat there, his chest heaving, waiting to wake up from whatever amazing drug trip he assumed he was on. But he didn't wake up. No, he kept on sitting there, feeling beads of sweat chart slow descents down the mountain of his body. Brief pause in the clavicle, line drive down the deep valley of his pecs, hanging for a moment off the shelf they had become, dripping onto one abdominal, then slinking down to another, then another and another, finally weaving a path to his external obliques to be lost in his pubic hair. If this wasn't real it was better than real. Cass sat up, in an apparent daze. “Wow. That was something else. I'm sending you like, a little something to cover all the clothes we destroyed, but I guess like your whole wardrobe is probably trash by now so it's a bit of a gyp or whatever. Sorry I shouldn't say that. I hear it's like, offensive to gypsies or… Egyptians or something.” Josh leaned back, feeling his newly developed muscles shifting with every movement. His phone vibrated and he picked it up off his pillow, marvelling at how much smaller it looked in his hand. It took some delicate maneuvering with his bigger fingers. As he was fumbling around his apps, opening nearly all of them except the one he wanted, Cass was making his farewell. “Well I'll see you, Josh. Enjoy! And clean off your webcam!” He laughed, the sound ending abruptly as he signed off. Finally Josh managed to open his e-mail and saw that there had been an additional deposit to his Paypal. Josh grinned. Stand up guy, that Cass. He tossed his phone on a piece of his torn pants and moaned contentedly, leaning back further and letting his wide back sink heavily into his bed. He drew up his arm and flexed it. Fuck, that was a huge bicep. He brought it down and flexed again, letting it rub against his bulging pecs. He felt his flaccid cock twitching itself back to life. Josh smiled as he cupped his big balls in his hand. He had to clean all his cum up anyway, he figured he might as well get the most out of it. *** Cassidy toweled semen off his desk and looked across the room. He wasn't sure what had finally pushed him over, watching Josh hulk out of his clothes, or seeing Adam huddled against the far wall, fifteen feet tall, swollen with gigantic brawn, and a five foot cock that probably weighed more than Cassidy. Adam had stroked it to completion with both hands while he watched the show on a second monitor. He picked up a beach towel and wiped up the copious amounts of cum from his chest and abs and in puddles on the floor. “You okay?” he asked Cassidy. “You look exhausted.” Cassidy shook his head. “A bit. I'll be fine.” He smiled weakly. “Oh my god did you see his face?” The phone on the nightstand buzzed as it vibrated. At first he couldn't tell which one it was since they were right next to each other, but the blinking light gave away that it was Adam's . He took it in his hand and used the stylus from his DS to check his messages. Adam's expression darkened. Cassidy noticed as he pulled on his briefs. “Adam? What's wrong?” Adam looked up. “It's Jamie. He says he needs your help…”
    1 point
  16. Part 6: Tahar There was a dimly glowing ember of consciousness left in him that made it seem like he had never actually gone to sleep at all. He was so hungover he thought he might be paralyzed. As sensation crept back into his leaden limbs, he almost wished he was. Everything was aching. God, what the hell had he even done last night? He remembered… driving? It was too patchy and indistinct. What he was doing barely constituted thinking. He resolved to get himself some water to soothe his dry and aching tongue. Cassidy swung his legs over the bed, and realized as he set his feet down on Tahar's faux fur throw rug that he wasn't at home. As he reached for underwear far too big for him, it all came crashing back chased by an intense headache that lanced through his brain, and he remembered he had spent the night as Butch. Seeing his own skinny arm, he further realized that he returned to his usual form as he slept. Tahar shifted in bed, and Cassidy froze. He had a change of clothes in the car, but everything here would slide right off of him. Tahar’s alarm clock informed him it was almost seven AM. If he changed now, he’d be stuck as Butch all day. Just the thought of trying to concentrate only made his headache worse. He wouldn’t have tried to change anyone in his state, and doing it to himself was only more difficult. