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  1. Hey everyone! I was inspired to write a short one-off story (as opposed to my usual multi-chapter epics) and I was able to write this all in one go today! I hope you enjoy. Joe goes to his local game store to do a Magic: The Gathering draft and plays against a burly young jock whose spells have an effect on more than just the battlefield... I went to my local game store to do a Magic: The Gathering draft, like I do almost every week. I paid for my entry fee and went to sit down, chatting with the other store regulars about what cards we thought are underrated and what archetypes were good to draft. The bell on the door to the store jingled and suddenly I could smell a sharp, heady aroma of nerd jock BO. I crinkled my nose but a shiver of pleasure went up my spine as well; I had always had a weakness for that musky masculine smell. I looked over to see where it was coming from and saw a guy walking in I had never seen before. He was young, probably fresh out of college, and was built like a football lineman. He was tall, over 6’ for sure, and beefy; wide shoulders, barrel chest, big arms, round soft-looking belly, and thick legs. He had a scraggly, bright red beard and mustache, round, ruddy cheeks, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. His hair was long and stringy, and he wore a hoodie, jeans, and big heavy-looking leather boots. I guessed he was probably 280lb or so. He looked like the kind of guy who would be great to cuddle with, but maybe only after you fed him and got fucked by him. I got the sense he was usually pegged as a jock football bro because of how he looked but deep down was a serious MTG nerd. He was solid-looking, like he still lifted but also looked like he had let himself go a little since the football season had ended last fall. He sauntered in, the smell of his musk growing more pungent as he walked by me. He smelled like he had just come from the gym but also like he hadn’t left his mom’s basement to shower in a few days: sour, sharp, tangy, and fresh all at the same time. I couldn’t help but huff it in even though it was so powerful it was hard to breath. He paid for his draft and soon enough we got started. The store manager running the draft called out our seats and sure enough I was next to the big ginger. He sat down next to me, a wave of his BO wafting over me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you here before, I’m Joe,” I said. The big guy slumped his backpack down and turned to me, his icy blue eyes looking me over. “Mark, but just call me Red,” he said with a grin. “Red, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s quite a nickname,” I continued, “though I suppose it works for you.” “Heh, yeah,” he said and ran a hand through his straggly ginger beard. It looked like hadn’t trimmed or groomed it in months. “My football buddies gave it to me. I played football up until I graduated last year,” he explained, spreading his shoulders wide. “Just D3 but I liked being able to hit stuff. I’ve had that nickname since freshman year.” “Yeah I thought so, you’re a pretty big guy. You just come from the gym?” I asked, his BO surrounding me like a miasma. “Yeah actually. I still love lifting. Guess I smell pretty strong, huh?” he asked. “It’s kind of noticeable, yeah,” I admitted. “Heh, well people can just deal with it,” he said and lifted his arm up a bit and sniffed for effect. “I kind of like it actually.” I almost admitted that I did too, but decided that would be weird. “Well alright Red, I’m Joe. Pass me some good cards, ok?” I said. “For sure, bud,” he said as we all got our packs. “Hope you open some good stuff,” and we all opened our packs to start drafting. The draft went fine for me, but I found it hard to concentrate with this huge, sexy, smelly fucker next to me. It was impossible to ignore his presence because his BO stink was always in my nostrils, and he would grunt or bump against me every so often when he got a good card. I tried not to steal glances but couldn’t help myself a few times. He was just my type: big, bearded, ginger, geeky, and sweaty. When the draft ended, my deck wasn’t the best because I hadn’t been focusing as much as I should have been. I looked to my right and Red had drafted a green/red deck with some insane bombs. My eyes boggled as I looked at the size of his creatures, especially the big ones at the top of his curve, and backed up by good pump spells. “Jeez you really went big, huh?” I said to him, leaning a bit closer. “Yeah I like playing with big, beefy creatures… kind of like me, right?” he said with a grin and started putting his deck together. “Well the red matches your beard, so I guess that fits,” I said. He chuckled and rose up to get lands, towering over me for a moment, and I tried to focus on building a deck of my own. A few minutes later pairings went up and I went to go play against my first round opponent. Red sat a bit away from me, with his back to me. The chair looked too small for his wide shoulders and beefy ass. I noticed others around me crinkling their noses and keeping their distance from the big jock, but they didn’t say anything. A smelly guy at a local game store wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I did well during my first game, drawing well and beating my opponent’s cruddy deck easily. During the game I kept looking over at Red. I could hear his deep voice from across the room, and his shoulders and traps really looked big from behind. After his first game he stood up to take his hoodie off – it was getting pretty warm in the store with all these guys playing Magic – revealing that he was wearing just a tank top underneath. His BO stink intensified now that his pits were exposed, and I got a better look at the size of his shoulders and back. He was bigger than I thought, more muscular, with round bulky delts and mountainous traps. I picked up my stuff and went to a quiet corner of the store to zone out looking at my phone for a bit to kill time between rounds. Before I knew it 20 minutes had passed and they were calling time in the round. I went back over to the play area and stopped in my tracks when I saw Red rising up out of his chair. Red looked noticeably bigger than he did just 20 minutes ago. He stood up, and up, clearly several inches taller than he was before, looking at least 6’6” if not bigger. He was thicker all over, not just because he was taller but proportionally as well; his shoulders were bulkier and wider, his huge pecs made his tank top stretch, and a sliver of red fur-covered belly peeked out from the bottom. His arms were massive and much more muscular than before, biceps bulging with mounds of muscle that hadn’t been there before. His jeans strained to contain his big, muscular quads, and a prominent bulge tented the denim. His beard looked redder and thicker, and the power of his BO stink had increased. “Red, uh, did you win your match?” I asked tentatively. Everyone else around eyed him strangely and gave him plenty of space, aware that he had apparently grown. He had to be at least 400lbs of beefy muscle now. His big shoulders had sprouted some copper-colored hair. “Sure did! It was a close one but Giant Growth won it in the end for me,” he boomed, his voice louder and deeper than before. “G-giant growth, huh?” I stammered. He seemed totally unaware of the irony. “Yup, I got lots of combat tricks to make my guys grow bigger. Always love it when my stuff is just bigger than everything the opponent has, that way I can bully him around just like I used to in football,” he said, raising a beefy arm to scratch his scraggly beard. His bicep bulged up obscenely, the red pores of his huge arm standing out as he flexed. “Pairings for round 2 are up!” the store manager yelled, and I looked up to the screen to see who I was playing next. I found my name and then looked over to see who I was playing. It said, “Mark H.” I felt the floorboards vibrate a bit and a shadow fell over me, and smelled a wave of Red’s jock/geek funk. “Looks like we’re playing each other this round, little guy,” Red rumbled from behind me. I turned around and was eye-level with his chest. His tank top was a worn, faded high school wrestling tournament one, with a hyper muscular bear mascot on the front and a list of names of participants on the back. He was stained yellow under the pecs and pits from years of jock sweat. I looked up, my mouth falling open a bit, and Red looked down at me with a smirk. “Y-yeah man, uh, where do you want to, um, sit?” I said, flummoxed and freaked out for a variety of reasons. We found a place to play and I set about getting ready. He sat down heavily, the little wooden chair creaking ominously under his bulk. “So how long have been you playing Magic?” I said, trying to make small talk to be less nervous. “Since I was 12, so like 10 years now,” he said as he started shuffling his deck. His huge, calloused hands made the cards look smaller than usual, and I gulped. It was starting to feel really warm in here. “C-cool. So, you said you like red and green?” I asked as I finished shuffling and we cut each others’ decks. “Yeah man, ever since I was young I loved all the huge, powerful creatures in those colors. Aggressive, strong, big, all the qualities I wanted for myself. Sometimes when I play football I would think about having trample or first strike and just running over my opponent, hehe,” he said as he won the die roll and drew seven. I couldn’t help but get chubbed up as this massive brute told me all this. “Heh that’s awesome, man. Well it seemed to work because you’re huge! Uh, just how big are you anyway?” I dared to ask as I played a land and passed the turn. “6’7” and 425lb or so, though that fluctuates a lot depending on what I’m eating. Always trying to grow bigger,” he rumbled and then played a creature. “B-but you weren’t that big earlier…no way,” I said as played a creature of my own, though smaller than his, and passed. “Well yeah even a year or two ago I was still in the 300s but I just keep growing,” he said as he attacked with his 2/2. “No I meant, when you got here… never mind,” I said, confused – there was no way he was he over 300lbs when I first saw him, much less 400lb. I decided to block his creature as it seemed like a good trade. He tapped his lands and played Boon of Strength, giving his creature two +1/+1 counters and making it bigger. As he played the spell I could see Red visibly bulk up bigger, like he suddenly got a nice gym pump. His traps and shoulders rose up thicker and rounder, his forearms swelled and new veins appeared, and his chest expanded with muscle. Like he had gotten a… well, a boon of strength. “Ha! Gotcha,” he said and my little 2/1 died in to his creature, now a 4/4. “Uh, what just...happened,” I trailed off as I untapped my lands. “Heh, told you my deck had a lot of pump spelled in it,” Red said and stretched in his seat. His massive arms – had to be over 22 inches now – flexed as he stretched, and his tank top rode up until I could see his belly button, his fat belly covered in copper-colored fur. His sweaty pits filled the room with musk, and the entire store soon stank like a football jock’s dorm room. “Yeah, but, you… you look… I mean, did you just grow?” I asked, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth. “Huh? Uh, my creature did, but I’ve always been this big. Guess this tank is getting a little tight, I’ve been making lots of gains lately,” he rumbled. I nodded, confused, and played a creature and passed the turn. He had no idea what was happening. Red played another bigger creature, and again I could see him grow slightly. He attacked, hit me for 4, and I could already tell I was going to lose this game. A few turns later, with a 4/4, a 5/6, and a 7/7 on the board, and with Red looking close to seven feet tall and pushing 600lbs, he