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but one thing was certain. He had to get out of this apartment as soon as possible. He could figure everything else out later; leaving was red hot priority number one. He quietly lifted off the bed and crouched, collecting his clothes. But as he picked up his jeans, he grabbed only one leg and they unfolded and flopped to the floor, the heavy metal belt buckle (an ox skull design) clattering noisily against the hardwood floor. Tahar groaned and sat up. "Hey, everything...?" he switched on his bedside lamp and groggily rubbed his eye, then started in shock at the diminutive skinny kid standing hunched over and naked in his apartment, wide eyed and terrified. "What the... who... BUTCH?!" He turned and shouted into the apartment, pulling his covers over himself. Cassidy dropped the clothes and held up his hands. "Wait, look, just gimme a second." Tahar sat up and drew himself back, looking fearfully at Cassidy as he tried to search the apartment. "BUTCH?!" he shouted louder. "Hold on. Look," Cassidy stammered. "Butch isn't coming." Tahar paled. He yanked open the door on his nightstand, but failed to find anything appropriate, so instead he picked his lamp up off the table, rearing it over his head. The cord snapped out of the wall and darkness fell upon them again. "What did you do with Butch!" "Tahar!" Cassidy hesitated a moment, but it was all he could do. "Tahar, it's me!" "Who the fuck are you?" Tahar faked a throw, and Cassidy drew back with a flinch. "I know it sounds crazy, Tahar, but it's Butch! I'm Butch!" He could hear desperate fear tightening Tahar's voice. "What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?" "Your name is Tahar Mazoud, you're forty-five, you were born in Lebanon and came to Canada with your boyfriend Samuel ten years ago and you were going to get married but he, like, kept putting it off and eventually you broke up and he moved to Seattle." Tahar had narrowed his gaze but said nothing. Cassidy licked his lips and went on. "The first time we met was three years ago at... like a Pitbull thing at the Eagle. We sucked each other's cocks in an alley and we were gonna go further but we slipped on some grime and you like, smacked your head on a fire escape and started bleeding and it kinda nixed the mood. But then we hooked up over Pride which was only like a week or two later. You were seeing a younger guy... something like Kyle or David or something. He was being a total dick to you and you called him to tell him it was over while we waited for the elevator. This was at your first apartment, the grungy one at King and Dufferin." Tahar has slowly lowered the lamp until it was resting on his lap. "How do you know all that?" "I told you..." Cassidy sighed. "I'm Butch." "That's bullshit," Tahar shook his head. "It's not," Cassidy insisted. "Look, I can explain everything to you, I swear. I can prove it too just not like... Oh my god I'm just so hungover." He massaged his brow. Tahar plugged the lamp back in and it flickered to life. He peered at Cassidy intensely. His eyes were the same, Cassidy knew. He hoped Tahar could see it. Tahar set the lamp down on the table. "I'm forty-four." "Oh. Sorry." Tahar paused, and sighed. "Who are you?" "I'll tell you," Cassidy nodded. "I'll tell you everything." *** The alarm on Drew's cell phone erupted with a blast of mid-era Peter Gabriels and he swiped it off with a sigh. Jamie turned over next to him, pulling the duvet off his shoulder. Drew let him have it, throwing off the covers and sitting up. He yawned, stood, stretched, scratched his ass, yawned again, and grabbed some clothes out of the dresser before departing to the bathroom. Oprah nuzzled his ankles affectionately until he turned on the shower, then she bolted out the open door. Drew stepped into the hot shower and thought about how it was supposed to rain all week and how he should probably wear a jacket. Then he thought about the sex they had had last night. Drew had thought it was so hot. Jamie had given him a massage during the end of The French Connection which had progressed into a makeout session during the credits. Drew sucked Jamie off on the couch, and though he stayed hard, Jamie never came. They took it into the bedroom where they sucked, stroked, and fucked for ninety minutes straight. Drew managed to cum twice. Jamie, though... He didn't know how to bring it up. Maybe you should talk to someone? Maybe we can get some pills? Fuck. There was no way to frame that conversation in a way that didn’t make him look weak, at least from Jamie’s perspective. He had a lot invested in his… well, it was a very specific version of integrity. Mostly he thought relying on modern contrivances were a bad call. An absolute last resort. So any sort