won game one. I looked him over as he shuffled for game two. His red, round cheeks were flushed and his blue eyes were hyponotizing. His beard had grown thicker and longer with him and almost reached down to his pecs, which rose up now like a shelf and stood out from his flimsy tank top. His arms were absurd, bigger around than his head and throbbing with beefy muscle, a round, solid bicep peak erupting from the meat of his upper arm as he shuffled. “S-so you graduated?” I asked, trying to take my mind off of the fact my opponent was growing into the biggest man on earth right in front of me. “Yeah, got an exercise science degree. I want to join a coaching staff or maybe be a personal trainer as a backup option,” he said. “Always loved lifting, even as a kid,” he boomed and lifted up his huge right arm and flexed. Mountains of muscle sprang up on his arm and shoulder, and my mouth dropped open. I’d never seen such huge muscle. The red armpit hair was matted down with slick sweat and a wave of his BO hit me like a punch in the face. “W-wow yeah it really shows. Well that’s cool. You must have been one of the biggest guys on your team?” I probed. “Oh yeah, always been the biggest guy everywhere. I got offers from D1 schools but wanted to stay local. At my size I could do pretty much whatever I want,” he said and my mind took that in ten different ways and my boner swelled harder. I actually won game two because he got mana screwed, unable to play anything except a two-drop creature, which obviously frustrated him. His red cheeks grew redder and I could see, and smell, more sweat erupting on his forehead, shoulders, and chest, dampening his shirt. Game three started pretty evenly, with both of us playing fairly defensive creatures and building our board state. His hulking frame intimidated me across the table, and he slowly but interminably swelled up bigger every time he played a creature or cast a pump spell. I was just barely holding on when he played Growth Spurt, giving all his creatures +1/+1 counters. Red exploded with more size, muscle packing on to his bulky football jock frame and stretching wider and thicker. His chair groaned and cracked under his ballooning weight. His torso was so big it looked like he was wearing football pads. “Oh yeah, a growth spurt just in time!” he rumbled and attacked. I blocked what I could but took a lot of damage. It wasn’t looking good for me. “What are you gonna do, little guy? The beef squad just keeps growing bigger!” he taunted, tensing his pecs and traps at me. I just grumbled and passed the turn. His next turn he tapped all of his mana. “Here comes the big guy!” Red boomed and laid down Hulking Brute, an 8/8 creature with trample. The art of the card showed a massive, muscular, red-bearded giant stomping a house with a huge foot and smashing a hammer into the ground. I looked up just in time to see Red explode with size, his entire body visibly swelling up taller, broader, and more muscular. He took a deep breath and I could hear his tendons popping and stretching to accommodate his new, bigger size. “Oh yeah!” Red bragged, lifting up his arms in triumph, unleashing a new wave of BO stink, and attacked again. I was barely alive and drew another creature to keep me alive for another turn. If I could draw my sweeper I could probably come back, but it was a big if. On his next turn, he drew his card, smirked, and then tapped all his mana. “BOOM!” he yelled and played Unstoppable Growth, a mass-pump spell that gave all his creatures +4/+4 and trample and then attacked with everything. As soon as the card left his hand, Red exploded with size, muscle and fat swelling his entire body bigger and taller. The table shifted towards me as his ball belly pushed it back, and the chair cracked and collapsed under his huge weight. He fell with a heavy “OOF”. Muscles erupted on every inch of his burly body, the football jock going from pro strongman size to borderline giant in just a few seconds. His pale skin was ruddy with exertion and slick with sweat, his beard thicker and longer, copper colored hair sprouting on his back and shoulders and arms. Red laughed as he sat on the floor. He shifted his massive weight, clomped a heavy boot onto the ground, and rose up to his full height. He stood up, taller and taller until he towered over the entire store, his head scraping against the 8 foot ceiling. He breathed deeply, his body filling out with the last moments of growth, and he laughed. He was enormous, like the big brother of the the biggest strongman or powerlifter or football player alive, fat and powerful, muscular and swollen, ruddy and sweaty and huge. His stench intensified as he lifted up his arms until his fists bumped into the ceiling and then he brought his fists together and flexed. “HAHA oh yeah, the goon squad wins! Like a whole offensive line pancake blocking your ass!” he boomed down at me, eyes wide as he let his jock excitement get the better of him. I flinched but couldn’t take my eyes off the massive giant college football jock towering over me. At this point everyone else in the store noticed the hulking brute, clearly bigger than anyone they’d ever seen before. People stared and yelled, pointing and cursing at the size of the ginger giant. Red’s beard bloomed red and thick, reaching down and mixing with his chest hair, his mustache curling broadly into his cheeks, his flowing hair falling down to his shoulders like a Viking god. “Looks like I’m 2-0 and going to the finals,” Red boomed as he cleaned up his cards. Each one looked like a bizarre miniature Magic card in his huge hands. “Can’t wait to smash the next guy. Look at how BIG my creatures got at the end!” he said and swelled his chest up and out. “Almost as big as ME!” he said with a smirk and palmed his enormous gut and jiggled it up and down. “Huhhh, um, whaaa…” I stammered, unable to process the fact my opponent had just grown over 2 feet tall and god knows how much heavier in the last half an hour while playing Magic: The Gathering. “Good games though, squirt, you took me to three, that’s pretty good for a little guy,” he rumbled and extended a hand. I instinctively put mine out and Red wrapped his massive paw around my diminutive digits. His hand engulfed mine up to my wrist and he squeezed hard, the power just in his fingers overwhelming, and he shook me hard. “Bet you never lost to a Magic player this size, huh?” he taunted. “Pairings for round 3 are up!” the manager called, and Red mercifully waddled off to his last match. I sat down for my match, but at this point the whole store’s attention was on Red’s freak show. The brute sat down on the ground to face his opponent; he was tall enough at this point it wasn’t an issue. His round three opponent was obviously terrified and nervous; Red was probably two and a half feet taller and 5 times his weight. “Hey, I’m Red,” he boomed. “Should we roll dice to see who goes first?” he said and swelled out his chest and flexed his traps and shoulders. “N-no no, go ahead, y-you can just go first,” his opponent quavered, and Red just grinned, his big white teeth standing out in the middle of his red beard. “Good, I was hoping you’d see things my way,” the brute said and he shuffled his tiny cards. Red was merciless in his round three match. Every card seemed to be just the one he needed, and just the one to make him grow and grow and grow. He played bigger creatures, pump spells, and massive finishers to punish his opponent, all the while bulking up bigger and heavier and taller in spurts every time he played a card. He would grunt and growl when he grew now, apparently loving the feeling of his body expanding with more and more size, but continued to be unaware that it was unusual. He won game one easily, his huge ass spreading wider and taking up more space, his tank top growing with his height but not with his increasingly wider, thicker, and more muscular proportions; soon it only covered down to the top of massive round gut and his jeans had torn up to his thighs. The beast sweated profusely as he grew and grew, and his jock BO became so powerful that some people started to leave. I huffed it in, standing as close to Red as I could to soak in his funk and watch him swell bigger. He played another +1/+1 counter spell and I got bold, reaching out and touching his huge shoulder to FEEL it growing under my touch. He turned and looked at me and grinned. “Pretty good play, right?” he rumbled, his voice a subwoofer bass that rattled my chest. “Yeah big guy, keep growing your creatures more, it’s great,” I said breathlessly, caught up in the moment. “Ok ready for this?” Red said and laid down his last card. It was a mythic rare, one I had never seen before, a 12/12 creature called Evergrowth Titan. It was the biggest creature I’d ever seen, had trample, haste, and vigilance, and every turn it got bigger and bigger. Red played it and grew, his head thumping against the ceiling in an instant even though he was still sitting, his body swelling wider so fast it made me stumble over. He breathed in deep and then groaned as he exhaled, his chest as wide and thick as three or four people combined, his gut pushing the table back until it pinned his opponent against the wall. The little guy whimpered and conceded. “YEAH WOO HOO I WON!” Red boomed and raised his arms, his BO musk nearly knocking me over again. He grew even more as he sat there celebrating, the aftereffects of the spell still causing his body to pump up bigger and bigger. He scooted around and faced the counter of the store. “I’ll take my packs now,” he rumbled and stuck out his huge hand, which was as big as a cast iron skillet. “Uh, s-sure big guy,” the manager said and handed him his six packs for winning the draft. Red started opening then and the manager waved me over. “Wow, I guess he got the special promo packs that WOTC gave out. The advertising was no joke… I didn’t think they’d have ACTUAL wishing magic in them. Guess he really wanted to be bigger, huh?” he whispered to me, and my eyes grew wide. I looked back at the overgrown hulk ripping open packs, his tank top more like a crop top now and his jeans looking like Daisy Dukes. I slowly realized what had happened. “Yup, lots of +1/+1 counters on that big guy…” the manager said. I packed up my stuff and I left the store without saying anything to Red. I stood in the parking lot for a minute, knowing I should just leave but I couldn’t help but wait to see the big ginger in his full glory. Sure enough, a couple mintues later I heard crunching of walls and the scream of twisting metal and saw Red burst out of the entrance, partially destroying the small 7’ entrance with his hulking, giant frame. He was easily twice my height, and had thick, bulging, bulky muscle hanging off every inch of his body. He saw me and grinned and then lumbered over, his gut jiggling as he waddled, muscles twitching with unspeakable power with every step. “Hey,” Red boomed as he loomed over me. I could see the huge bulge in what was left of his jeans throb and shift as he looked me over. “Wanna come back to my place and keep playing? There’s a BIG creature I want to show you that I think you’ll like…” he intoned and reached down to adjust his massive cock, which was obviously swelling bigger. “I, uh, oh wow, uh—oof!” I breathed as I was suddenly lifted up by his massive hands. Red picked me up like a child and threw me over his enormous shoulders and started waddling back to his apartment. “I saw how you looked at me… you like big guys, right?” he said, his deep voice shaking my chest. “Yeah, I know you do! Well there’s NOBODY bigger than me!” He rumbled. “Ahhh, oh man,” I breathed. I couldn’t believe this was happening! “Mmm hmm, you better get ready for some trample damage because I’m gonna PLOW right through you!” Red boomed as he carried me off, my cock throbbing against his shoulder.
    3 points
  2. You want a continuation? I shall consider it. I am fond of short stories with open endings, so that each reader will be free to imagine what happens next. The same moment I post a continuation to a story originally planned as a stand-alone, I close the door to that freedom. I don't like multi-chapter stories that just goes on and on without adding something new. On the other hand, I like slow world building, probably best exemplified by my With a little help from magic-series. In the past, some users here wanted a continuation of my short story My little buddy (which is my warmest and fuzziest story), but I wanted my readers to keep their freedom to imagine what happened to the characters next. On the other hand, when I posted Professor Schnackenburg's mistake, just a few days ago, I listened to the input from other users, and saw the potential of a story-arc, so I am working on that now: Posted chapter 4 last night, when I couldn't sleep. Insomnia is a curse. The Schnackenburg story arc, which began with a straight dynamics, is now propelling into exploration of gay-and-kink themes, which doesn't suit all readers. If – and I mean if – I write a continuation of Unit 246 – any explicit sex will be absent. I remember a straight-identifying user writing poetically in the past about 'straight male friends admiring each others gains' (or something like that), and the Unit 246-universe would probably develop along these lines, even if the Sarge is ambiguous in that regard. The units have to obey orders. I believe some of my readers like that. My muscle growth stories return quite frequently to army-themes. I realised, that I like that trope many years ago, after reading a muscle growth story by O'Melissokomos, rexx9471 and kyan: In the A.R.M.Y. now , which is a very well-written and atmospheric story.
    2 points
  3. I dedicate this story to GiganticBeast, who asked for something similar to this: Professor Schnackenburg's mistake Chapter One He remembered how Ms. Giraud had presented him to his former tutor, Assistant Professor Smith, in the past: "Mr. Schnackenburg – B.A., archaeology student and expert in the occult." They had both watched one of the Indiana Jones films recently, and Josephine ... Ms. Giraud ... already had a sense of humour he had found himself appreciating. Ms. Giraud! Jet black hair, intelligent gaze, great sense of humour. In Schnackenburg's opinion, she had thrown away her excellent talent for archaeology, when she settled for a purely administrative post at the Department for Archaeology. On the basis of the quality of her Masters thesis, she could have been one of the great names in the field, if she had published a PhD thesis. Nor could he understand her preferences, when it came to men. She had never married, and none of her affairs seemed to last or lead to anything enduring, but Schnackenburg had been invited to uncomfortable dinners with her so many times, encountering a string of her several boyfriends: A marine, a builder, a policeman, a sailor. Even a professional bodybuilder once. Not the typical consort to bring to formal university dinners. What was Josephine supposed to speak about with any latest fling? Not strontium analysis of fossil teeth, that's for sure. Hell! Some of these men had upper arms as wide as his legs! It was good for his career, that he had generally hid his personal interest in the occult: It wouldn't have been good for his reputation, if his membership in The Order of the Rosary Cube and Calix Gradalis had been publicly known. Who would trust the scientific rigour of someone, who spent hours in weird meditations? Though the meditation practices had been useful in order to reach heightened awareness, his scholarly sense of critical evaluation had always kept him suspicious of the baseless legends about sunken continents. We now know about plate tectonics: There is no place in real pre-history for sunken continents like Atlantis, or Lemuria in the Indian Ocean, or Mu in the Pacific. After his PhD, he had specialised in two fields: Mesolithic Europe and deciphering unknown scripts, and he now read Linear A, Indus Valley script and Easter Island script fluently. He had never thought, that these two fields would ever converge. The Doggerbank excavation changed all that. Even if he didn't dive himself, he was responsible for the entire project, and he gave the divers – some of them his postgraduate students – careful instructions how to avoid any damage to the finds. When Brock McGurgan, a good-looking blond Canadian student of his, returned to the surface with the tablets and the bronze sword, Schnackenburg understood, that something sensational was going on. It had now been three years since the Doggerbank excavation. He could still remember the scent of the salt sea and seaweed, and he could remember how the hair on his forearms turned into goosebumps when he saw the greenish-gold hints of bronze. He could still remember the sight of the broad-shouldered MacGurgan taking the diving suit off. Doggerland had been a lowland island (but not a continent) that actually was flooded and drowned in the North Sea between Scotland and Norway during the Stone Age, leaving Dogger Bank under the sea level. The hunter-gatherers of Doggerland were not expected to have known farming or metalwork, nor to have any script or alphabet. A bronze sword and stone tablets written with some sort of text turned all expectations on their head. It had now been three years. MacGurgan had assisted him in cleaning the stone tablets, and the lad felt like a son to him. Schnackenburg looked forward to read MacGurgan's PhD, which was soon expected to reach completion: Bronze technology in Doggerland Culture: A revaluation of the Atlantic period. MacGurgan's enthusiasm and cheerfulness lightened up hard work on pollen analysis or dendrochronology. Outside campus, Schnackenburg had once seen another side of MacGurgan, which was hard to reconcile with Schnackenburg's general impression of his student: A drunkard had knocked over MacGurgan's beer by mistake, and the student had over-reacted and beaten the culprit several times. It felt like a block of ice in his gut, when Schnackenburg recollected the image of MacGurgan's undoubtly handsome face disfigured in a grimace of unbridled wrath, his ice blue eyes burning. It was like he didn't know the promising young man he thought he knew so well. Schnackenburg dismissed the memory, and turned his recollection to the hard work and great assistance of MacGurgan in the work on the Doggerland Tablets, as they were now known. Schnackenburg had spent hours upon hours with the tablets. No key to the code. No Rosetta stone. Sometimes, in late hours after worktime it had felt like the tablets spoke to him with ghostlike hollow voices: Howlings of forgotten wraiths and souls adoring long-forgotten unnameable gods. He had checked the results again and again, and forwarded the PDF to MacGurgan, who anyhow wouldn't understand the real-life implication of the translation. Double checked. Triple checked. Was it really possible? Was it decipherable? Could it really mean, what he thought that it meant? "Archaeology professor and expert in the occult". His profession and his hidden hobby merged. The silence of the night hours turned into the sound of his pulse in his ears. Hissing. Throbbing. The city outside the window, lit windows in high rise buildings. Strewn with stars. The weight of millennia resting on his shoulders. Still some scent of seaweed, which didn't seem to go away from the tablets. * * * Brock MacGurgan worked late. He had a deadline on his PhD, and his assistance concerning the Doggerland Tablets took up a lot of his thoughts. Wouldn't it be amazing if Professor Schnackenburg really broke the code of the tablets? What if they were close to the solution? And the sword... There was something with the sword, that spoke to MacGurgan on a deep level. Heroes. Fights. Combat. Victory. Old myths of stormgods battling reptilian elder gods. Old myths of solar heroes protecting mankind. The sort of texts one would expect to find in ancient civilisations. He had seen the Professor staring at the tablets so many times, enchanted by the impossible finds. Similar to the way he himself became more and more deeply enchanted by the sword. Fights. Heroes. With hands covered in gloves, he had taken the sword out of its glass showcase. It now laid unprotected on his writing desk. Bronze sword. Fights. Heroes. Sword of Anghra-Lemur. Wait? Where did that word come from? He wasn't the poetical type of person who invented things, even if he had been an avid reader of sword-and-sorcery novels as a teenager, and watched the children's programme He-Man in primary school. ...Sword of Anghra-Lemur... Stop hallucinating. Stop imagining things. Probably best to stop working late. He needed some coffee. A ping in his computer. Better check it later. After the coffee. Brock MacGurgan took his baseball jacket and walked in the direction of the espresso machine. * * * Schnackenburg trembled. The translation must have turned his rational faculties into a mess. It couldn't be possible. But if it was? His instincts as a trained occultist screamed at him. To avoid the unhallowed relics of unnameable powers. To run. To put the tablets and the sword under lock and key. Or to use it. Use it to prove himself to Ms. Giraud... Josephine. The powers of sunken Doggerland... The powers of Anghra-Lemur! The powers of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur! When he reached the glass showcase he stared in disbelief. Empty? But the only two having access to the sword were himself and MacGurgan? Frowning, he walked in the direction of MacGurgan's study. A bookshelf with standard works in archaeology. The Bell Beaker Phenomenon. Renfrew. Mallory. Svante Pääbo. Souvenirs from diving expeditions hang on the wall, beside a diploma from a Junior Men's Physique competition. A single task light was lit over the writing desk. The stump of a cigar was lying in an ashtray. MacGurgan's computer was working. The sword was there, but not MacGurgan. Schnackenburg felt as in a fever dream. He picked up the sword, and walked up the spiral stairs. * * * He really needed that espresso. MacGurgan returned to his study. He had to check that e-mail. He opened it. A PDF. A breakthrough. A hypothetical translation: He froze in his position. His blond hair tingled as of fear. He swallowed. He had imagined the word Anghra-Lemur before the e-mail arrived. An atmosphere of unreality lowered itself. Unconsciously and involuntarily he continued: The translation went on and on. The ancient Doggerlendings must have been a warrior culture, similar to the ancient Irish, the ancient Welsh and the Vikings. And they called their island or islands Anghra-Lemur. And the sword... MacGurgan looked for the sword. The sword was gone! MacGurgan had to calm down. What would he do? What would Professor Schnackenburg say? What would happen to his career? He had left the sword unsupervised. And it was gone! He lit a cigar to calm his nerves. No ancient item that could be harmed by the smoke anyhow. He tried to relax, and sat with his faded blue denim jeans in a wide manspread, his trainers resting on the floor. Deep breath. Some cigar smoke. Some espresso. The doors were locked. No one could enter. It was then he heard it. The impossible chanting sound from the spiral staircase leading to the tower room used for honorary social occasions. What in