of medication, or psychiatric help, would never fly. He was perfectly reasonable about other people needing help, but the standards he applied to everyone else had always been vastly removed from the ones he set for himself. Jamie was complicated. He had always been complicated, which made it hard to talk about this kind of thing with him. Whenever Jamie said "you wouldn't understand," Drew generally took it for granted. But lately it wasn't a matter of what Jamie couldn't say, and more what he refused to say. Drew's consultations with Dr. Google had informed him that sudden changes in routine or living arrangements could contribute to depression, the most recurring non-physiological reason for erectile dysfunction. He didn't want to make it a confrontation, and he didn't want Jamie to blame himself - which he was probably doing already - but until Jamie came clean with whatever he wasn't telling him, Drew didn't know what he was supposed to do. He had never been able to make Jamie see himself the way Drew did. He didn't know if that would fix anything but he was sure it would at least help. Drew stepped out of the shower and dressed, looking at himself in the foggy mirror. He wiped it clean to tie his tie. He sighed, looking down at his suit hugging tight around his middle. Maybe he was the problem. Maybe Jamie had finally noticed Drew wasn't the slim, fit gym twink he fell for. Drew had to figure something out. This line of thought was making him feel like shit. He finished up in the bathroom and grabbed his jacket off the chair he'd thrown it on the night before. He thought about going in to kiss Jamie goodbye, but grabbed an apple and left without going back to the room. He'd probably still be sleeping anyway. *** Tahar had set his jaw, but felt like he would shatter his teeth at any moment. He was keeping it together and Cassidy seemed oblivious, but Tahar was absolutely furious. The man in front of him had started out sullen and apologetic but after a cup of coffee and as he got further into the story, Cassidy had become lost in the telling. He sounded almost proud of himself. It was just too much. It was a ridiculous fantasy that didn't make any sense. But Tahar kept noticing things. He heard hints of Butch in his voice. He spotted little details - the little pink scar under his eye; the mole behind his ear; the shape of his nose - things he would remember about Butch when he saw him again after a long absence. This stupid child was Butch. Had always been Butch. Cassidy’s boyfriend had told him his fantasies of growing into a hulking giant and so he had decided to make it happen. But he needed to experiment on a bunch of people he didn't give a shit about first in case it was dangerous. So he began making trips into the city, hanging around Church Street and using his powers to make guys more attractive before he fucked them. That's not how Cassidy had explained it, but it sounded like that to Tahar. And who was Butch? Butch was a mask Cassidy could wear to escape any notice, so if anything ever had gone wrong he could sneak off undetected and never have to answer for what he'd done. According to Cassidy, that had never happened, and he had gotten good enough that that wasn’t even a concern. The subterfuge wasn't really necessary anymore. But from the sound of it, he had come to like being Butch. Why wouldn’t he? Butch was cool and this asshole was a loser. He was fucking married? Tahar was this psycho's guy on the side? Thinking of all the things he had done with Butch, all the things he had told him, all the things he had felt about him. None of it had been real. It was just a game this pompous little shit was playing. He just went on and on, a self-satisfied smirk as he listed off his accomplishments, sitting there in Tahar's black cotton bathrobe that hung loose off him but would've barely gotten around Butch. "Oh my god, last night I tried a bunch of new things. It's coming easier and easier. Like, I was able to grow someone without looking about them. I managed to change like six or seven people without them noticing." Tahar looked at him. "Have you ever done anything to me?" Cassidy leaned on the table, furrowing his brow. He allowed himself a thoughtful pause. "No, actually." "How come?" Cassidy cocked his head, then leaned back in his chair, perplexed. "Y'know I honestly don't know. I mean you're already so hot, Tahar." He really didn't like hearing Cassidy say his name. He shook his head. "You've been waving your wand around at a lot of very attractive men. Why not me?" Cassidy shrugged. "I mean it, I don't actually know... like, I don't think it ever occurred to me. And, well like, that first night I was already too drunk by the time I met you and..." "Are you sober now?" asked Tahar, sipping his coffee. Cassidy grinned and raised his mug of coffee. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." Tahar set down his cup. "Can you do it now?" Cassidy frowned. "What?" Tahar had already begun unbuttoning his shirt. "You said you made your husband ten feet tall." "Yeah..." Tahar slipped out of his shirt and threw it over a chair. "Prove it." "But..." Cassidy glanced at the bronze clock on the wall. "Don't you have work?" Tahar shrugged. "I'll call in." Cassidy smiled apprehensively. "I don't know if..." "Really?" Tahar put his hands on the backrest and leaned down. "Really? After all that, you're not going to let me see it? You don't think you owe me that? And then some?" Cassidy looked down, his cheeks flush. "I... how... what do you want me to do?" "Grow me. Can you even do anything else?" "Not really," he shook his head. "I mean not without a... map or something. Well, I call it a map, anyway. Some people--" "All right then," Tahar stood up, spreading his arms. "Show me some magic." Cassidy looked up at him, still uncertain. "Like how... big do you wanna get?" "Bigger than you've ever made anyone," Tahar replied without missing a beat. Cassidy started with a chuckle. "I don't know about that. That's like, pretty big." Tahar didn't say anything, just spread his arms wider. Cassidy smiled smugly, then sighed in acquiescence. Tahar felt a strange tickle run down his spine. “Is that…?” “Yeah it’s like… well I call it a ‘link.’” Cassidy took a deep breath and grinned. “Was there somewhere specific you wanted to get it started?” Tahar shrugged. “You’re the expert.” Cassidy’s grin widened. Tahar felt his body getting warm. He looked down and saw goosebumps rising on his arm. He felt strangely energized. This couldn't all just be placebo effect. But there was no way this was actually going to pan out. Tahar kept half-expecting this elaborately orchestrated ruse to reveal itself. Butch to pop out of a closet and deride him for believing this nonsense. But as he continued feeling these strange sensations undulating throughout his body, he knew it wasn't bullshit. This was happening. Tahar drew a sharp breath as he felt his crotch suddenly grow heavy. He looked down and saw his bulge inflating in his jeans. His dick was tingling, radiating throbs of pleasure up his torso. He quickly unzipped his fly and squirmed out of his pants, watching his briefs fill up with his swelling cock and balls, their outline becoming more and more pronounced with every passing second. It felt amazing and he knew it was making him hard, but it was already well over the thirteen centimetres he usually peaked at, easily on its way to thirty with no signs of stopping. He reached into his briefs, gasping as he felt its weight in his hand, and hauled it out. It was half-hard, a foot long, and thick as a beer bottle. His bulging head was still mostly cloaked in foreskin. It pulsed larger and harder with every heartbeat, and Tahar felt it hanging heavier and heavier off of his body. It felt so good, and he felt more aroused than he thought had been possible. His cock continued swelling and stiffening, his dark vein throbbing thick along his shaft, his gleaming head fully exposed, until it stuck out perpendicular from his body, nearly two feet long. Tahar laughed with bewilderment. "This is...impossible!" Cassidy chuckled. "Oh my god, we are just getting started." Tahar staggered suddenly, his footing having become uneven as his feet jumped three sizes bigger. First one, then the other. He looked down, saw his toes bunching up as his sole slid across the floor, getting wider and longer. He lifted his feet up, standing on his heels, and stretched out his toes, slapping the balls of his feet back down on the floor. There was a strangely gratifying ache of growing pains humming through the bones of his feet. He felt it shoot up his fibula as his calves lengthened, pushing him taller. His pelvis widened, his back arched as every vertebrate popped larger in rapid sequence. Tahar looked down, still holding the back of the chair, and watched his elbows angle sharper as his arms stretched longer. He pushed himself up, and looked down at his gangly body, stretched out and skinny save for his fat throbbing cock trembling a foot above the tabletop. Warm, thick, juicy muscle began to radiate along his limbs, oozing along his bones. The ache and strain of too little flesh stretched thin was washed away in waves of wet, hot heaviness. His arms