hell was going on? MacGurgan's worry began to turn into irritation. An intruder? Here? His archeological find? He rose from the chair. All his 6 feet 1 inches. He was still wearing his baseball jacket. Some nutcase had to be disarmed and handed over to the police. And Brock MacGurgan was just the right person to do it. * * * The dome gave the tower room a certain atmosphere, and the starry wisdom of the night sky looked down through the circular glass window over his head, but Schnackenburg was deeply in trance while he recited the more than 7000 year old enchantment, invoking preternatural forces which had been left slumbering for millennia. The scent of incense and the flickering light of the wax candles created a mood very far from the sherry imbibing receptions usually held in the tower room. Flickering light. Whisps of incense smoke. Shadows and starlight weavering into something unsettling and unspeakable. "Ye powers of blood and fang! Ye powers of brawn and brutality! Ye nameless ancestors of ancestor-warriors! Ye swordsmen who do not shun the name 'barbarian'! Servants of Kortoth-Gnaah, open ye the gates for the bloodstained war god of Anghra-Lemur, prepare the chosen vessel for divine power, let the ancient powers bestow their gift of prowess and might, as it was foretold! May the sinking of Anghra-Lemur be undone! May the white cliffs of Anghra-Lemur rise over the northen waves! May the last remnant of Atlantis return! May the last remnant of Lemuria the Ancient rise! May the unnameable powers assist me! I invoke Dagon!" One part of Schnackenburg was fully immersed in the powerful invocation. Something happened. The shadows in the room were more dense now. He could sense invisible eyes watching him. The stars shone intensely through the tower window, but not the stars of our time, but the bright night sky of an bygone, lost and forgotten age, far exceeding the 7000 years, that had gone since the sea level rose over Doggerland. Over Anghra-Lemur. Another part of Schnackenburg was silently screaming to him to stop. The dangers, if the invocation really worked, were unforeseeable, and only an insane man would try the attempt to force the elder powers. The cadences of primordial hymns and invocations of another aeon drowned any silent protest in his soul. Primordial hymns reaching out to creatures unknown to modern man. The third part of Schnackenburg's mind was ecstatically excited: He should prove himself to Josephine! He would intimidate any potential boyfriend she may have going for the moment. he would far, far exceed the prowess he secretly admired in young MacGurgan. He would become something beyond human limitations! He would... His pulse murmured and throbbed in his head. Something else throbbed inside his trousers. Arcane power began to tingle in his palms, as he stretched out his hands over the bronze sword on the table before him. Power streaming into the blade, renewing it, empowering it. * * * MacGurgan couldn't believe his eyes. Professor Schnackenburg performed some sort of occult ritual in the tower room, and there was an eerie feeling spreading, more and more intensely. The cigar dangled in his mouth. The baseball jacket couldn't hide his fit – but not extravagantly big – chest. The rubber soles of his trainers caused a squeaking sound on the highly polished marble floor. He braced himself to do something, but the murmuring and droning sound of the witches' rune lullied himself into a trance-like state, and the translation, that had burned into his mind when he had read it on the computer screen, rose from the depths of his memory, as the forgotten creatures of Anghra-Lemur were rising from the maritime depths and the dark abyss of time. Soon, he and Schnackenburg were chanting in unison, and there was nothing MacGurgan could do to stop it. "I invoke Cthulhu! Intervene in dread! I invoke Shub-Niggurath, the goat with the thousand young! Spread the air of revel and ecstacy! I invoke Yog-Sothoth, who is the Key and is the Gate! Open the gulfs of time and space! Cause the powers of ancient Anghra-Lemur to return! May, on the chosen vessel, the powers descend: The powers of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god of Anghra-Lemur!" MacGurgan was out of his mind now. He had a big lump in his throat. He felt very cold and very hot. His pulse was rising. Earlier in the evening he had been absorbed in wordless reverie over the Doggerland sword. It has spoken to him. It had allured to him. Beckoned to him. The sword of Kortoth-Gnaah. Schackenburg was unaware of MacGurgan's presence. "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" Schnackenburg was close to the brink of it now. The men of Anghra-Lemur would walk the earth again, and he would be the one who bestowed it to them: The ancient power of the war god. He couldn't imagine how it would feel, how... "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" ... how the power of supernaturally endowed stone age warriors would course in his veins, how... "Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah! Kortoth-Gnaah!" The next moment, McGurgan snapped the sword away from the table, outside his tutor's physical reach. MacGurgan swallowed. When he came into physical contact with the cold and heavy bronze he could feel a tingling feeling spreading from it into his body. The hair on his head and arms bristled intensely. His eyes widened. He couldn't believe it! He couldn't... "Kortoth-Gnaah! KORTOTH-GNAAH! KORTOTH-GNAAH!" He bellowed the name of the war god, eagerly lifted his sword above his head, and the next second the power of the ancient gods streamed into him. Immaterial thunder bolts rushed through the window in the ceiling. Engulfed him. Absorbed him and formed him anew. Transmuted him. * * * Schnackenburg had been too immersed in the chanting, to react in time to MacGurgans unforeseen action. Staring in disbelief, he could see MacGurgan surrounded by supernatural power beyond imagination, and a cold feeling of fear paralysed Schnackenburg, when he realised, that the chosen vessel was someone else. Remorse, envy and admiration competed within himself when he watched his favourite student become something more than human. Exhausted and destitute of any remaining mental strength, he fell to the floor. * * * MacGurgan couldn't believe it, but the being wasn't entirely Brock MacGurgan any longer, even if they still shared some memories and personality traits. His quads and hamstrings were filled by power from the forgotten Gulf of N'kai. Strength of thousand war gods, thousand thunder gods and thousand solar heroes was poured into his brawn, as if he had been a vessel, and this eager and willing vessel received the blessings, moaning and grunting as his brawn engorged all over his body: Veins spread, his biceps and triceps underwent undreamed hypertrophy, his trapezius deserved the description godlike, and he still expanded in every direction, now far exceeding the height of 6 feet 7 inches. He roared. He bellowed. He demonstrated his superiority to the mere human being who once had been his tutor. He watched the feeble creature: It wasn't worthy to worship him. He became immersed in visions of bygone Anghra-Lemur: Powerful men clad in hides strode over lowland plains proving their valour to each other in combat, and brutal hunters wrestled sabre-toothed cats and mammoths with their bare hands. Some of the same men were bestowed the strength of the gods, by the means once known in Lemuria and Atlantis. The power still accumulated within him. Filling him. Empowering him. Fire-mist descended. Fire-mist enveloped him. Fire-mist penetrated, filled and charged him. He became fire-mist. The immaterial flames of the elder gods reached into his soul, crushed his childhood memories into fragments, but out of the fragments and out of the collective memory of Doggerland, it formed something anew: No subcutaneous fat remained. His now bulging presence was cut and defined beyond imagination. Straps of leather materialised over his shoulders, and formed an X over his V-shaped torso. A leather jockstrap and some furs covering his glutes materialised out of thin air, and he realised that he was wearing pre-historical boots. A belt around his narrow waist carried a bronze buckle with the ancient seal of Kortoth-Gnaah. The thunderbolts increased in intensity. Physical heftiness filled him and became him. In the forge of the divine armourer aggression, dominance and lust melted into one, and he could feel his dick throb inside his leather jockstrap. The god of the barbarians walked the earth anew. The power was his. The might and the force. Brawn beyond comprehension. Mindless orgasmic bliss enrapt him when he felt his physical prowess, and he didn't know for how long he had been entranced. When he returned to any awareness of his surroundings, he watched the mortal on the floor. With a smirk, he performed a double biceps, watching the mortal on the floor. It moaned, spasmed, and a wet stain formed on its leg-clothes. Someone else entered the tower room. The dark silhouette of a woman against the light from the hallway. The mortal looked in her direction. "Josephine? What are you doing here?" "I was returning some files, when I heard thunder from the tower. I..." The female mortal fell silent. The vessel of Kortoth-Gnaah watched her in silence. Then he flexed his biceps again, thrust his hips in a suggestive way, and a current of power crossed the room, connecting the groin of the being and the groin of the female. She moaned loudly, and fell to the floor with a smile, unaware of her surroundings. The being didn't deign to behold any of the mortals, and left the town room. It was on a mission. It would let Anghra-Lemur rise again, and some selected few in this monstrous city of concrete, steel and glass were going to be transformed into warriors of the elder days. When it roamed the streets, it could absent-mindedly hear shouts in panic and rushing steps disappearing. It could hear transport vessels crash into each other, but it was of no concern. It needed the raw material suitable to become warriors of Anghra-Lemur. It found a night-open gym and a leather bar on the same street. It had found its raw material. Soon, the power of Kortoth-Gnaah would enrapt and transform them into suitable servants of Kortoth-Gnaah, war god Anghra-Lemur. The present world was doomed. The elder days would reappear in frenzy, mindless violence and voluptious pleasure. You will find Chapter Two here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13095-professor-schnackenburgs-mistake-chapter-two/
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  4. A couple months ago we lost Silicondog's Muscle Fiction Shrine. I was digging around in some old files I had and found that I had grabbed a backup of the site before it went down. This archive that I'm putting up is back from January 2017 and like the original site doesn't have absolutly everything but has most of the stories to be preserved. This backup serves as an archive of the site and is available for all here: https://silicondog.muscle-growth.org/
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  5. The Prologue is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/16284-unit-246-prologue/ Unit 246: Chapter one "Unit 246?" Unit 246 recognised the voice of Sergeant Mulligan, one of his non-enhanced superiors. He turned around, and, with an expressionless face, faced the officer. "SIR!" They were standing on a metallic landing between two passageways. A deep shaft continued under them and above them, used by robotic vertical transport, and also allowing some fresh air to circulate inside His Majesty's Battleship Demogorgon. "Follow me to Lab 5. New scientific breakthroughs have to be tested." "I understand, Sir." Devoid of any individual will, Unit 246 followed Sergeant Mulligan to Lab 5. The door opened with a metallic voice: "Security Clearance. L.6. Welcome. Sergeant Mulligan." Unit 246 recognised the room. It was the room where he was born. It was the room where he had become empowered. His Sergeant gave an order to the Medical Artificial Intelligence: "M.A.I.5! Procure Prototype Enhancement formula 7.2.!" A white cylinder moved away from the antiseptic wall, and the metallic voice returned: "Prototype Enhancement formula 7.2. procured." "Pick it up, Unit 246." "Yes, sir." He picked it up. It was a pen-shaped auto-injector of glass and metal. He held it in his big hand, and watched his Sergeant. The body temperature of Sarge was increasing, especially in the genital area. Unit 246 was entirely calm. He had Obedience Mode switched on, and he had Emotion Access switched off. He was entirely calm, and he was ready to obey the next order. "Inject yourself, Unit 246." "Yes, Sir!" He sat down on a chair, in order to relax his legs, did what he was told to do, and injected the Prototype Enhancement formula in his right quad. The needle penetrated the fabric of his camo trousers. "May I remind you, Sergeant Mulligan, that the nanites of Unit 246 have to be reprogrammed?", the M.A.I.5 interrupted. "I am aware of that, M.A.I.5. Heat up the enhancement chamber." "Heating up enhancement chamber." The contraption at the far end of Lab 5 began to hum. "Unit 246, how do you feel?" "Excuse me, Sir, but I do not understand the question." "Correction: Unit 246, do you identify any adverse side effects of the Prototype Enhancement formula?" "Negative, Sir! But the extent of the formula's effects will not be identifiable until nanites are working at 100% efficiency level." "Very well, Unit 246. Enter the chamber." "Sir! Yes, Sir!" Unit 246 entered the chamber, and sat down in one of the reclining chairs inside. The humming intensified. "Unit 246?" The Sergeant's voice could be heard through the loudspeakers. "Yes, Sir?" "Connect to mind-program." "Yes, Sir. Connecting to mind-program." Unit 246 fastened the electrodes to his temples, and awaited further enhanced programming. Calmly and objectively, though immersed in a semi-hypnotic relaxed state, Unit 246 could notice how his height, chest circumference, arm circumference and leg circumference increased, and Unit 246 felt vaguely proud, that he would become more adapted to serve the Galactic Empire as an Enhanced Special Marine Serviceman. Sarge sounded proud too, but sounded slightly unprofessional, where he stood outside the chamber. "Fuck! yes! That's my lad! Good boy! Grow for me! Grow for the Empire! Bloody can't believe it! Why did they delay formula 7.2 for so long time? Could have reached these levels earlier, and made good use for it, in the service of the Emperor. Like they are now delaying 7.3., 8.0 and 8.1... Can't believe the size of your quads, lad. Fuck! Your chest... Like fucking medicine balls. And your volley ball shoulders! Yes, more! Grow for Sarge! Unbelievable traps! Those steel-hard abs..." Sarge had to sit down on one of the comfortable foldable benches. Unit 246 was vaguely aware of, that Sarge shivered and spasmed where he sat at the foldable bech, watching the chamber. Unit 246 couldn't understand why. Unit 246 was so deep into the enhancement process and the re-programming. He existed for the purpose of enhancing his capacity and use his capacity to the utmost, for the sake of the Galactic Empire. The humming decreased. "Unit 246?" "Yes, Sir!" "You may remove the electrodes and leave the enhancement chamber." "Yes, Sir!" The unit did as he was commanded to do. "At ease, soldier!" "Yes, Sir!" "I am inspecting you." "Yes, Sir!" Sarge squeezed the pecs of Unit 246. The Unit continued to look forward expressionlessly. Sarge massaged the trapezius of Unit 246. Sarge placed himself behind Unit 246, with his face in the broad and well-defined back of Unit 246. Unit 246 could feel Sergeant Mulligan's hand on his abs. He didn't move or say anything. Sarge returned to face him, kneeled and put his hands at the quads and hamstrings of Unit 246. They were interrupted by their ear-implants: "Everyone to hyperwarp-protected pods. Preparing for hyperwarp-jump in five minutes. Ansible distress call from Zaztron 4. Preparing for hyperwarp-jump in five minutes. Everyone to hyperwarp-protected pods." "You may go, Unit 246, but before you go: Mindswipe all your memories from the last 60 minutes." "Sir! Yes, Sir!" Unit 246 left Lab 5, and headed for the fast-speed lifts. He left the lift at Level 78, turned left in one of the passageways. It was colder here. Smoke looking like melting dry ice surrounded the pods. Unit 247 already slept inside his pod to the right of Unit 246, his powerful and muscular frame dimly visible through the hoarfrost on the glasslid. Unit 246 sat down in his pod and reclined. Already on his way down in hibernation, he could see Unit 245 reaching his pod on the other side. He rested among his brothers. His brothers in arms. The Galaxy's finest. The best of the best. The unit the civilians for some reason called The Hulk Marines. When His Majesty's Battleship Demogorgon entered hyperwarp, Unit 246 and his brothers were already in deep hibernation. Chapter Two is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13129-unit-246-chapter-two/
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  6. I see your point - it's all personal preference I guess. Personally I'd love a regular sized boyfriend who could then turn into a 320 lbs bodybuilder behind closed doors!
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  7. 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 | Part 12 | Part 13 ==================================================== Author’s PSA: If you’d like to be a part of this story as the cast expands, let me know, I’m happy to work you in! Let me know what you might like to do, be, etc. I take requests, no promise that I can do all of them. ==================================================== It was 5am. Tom and I would head to the gym at 6:30. I was awake and getting ready. I texted Jeff. >>> Dude. You awake? <<< Yeah, stud. What’s up? >>> Soooo...took your advice and got actually a couple of hook ups… <<< Yeah? How’d it go? >>> Well, good I think. My ex girlfriend swallowed a load from me, then we had sex for an hour later. I think she gained 15 lbs of muscle. <<< How large was the load she swallowed? >>> Not large. She caught it in the air like a trick lol <<< LOL! That would have been something to see! How about after? >>> I unloaded a lot into her during intercourse. It was constant for an hour. And I could have kept going but I stopped when she looked exhausted. <<< Bryce, you are relentless, boy! :-) Can’t wait to have you back here lol. >>> LOL! Just don’t make my cock bigger. I already have trouble with the thing now. Good trouble, but still trouble. You should have seen her face when she saw it. <<< Oh, I bet. >>> Odd thing...she pretty much went into extended orgasms without even touching me when she saw my body. <<< Oh? Interesting…although you do have possibly one of the hottest builds around now. That’s a good bit of beef you carry for your height. >>> Yeah, it was odd...and really rather hot too, honestly. And then my best friend, guy who’s like a brother to me, came onto me too. <<< Any orgasming there? >>> Only the one I gave him jacking him off. He didn’t get any of my cum in him, so no growth for him there...but… <<< But? >>> I’m going to make him a shake this morning. And I’m going to lace it with my cum. <<< That’s GENIUS, Bryce! It’s right in line with what I’m thinking about, to see how we can grow others. It looks like getting my cum inside you at this volume has caused a chemical reaction…. Jeff got seriously into science chemistry bro mode, and I scrolled past it all at this point. <<< ...and now you can grow others with your cum too! Spectacular! >>> So hey, just wanted to let you know how things went, and what I’m going to do next. <<< You miss me, Bryce? WIth all that hooking up going on, lol! >>> I miss your pecs squeezing my cock and milking me. Your biceps swelling in my grip, the veins causing indentions in my fingers and palms. I miss rubbing my penis up the valleys in your abs and letting my cum pool around each one. But no, I don’t miss you...just your muscles lol. <<< LOL! I’ll take that :-) Later stud! ====================================== Tom came out of his room into the kitchen at 5:45 in only his gym shorts. In the morning light I could see better that he had really taken to working his body into far better shape than it had ever been in. I remember when he and I would talk about muscles and bodybuilders when we were younger, and we both thought he would be the one with bigger muscles. Funny how that turned out. At least for now. I passed him a 24 oz. shake I had made for him before his workout. “Drink this up. We’ll see how the supplementation works I put in. If you like it, I’ll get you some more.” “Cool, bro. What’s it cost?” “Nothing for you, Tom.” “Awesome, Bry! What’s in it? “It’s the regular smoothie you drink with your preworkout energy booster you like. I added in a supplement, it’s all natural.” He was already drinking. “Tastes good. I can’t tell any difference from normal in the taste or texture.” “Here’s to good things progress,” I winked to him. He gulped the entire thing down. Tom always could scarf food and drink like it was going to be taken from him any second. The shake finished off, Tom slapped the empty glass on the counter. “Man, that was good. It feels a little heavy.” And he rubbed his stomach, which looked slightly more full than a moment ago. “Great! That means it’s working!” I said cheerfully as his stomach puffed up just a little bit more. “Okay,” he said somewhat skeptically, as he rubbed his stomach again. His abs were still firmly in place, but there was a bit more belly bulge and his waist had grown maybe an inch or two since ingesting the shake. “Hey man, trust me. Where do think these bad boys came from?” as I crunched my abs into view. Tom’s cock leapt to attention. “Y...yeah. Okay. Let’s get going then!” We got in Tom’s car, and he took his usual spot in the driver’s seat. “Shit, dude, this stuff is bloating me like a rotting pig!” he laughed as he had to push his driver’s seat back. “HA! Then that means it’s REALLY working!” I thought I’d prepare him for what was going to take place. “You work out in the full gear you have on today?” “Yeah, man. I don’t show it off at the gym, too many other guys and gals there can show off more.” “Well, you will today. Lose the shirt.” I laughed. “Lose it NOW!” He looked at me with a squint of his eye. “Lose it NOW or I’ll take it off you. And you know I can do it.” I grinned, and I watched his cock spring up in his shorts even more than before. “Alright, alright, man. Why so determined?” he joked as he pulled his shirt over his head, bring his tight little delts into full view. “Because the program we start today you’ll want to see the results of as you go.” And then I began to hear that familiar, lovely gurgling from within Tom. “This is going to be FUN!”