thickened into their usual proportions then grew beyond them, his caramel skin stretching over swelling globes of solid brawn. He gasped as he felt an intense tingling in his anus as his cheeks inflated like balloons, pressing harder against each other as they grew bigger and bigger. Muscles blossomed up his back like sinewy branches of an oak tree, and he felt his lats fattening up with hard thick beef that began to push against his biceps. God it all felt so amazing. He couldn't believe any of it. When was he going to finally wake up from this ridiculous dream? Tahar had already had a ghostly outline of a six pack and adonis belt but he felt them materializing into firm tight specimens of perfection, abs popping out of his flat stomach one by one. The deep rivulets forming on his back sprang up to his neck, raising his traps from their long sleep and inflating his shoulders bigger than basketballs. His pecs stretched huge from his ribs, curtains of muscle falling from his collarbone, layer after layer after layer, his nipples hardening as they angled further and further downwards, until he had a chest he could have rested his mug of coffee on. He panted, feeling sweat beading on his brow as he felt the changes finish. He turned his head upwards and threw up his arms into a double flex, closing his eyes and just letting himself feel his own hugeness, his biceps bulging against his meaty forearms. What would those meatheads at the gym think if they saw him like that? He imagined them lining up to service his massive dong. The thought was so titillating he felt his cock twitch as a bead of precum began to form at the tip. Cassidy giggled, pulling him halfway from his reverie. "It almost looks skinny now..." Tahar shuddered as he felt his cock bloat to nearly twice its girth. He dropped his arms and looked down at Cassidy. "Mmmm.... more." "Bigger dick? Really?" Cassidy smirked. Tahar shook his head. "Everything." Cassidy's self-satisfied grin faltered. "Are you... I don't know, Tahar. I mean... this could be getting dangerous. I read about..." Tahar reached down and yanked his dinner table off the ground like it was a board game, sending the two mugs of coffee clattering to the ground and dashing their contents against the baseboard. He tossed it idly into a corner of his apartment, smashing a floor lamp and snapping two legs from the table in the process. Cassidy sat frozen, his eyes wide, his face pale, his knees pressed together in exposed terror. Tahar took two deliberate steps to close the distance between them, his huge form casting a dark shadow across Cassidy, his hard cock looming over his head like a clenched fist. "Shut the fuck up and do what I tell you." Cassidy cowered away, transfixed with shock, horrific realization blossoming on his face. He was shaking his head in slight, quick movements, which Tahar first thought to be protests against his commands, but the more he watched Cassidy it seemed to be more of him fighting against himself, of trying to clap shackles back on something that had been unleashed. Waves of hot scintillating arousal seeped out from his crotch, and Tahar moaned as he felt his body expanding once more. Squelches and sounds like stretching rubber issues from all over his body, muffled by increasing mounds of thick hard flesh. It was all happening at once, so fast he had trouble keeping track of everything. His already massive biceps were inflating with even more size, his abs shuffled against each other as his torso stretched taller. his pecs swelled almost up to his chin, obscuring his view of Cassidy. His feet bulged larger, and he briefly lost balance, leaning against the wall for support with a hand that was twice the size of his wall clock and still pumping larger. He shuddered, jolts of pleasure bouncing through his body, as his cock rose up over the horizon of his pecs, shining head varnished with a thick coat of pre. Still growing, Tahar lowered himself to sit on the floor as carefully as he could, but knocked over another lamp and an accent table as he went. He planted his feet on the floor. His shoulders were touching picture frames he had had to reach up to hang. He had to be over ten feet tall now. He massaged his pillar of a cock with both hands, now too thick for only one, and craned his neck forward, puckering his mouth for his cockhead. It was still too far to reach, until it surged up to meet his lips, and he stuck his tongue down his own gaping urethra. It was like an explosion of white fire in his brain, careening through his body until every part of him was alight. It took nearly every ounce of will