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  8. When you see what the scheme (and yes it is a scheme!) is, you'll understand why :-)
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  9. What would be more awesome? A pro-bodybuilder that is actually into you and was flirting with you? Or a normal guy disguised as a pro-bodybuilder that is into you and was flirting with you? >;P I mean: Would you rather date a guy that change into one of your famous heroes? Or would you rather date the real deal? >;P
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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. Part 4: Cassidy Cassidy had his foot on the seat of the toilet in the half-bathroom next to the living room, clipping his toenails while Adam finished showering upstairs. He was just blowing debris off the nailclippers when Adam appeared in the doorway to say goodbye. Cassidy had come to loathe Jack Astor’s with a fiery hatred but he had to admit, their maroon, short-sleeved, button-up uniform shirts looked great on Adam, especially the way he wore it with the top few buttons left opened. Cassidy smiled. “Keith is having some of us over after his shift for beers and games. I was gonna stay the night,” he leaned against the doorway, and shook the bangs from his eyes. “He asked if you wanted to come. You could drive out for like, one or two. I can text you when I have a better idea.” Yes! Cassidy made a wry face. “Aww… hon I’d love to but I gotta be up kinda early. I know I’ll just get wrecked.” “You’re sure? He finally got that new Mariokart DLC.” Oh… that was tempting, but Cassidy couldn’t pass this up. “Sorry, I’m gonna pass. Can you tell Keith thanks? Tell him he’s a total sweetheart.” A car horn sounded from outside. Adam chuckled as he pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step forward. “I’ll paraphrase.” He leaned down to give Cassidy a kiss. “Have a good night.” He turned and left. “You too,” Cassidy called after him. “Have fun!” He set the nailclippers down and dusted off his foot, sitting still and listening. He heard the jingle of keys and change as Adam slipped into his jacket. The door opened and closed, rattling the clock on the wall. Cassidy quickly stole out from the bathroom toward the dining room window, staying close to the frame so he wouldn’t be spotted. Adam descended the steps from their porch and walked down the stone walkway to the tan pickup awaiting him on the curb. Adam got in, the truck pulled around the cul-de-sac and disappeared down the road. Cassidy kept watching until its taillights reappeared under the streetlight at the end of the road, and turned off. Without bothering to put on shoes or a coat, Cassidy grabbed his keys off the wall and went outside. He got into the car and opened the garage door, watching the angry red taillights against it in the rear-view mirror. He hated being dishonest with Adam, but the truth would destroy something beautiful. To Adam, their exploratory journey into sorcery had been as revelatory for Cassidy as it had been for him. They were discovering this zany new frontier together, and even sharing in this illusion made Cassidy appreciate what he was doing all the more. But it was all becoming too much for Adam, and he didn’t want to scare him. Cassidy backed the car into the garage, closed the door behind him, and opened one of the plastic bins they had stacked under a makeshift workbench that rarely saw any action. He pulled out a small bundle of clothes and went back into the house from the garage. In the bedroom Cassidy took his phone from his pocket before he slipped out of his clothes. He looked at his reflection. Five-foot-six was a pretty average height but next to Adam’s six-foot-two, Cassidy felt short. Once Adam blew up to ten feet tall, Cassidy felt dwarfed, and he had always been skinny for as long as he could remember. He didn’t mind, and he knew how much Adam loved their size difference, but it would be nice to be the big man again. It had been a while. The truth was that Cassidy had already been fairly adept at the craft before Adam had become involved. Adam’s translations had been pivotal to his studies, and had advanced him in leaps and bounds. The more he did it, the more innate his talents seemed to become. He didn't need to wave his hands, he didn't need to say the words. The night Jamie had come over, he had actually been casting spells without even meaning to. He was becoming more powerful than he had ever thought possible. Cassidy went into the photo gallery of his phone, and found the selfie he’d use for reference. He looked at his naked body in the mirror, and smiled. He unrolled the bundle of clothes. A large black tank top billowed open and a pair of jeans flopped to the floor along with some pairs of underwear, socks, and a ball cap. Cassidy draped the tank over his shoulders and pulled the jeans up over his legs. They were so ridiculously oversized he looked like a child in a giant’s clothing. He had to hold the waistband of the jeans or else they would fall to the ground. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind of all distractions, focusing on his breathing. He felt the energy coursing through him, intersecting with the world around him, heard it like a mess of static but focused on cutting through the noise until it keened like a struck tuning fork. He opened his eyes. Cassidy’s smooth hairless chest began sprouting a dense carpet of dark hair. It blossomed out from his sternum, charting a treasure trail that intersected his pubes, spreading across his flat belly. His cleanshaven face grew dark with stubble before exploding into a full thick beard. His fingers curled at his side as he resisted the urge to scratch. His whole body grew. God he loved this feeling. The pleasant ache of his bones stretching longer and thicker, blood and muscle tissue multiplying, organs jostling against each other as they expanded. It had been alarming the first time, but even now expecting these sensations they were still thrilling. He could see why Adam had become so attached to it. It was overwhelming to the point of distraction, but Cassidy forced himself not to get lost in it. If he went too far he’d have to start over and he was going to be late enough as it was. He exhaled as he finally broke six-foot-five, but at these proportions these clothes still hung off of him. Cassidy focused on his breathing. The next part was always tricky. He heard his body gurgling as muscle and flab appeared all across him. His shoulders widened, then his rib cage, then his hips. He looked distended and malformed until his chest swelled into hard mounds of hairy muscle before they softened under a layer of flab. His neck grew thicker as flesh ballooned along his arms and legs, first rock hard muscle before it fattened up and lost its definition. His face rounded some, gaining a few chins beneath his beard. He felt his ass push back against the seat of his pants. His flat stomach briefly gained a six-pack before it began to inflate, first a modest paunch, to a swollen tummy, to a full-blown gut. He felt the fat flow out from his belly, melting into rolls along his side and back. His gut continued to expand, gurgling under increasing layers of fat, until finally his waist held up his pants by their seventy-inch waistline. His body had grown up and out to fit his oversized clothes. In fact, his shirt was even a bit snug, and his jeans were tight around a big round muscle butt cushioned with a generous layer of fat. He let himself grin at his handiwork, compared to the selfie he had taken last time. Looked pretty spot on, by his estimation. Mind you, that had been months ago, and after a long winter… His belly swelled out a couple more inches, bulging over the waist of his pants. He smirked. The only thing out of place was the trendy haircut, but the black ballcap with the Blue Jays logo took care of that. Five minutes later, the garage door opened and the silver Camry drove out. Any neighbours watching likely recognized it as Adam’s, but had they looked closely, they would have seen it was driven by neither Adam nor Cassidy, but a burly, hairy giant they had never seen before. *** The drive into the city was pretty brisk at that time of night. Finding parking downtown, however, was a Herculean labour. It was almost midnight by the time he was walking down Church Street. He wanted to make a sprint for his destination before all the action dried up. That was a Cassidy thing to do, though, so he resisted the instinct. He was Butch. Butch was cool, calm, impossible to ruffle. From the top of the stairs to Woody’s, a pink-haired drag queen threw up her hands and screamed. “Butch! Sup, hon? Why don’t ya come inside, tell ole Velveeta where you been all this time, mmm? Won't that be nice?” Butch chuckled. “Not tonight, Vel.” He caught the kiss she blew him in his hand and thumped his chest, which resounded with a thick smack. Two tanned gym rats were standing outside Sailor, smoking cigarettes and shivering in the cold. When the one with his hair bleached blonde saw him, his eyes went wide. “Butch! Holy shit, dude this is Butch!” His taller buddy had his black hair slicked back and a thin silver chain nestled in his pec cleavage, exposed by a deep v-neck. Butch grinned and nodded. "Hey Raph." "This is Butch?" Raph's tall friend asked skeptically, eyeing Butch up and down, apparently unimpressed. Raph narrowed his gaze, smacking his friend in the chest with his backhand. "Have some fucking respect!" He brightened as he turned to Butch. "Fuck bro I thought you moved to Vancouver. You comin in?" Butch shook his head apologetically. "Sorry bud I'm partying at the Eagle tonight." Raph looked crestfallen. "Naw, dude, lemme buy you a beer." "Next time, Raph," Butch chuckled as he waved them goodbye. "Hope it's soon, yo," Raph called back before continuing to admonish his friend. Next up was Flash where some twinks were milling around, too distracted by sharing youtube videos from their phones to pay him any attention. He didn't recognize any of them anyway. Beyond that, the prize was in sight. Nestled amongst the cheerfully coloured storefronts of the Village and rainbow flags festooning the streetlights was the Black Eagle, a black and featureless square building like a lump of coal in a basket of easter eggs. The blacked out windows made it even more foreboding, but for the crowd it catered to, that only drove them wild. The two bouncers standing outside completed the image. One he recognized, Daniel, stood as tall as Butch, was bald, black, and packed with muscle. He was tightlipped, which was unfortunate because whenever he did speak he revealed a deep Caribbean accent that rolled off his tongue like a slow moving river of honey. His companion did enough talking for the both of them. Nearly a foot shorter than Daniel, he was wider and thicker, a buzzcut of his dark hair connecting to a short beard. He was built like an offseason bodybuilder, with a pair of big round pecs on top of a huge roid gut. Any more size on him and he would have been straining his black T-shirt, already probably a double extra large. Butch grinned. Seemed like a good place to start. As he closed the final few paces, he sent out one link to Daniel, who idly scratched his elbow, and a second to the other bouncer, who was ranting to Daniel about how he would have done the finale to Breaking Bad. “So Todd has a gun on Skye, right? And then…” he stopped as he noticed Butch turning in. “Hold up, big guy. Arms out.” Daniel held up his arm. “Leave him be, boy. He won’t be troublin.” He crossed his arms again and cocked his head. “Don’t take nothin’ personal, Butch. Cliff ‘ere’s just… enthused.” Butch shrugged. “Been havin some trouble here, Daniel?” Daniel shook his head. “Nothin we can’t handle. Boys try an’ sneak in drinks, is all.” Changing someone while he wasn’t looking at them was a skill he hadn’t had ample opportunity to try, and whenever he changed Adam, he could never muster the strength of will to tear his gaze away. Even thinking about it now, Butch found his cock stirring. But tonight wasn’t about causing a commotion, he just wanted to go for a little field trip. He nodded, listening to Daniel, but focusing on Cliff. Butch chuckled. “I can’t imagine anything gets past you, man.” He turned towards Cliff, who was scratching his stomach with a suspicious look on his face. “Hey, I’m Butch.” He stuck out his hand, smiling to himself. Cliff had swollen even thicker. Not by much, but enough to push the limits of his shirt. Cliff swallowed awkwardly, shaking the outstretched hand while tugging at his collar. “Cliff.” Now that Butch had Cliff’s attention, he shifted his focus back to Daniel. “Been at the Eagle long?” “Just a few weeks. New in town,” Cliff answered, glancing briefly at Daniel, then doing a double take. “Well I’m late enough as it is,” Butch sighed, turning back to Daniel, who now stood an inch taller. He clapped him on his solid shoulder. “Nice seein ya.” Daniel merely nodded, going back to silent mode, as Butch walked past them, up the steps into the bar. He glanced back to see Cliff eyeing his coworker up and down with uncertainty, and allowed himself a smirking chuckle before he severed the links. He couldn’t afford a repeat of the Jamie visit. As much as he’d love to see Daniel towering over a Cliff swollen with brawn, it invited attention he wasn’t ready to attract. The bar was dimly lit and pumping electronic music that no one was dancing to. It was only Wednesday, so the bar wasn’t as packed as it could be, and of those who were there, only a few had bothered to get out their full costumes, but two older patrons standing at a table near the entrance were fully decked out. The fat bear of the two with a greying goatee had a leather police hat, and a thick leather jacket worn open to expose his otherwise bare chest and bulbous beer gut, which, at a wink from Butch, got a few inches more bulbous as he took a long draw from his pint. His smaller friend looked Filipino, was bald and wore a laced up leather shirt, and chaps over a jockstrap. Butch watched him open his mouth with a start as the jockstrap suddenly became tighter around a bigger dick. The bear put his beer down, scratching at his belly with a belch. “You ok?” His friend adjusted himself. “Hmm? Yeah, yeah…” Butch smiled as he brushed past them on his way to the bar. Attending it was Tyson, bright-eyed twentysomething otter, his harness exposing his lean hairy torso, carefully manscaped to look like it hadn't been manscaped. He finished serving his customer and turned to Butch, his eyes twinkling as he shook his swooping bangs from in front of them. He had accessorized with spiked bracers and collar. “Holy shit, Butch, I thought I’d never see you again,” he laughed, leaning across the bar to give him a one-armed hug. “Christ. Everyone said you moved to Vancouver.” Butch laughed. “I don’t know how these things get started.” Tyson poured two shots of Jameson and picked up the one nearest him. “Welcome back, man.” Butch picked up his shot and clinked it against Tyson’s. “Thanks. Great to be here.” They knocked it back in unison, and Tyson smacked his lips. “So what’ll it be?” “Let’s start with a Tankhouse. It’s still on draught, right?” Tyson nodded and went to pull him the pint. Maybe too slim for the regulars’ tastes, Tyson had established a well-earned reputation for going home after every shift with one of the tourists who drifted in mostly out of curiosity. Butch wanted so much to buff Tyson up right there, have that harness snap off him, but he knew that would be far too noticeable. To Tyson’s credit, he only started for an instant as his cock lengthened three inches down his leg, and didn’t even spill any beer. Butch put a bill on the bar as Tyson returned, walking a little wider but otherwise unfazed. “Hey I saw Tahar earlier. I know he’d love to see you.” He set down the beer and collected the cash. “Nice,” Butch nodded. “Thanks.” He nodded, sipped his beer, and turned away before Tyson could return and insist on awkwardly giving him back his change. He glanced around the bar. A few he recognized, though he didn’t know well enough to approach. No sign of Tahar. Most were couples or groups of three, though the lone exception was a blonde guy in khakis and a thin V-neck sweater, striped black and white. It looked like he had gotten lost on the way to his frat house. He had neat, casually-styled golden hair, blue eyes, and a boyish face, leaning his butt against barstool, sipping the last few drops from a bottle of Stella Artois, and desperately trying not to look like a kitten at a doberman convention. His eyes darted around the bar, as if he expected at any minute someone would approach him and ask him to leave. When he spotted Butch looking at him, his eyes went wide and he took a gulp from what was evidently an empty bottle, then turned around, leaning on an elbow the bar and waving Tyson over. Butch lowered his gaze to the khaki-covered ass he was sticking out behind him. Not bad, but could use some improvement, as his butt swelled a couple of inches rounder. He didn’t seem to notice, trading smiles with Tyson. Butch smirked, hoping they had a fun night together as he made his way up the stairs to the rooftop patio. He heard voices as he neared the top. “... you don’t have to settle for these creeps, man.” “Yeah, Brent, you could do so much better, seriously.” “Fucking christ. It’s not settling!” It was still cold and the middle of the week, so while the patio was opened, no one was at the bar, and the only people up there were three university kids that fell silent as Butch crested the top of the stairs. All jocks in the early twenties, by the look of them, though one was particularly thicker, with the early makings of a muscle gut stretching out his Blackhawks hoodie. Butch nodded to them and turned to go back down, but paused on the stairs once he was out of sight, leaning on the handrail, sipping his Tankhouse. “So wait, you’re telling me you actually think these fatass pedos are, like, sexy?” One of them chuckled. “Dude, give me a fucking break. You don’t go to bars to hook up with kids. They’re all adults down there.” “Look, man, I’m totally cool with you being gay, right?” “Yeah man, you got our full support.” “But this stuff is weird. I’m not trying to be a dick, all right? But like, what, you’re gonna bring home some… fifty-year-old leather daddy to meet your folks?” Butch looked down at his beer. As much as he wanted to turn these assholes into the fattest, hairiest guys at the bar, he knew he wouldn’t being doing Brent up there any favours. Man, what a downer. He drained the last of his pint and went down the stairs for another. Tyson slid over to collect his glass, which put a grin back on Butch’s face. “Who’s One Tree Hill over there?” he nodded towards the blonde. Tyson’s face reddened. “I know, right? I think he took a wrong turn on his way to a Frank and Oak shoot.” He grabbed the empty glass. “Another?” Butch nodded, and Tyson poured him another, glancing at the blonde, who was checking his phone. Tyson was grinning ear to ear as he brought Butch his pint. “Play safe, Tyson,” he chuckled as he handed him a bill. Tyson blushed and winked. Butch was about to wander back around the bar when he felt an arm slide around his shoulder. He smiled. “Well well well,” Tahar slid into the empty barstool next to him. “You got some explaining to do, buster.” Butch glanced over, relieved to see a smile on his face. Tahar was in his mid-forties, and was a total knockout. Forest-green eyes, caramel skin, a cleft chin and a wide smile that dimpled his cheeks. He had a meticulously refined look to him. His slowly graying hair was worn in a high, dense faux-hawk, and he always wore silk shirts, this one a dark blue-grey, left open to reveal his defined pecs, with sleeves that hugged tight to his thick arms. Tahar worked out obsessively and was in fantastic shape, but his type was a big burly bear; the fatter the better. Butch sighed. “Glad you’re here, Tahar.” Tahar chuckled, wagging a finger, “Oh no no no no no,” he shook his head. “Where the hell have you been, asshole?” “Quebec,” he answered. “Everyone said Vancouver.” “Quebec,” he shook his head. “Had a run from Huntsville to a town called Fermont, way out east. Occupied most of my time the last few months.” “If by few you mean, like, eight.” “Six, tops.” Tahar rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” he leaned on the bar with a sigh. “Why’d I have to fall for the only bear with no phone or Facebook or fucking anything?” “Ah, I don’t go in for that crap,” Butch took a swig from his pint. “You wouldn’t like me so much if I did.” “I’m sure all the phone sex would counterbalance that,” Tahar smiled, drinking from his bottle of Keith’s. “Doesn’t get lonely on the road?” “Course it does,” Butch shrugged. “You find company every now and then. Don’t tell me you’re coming off a six month dry spell.” Tahar smiled coquettishly. “I never kiss and tell.” Butch snorted. “Oh sure, but you just dive straight into fucking and can’t shut up about it.” Overhearing at the taps, Tyson stifled a laugh. Tahar tried to look insulted but looked mostly amused. He wiped perspiration off his beer bottle and flicked the drops into Butch’s face. He chuckled, draining his pint, and pushing himself to his feet. “Order me another pint, will ya? I gotta drain the lizard.” Butch walked into the restroom to catch Cliff checking himself out in the mirror as he flexed. The burly bouncer played it off