he had, but he forced himself to stop. Panting for air, dazed in pleasure, he felt as though he had lost virtually all bearings of who or where he was. But he had to take care of something first. He had stopped growing. He couldn't be sure when, but his head nearly reached the ceiling even sitting down, and his legs, even with the knees bent, were sprawled across the entire room. Cassidy had stood and put his back to the kitchen counter, seemingly trying to flatten himself against it, but his limbs were poised to dart off at a moment's notice. In the loose fitting bathrobe he looked like a scandalized leading lady from a 50s drama. The empty chair alone and toylike in the middle of the room. Tahar took a deep breath. "You can go now." Cassidy trembled. "Wh... what?" "Did I stutter? Fuck off out of my house." "Tahar... c'mon I..." "Don't say my name like we're fucking buds. Do you even realize what it is you've done?" "But I... Tahar we ARE friends." "No we're-- yknow what? Fuck you, fuck your dumb chump of a husband, and fuck the man you made up for me to.... look just leave. Or did you want me to make you?" Cassidy stood his ground for a second before Tahar raised his hand. Then he bolted for the bed, scrabbling his clothes into a bundle and racing for the door, kicking his oversized boots ahead of him. "Hey," Tahar called as Cassidy was about to open the door. He turned around, a hopeful look on his face. "If I ever, EVER see Butch again? I will make it my personal mission to ruin your fucking life." Cassidy looked for a moment like he was going to object, but his jaw was quivering and his knees were shaking, and he spun out the door, slamming it behind him. Free of his troubling distraction, Tahar moaned contentedly as he returned his attention to his fantastically oversized cock. The fire returned with new vigor as if the brief lapse had only been stoking the embers. He leaned back against the wall, felt his thick wide back spread across it, hugging the shaft of his dick into the deep valley between his prodigious pecs, so that every breath he took he couldn't help but stroke himself. Every heartbeat brought him a fraction closer to his completion, and his heart was like a jackhammer in his ribcage. He was enormous. He had to be the biggest guy who'd ever lived. It was hard to guess from his sitting position, but he felt like looking into a second story window would had just gotten a lot easier. And he was strong, powerful. He took one hand from his cock to flex his bicep, bulging obscenely massive, and scraped his knuckles against the ceiling. He loved this feeling. So heavy, thick, and big. Those boys at the gym would bug out the moment they saw him. He could picture them even now, gaping at him as he put on a flexing show for him, stroking his massive dong and maybe giving them a taste if they asked nicely. Tahar felt the pressure building. He returned his second hand to his shaft and his tongue to the slit on his cockhead. To call what followed an orgasm would not do it justice. As his watermelon-sized balls shot a geyser of cum out of his column-sized cock, he lost, for a moment, all sense of where, who, and what he was, as if everything had been stripped away and left nothing but an essence of pleasure and ecstasy, removed from any physical anchor at all. He knew things were going on around him, like the nonstop firehose of jizz still spraying his face and chest, or the dents in the floorboards his heels were leaving, but he wouldn't have been able to even begin thinking about reacting to it even if he could. He was paralyzed in bliss. As his overwhelming sensory explosion settled into warmly befuddled afterglow, Tahar entered into a state of sublime contentment and tranquility, where all the most dire problems in his life and the world were trivialities; where all his greatest fears and traumas were just distractions he had blown out of proportion. He saw his life up to then - maybe the whole world itself - from a high vantage point greatly disconnected from them yet through a lens of such clarity it could not be refuted. And it was beautiful, vital, and good, from its war-ravaged ruins to its islands of trash to its putrid fields of poisonous tar. Where moments before they had been sources of tremendous power, Tahar felt suddenly the impossible weight of his oversized limbs, pulling him down into a soft and welcoming slumber. He leaned back, smacked his lips, and let sleep take him. And as he drifted into that warm, still ocean, he thought to himself: "Maybe that Cassidy's not such a bad kid."
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