like it weren’t no thang, dropping his pose and nodding to Butch. “Sup?” he greeted gruffly, before shouldering past him and out the door. Butch brought himself up to a urinal and took out his cock. As he started to piss, he wondered about Tahar. What would he be open to? How would he react to- “I said fine! Just let me take a piss; Jesus!” the door swung open and the burly college kid Brent stomped in, stopping short when he saw Butch already there. Butch glanced over then turned politely back to the wall. Brent heaved a sigh and approached the urinal two down from Butch, and maneuvered his dick out. As surreptitiously as he could muster, Butch looked him over. He had a hefty build, filled out his hoodie and his jeans nicely. His sandy hair was in an innocuous crewcut that could use a trim, but he had a cute face and slate-coloured eyes. Butch considered pumping him up some, but judging by those poor excuses for wingmen, Brent wouldn’t be seeing any action tonight, so it would be almost a taunt to give him some temporary size. Although… Butch raised an eyebrow. He did need the practice. Obviously with himself and Adam, he had been cautious to make sure the changes would wear off, so he’d never had any chance to try the permanent technique. It would take more effort, but… he had seemingly already projected a link to Brent before he made up his mind. Brent gasped as he felt his cock growing in his hands. Still soft, issuing a steady stream of piss, but somehow plumping up, and his balls following suit. He glanced furtively over at Butch, who kept his gaze firmly fixated on the Polar Ice vodka ad in front of his urinal. Had he been less preoccupied, Brent might have noticed that Butch had stopped peeing. As Brent was convincing himself he was just imagining things - more realistically than he had ever experienced - his chest suddenly started to pump up. He looked down and saw it expanding. He held his breath to make sure it wasn’t just his breathing, and sure enough, his already commendable pecs were inflating. What’s more he heard them, felt them getting bigger. He realized he had stopped peeing, and stuffed his cock back into his pants as he noticed his sleeves were tighter around biceps that had gained at least an inch, maybe two. Butch heaved a sigh, put his dick away and turned to the sink. He wiped a copious amount of sweat from his brow, wet his hands, and wiped them off on his jeans, not even bothering with the air drier, and quickly left the bathroom, and avoiding looking at Brent at all costs. Back in the bar proper, Butch let himself catch his breath. Fuck, that had taken a lot out of him. If permanently applying even minor transformations was this taxing, he could only imagine what a major one would do to him. He definitely needed more practice, which wasn’t going to be easy to accomplish without anyone noticing. If Adam went ahead with what he was planning, it wasn’t going to be as easy as Cassidy had first surmised. He would worry about that later, though. Right now, Butch had Tahar to worry about. He slowed his breathing, wiped the sweat off his face, and returned to the bar. Tahar was strumming his fingers next to two shots of whiskey. He smirked as Butch pushed his way past a couple of leather-clad lesbians. “What, did you…” he narrowed his gaze. “Hey man are you all right?” Butch nodded absently as he maneuvered back into the barstool. “That ain’t a brew.” “Seriously, Butch, you look really flushed.” Butch shook his head. “I just went up to the patio to get some air. That bathroom fucking reeks.” “Oh,” the concern dissolved out of his voice, “well anyway, I decided to change your mind for you, because I was kinda hoping you’d be into getting out of here. I wa-” there was a swell in the bass just as the woman next to Buch let out a shrill cackle pretty much right in his ear, drowning out whatever he said. “What?” asked Butch. Tahar leaned in, touching his cheek to Butch’s as he shouted in his ear. “I want you all to myself!” With his back to them and his hands full trying to mix a Manhattan, it was all Tyson could do to stifle his laughter. Butch chuckled softly as he watched Brent stagger out the front door, dazed and confused. *** Tahar didn’t live far so they chatted as they walked. Tahar had been seeing someone for a few months. They had broken up around Christmas. He was too young, and in the closet, and Portuguese, which was a recipe Tahar described as “inherently doomed.” Plus, he claimed, “most cubs aren’t that committed,” and he groped Butch’s ass. He got a little broken up when he talked about his sister, who was still in Lebanon and whose husband had died in August of a pulmonary embolism. He had wanted to go back to help her out, but his lawyer had told him it was a bad idea. There was no elevator in Tahar’s building but his bachelor apartment was only on the second floor. It was an open concept space. Tahar was a pretty good decorator and had managed to class it up quite a bit, giving it a bold coat of paint and decorating it with ultra-modern furniture. Cassidy’s only criticism was that it lacked a couch of any kind, but that wasn’t the kind of thing Butch worried about. Butch got himself undressed while Tahar disappeared to his kitchen. He was already hard, so climbed into Tahar’s luxurious bed and over sateen sheets of Egyptian cotton - all terms Butch’s vocabulary lacked - and stroked himself. Tahar had seemingly been on a similar wavelength, returning to the bedroom with a small cutting board holding two shots of tequila, two lemon wedges, and a salt shaker. His other hand had a half-full bottle of Trago Silver, which he was rubbing against the erect penis standing out from his svelte, sparsely fuzzy, completely naked body. Tahar set the bottle on the nightstand and Butch took the cutting board to hold it steady while Tahar climbed in next to him. They licked, drank, and bit the salt, shot, and lemon. Tahar set the cutting board on the nightstand next to the bottle, shut off the lamp, and turned back to kiss Butch. Butch ran his hand down Tahar’s side, feeling his muscles shifting beneath his velvety skin. When he got to his hips he pressed his hand against the small of Tahar’s back, and felt his abs pressing into his hairy belly. Tahar glided his leg up and over Butch’s, locking their knees together and rolling his body against him, gasping for air between long, deep kisses, licking grains of salt and drops of sour lemon from the inside of his mouth. Butch pushed Tahar onto his back, rolling on top of him, knowing how much he loved having Butch’s substantial weight pressing down on him. Tahar moaned into him, groping Butch’s belly before massaging his way around to his ass, which he squeezed hard enough to elicit a wince. Butch chuckled, and sat up, running his hands up and down Tahar’s thighs, sticky with a whisper of sweat. Tahar turned around onto his stomach, and began reaching over for his nightstand, but Butch leaned over. “I got it.” He opened the drawer, feeling around for the green box of Trojans right where they always were. He fished one out and unwrapped it, tossing the sleeve onto the floor and affixing it to the tip of his cock. Tahar raised his smooth round ass into the air, rubbing it against Butch’s testicles. Butch glanced over, making sure Tahar wasn’t looking, and shuddered briefly as his hard cock got another inch bigger to a full seven. He grinned as he unfurled the condom down his shaft, hugging tightly. Tahar moaned beneath him. Butch rose up on his knees, hefted his big belly, bounced his big pecs. Fuck, he thought, I love being Butch. So big, so cool, so tough. Everybody loves Butch, everyone wants to hang out with Butch and be his friend. He’s so hot and masculine, and everyone wants to bottom for him. He looked down at Tahar, grinding his ass up against him, begging to get fucked by Butch. He’d never beg Cassidy. He ran his cock down Tahar’s crack and began to push into his expectant asshole. Tahar gasped, and pulled himself up on his hands. Butch leaned his belly down on Tahar’s back as he pulled out a bit before pushing in deeper. Tahar pushed back, climbing up the headboard, the muscles of his arm straining under Butch’s weight. He rolled his hips backwards against Butch, forcing his cock to the hilt. Butch began to pump and pump and pump and Tahar replied to each with a grunt. He freed one hand from the headboard to start jacking himself off. Butch roved his hands around him, one clutching at Tahar’s abs while the other played with his balls. Soon they were both grunting, almost in unison. “Aww FUCK!” Tahar cried as he came in his hand and clenched his ass around Butch’s fat cock. Butch grunted loudly through clenched teeth a few seconds later as he came. He felt the liquid fireworks of pleasure spiralling up from his crotch and down from his brain, oozing warmth into every corner of his massive frame. Tahar let go of the headboard and let himself fall into a slump on his side, pulling off from Butch’s cock in the process. He peeled the condom off and tossed it onto the floor, then lowered himself beside Tahar, wiping his cum-slick dick across Tahar’s thigh. Tahar chuckled. “Mmmm you’re so fucking dirty.” “That doesn’t sound like a complaint,” Butch groaned. “I fucking love it.” Tahar leaned over, and began pouring a shot. Butch glanced over. “Fuck, man, you’re nuts.” Tahar knocked it back. “You want one?” “Sure.” Tahar poured the shot in the same glass and spilled a few drops on the way over. Butch took it and downed it, making a face. Tahar laughed and returned the glass to the table. Butch settled down on his side behind Tahar, draping an arm over his torso. Tahar’s hand twisted into his. “So… are go gonna be around, like, for a while or…?” Butch exhaled through his nose on the back of Tahar’s neck. “It’s unpredictable. I don’t know.” Tahar nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Butch fought to keep his eyes open. He really didn’t need that last shot. Consciousness slipped away from him so fast he could swear he heard Tahar say something before he was completely asleep, but it was like an echo being shouted up a long stairwell. He couldn’t really understand it. It may have been “I love you.” *** Brent held his flex in his bicep for as long as he could and pulled the tape tight. Just over twenty inches. Same as the last three times. He relaxed his arm and let the measuring tape go loose. His eyes fell back on his reflection. Brent was a recently out gay university student who was training to be a linebacker next year and had minor body issues. He knew his body well. He had measured just this morning and his arms had been eighteen then. Even then, he was being generous. At least two inches over the course of twenty-four when he hadn’t even lifted that day. The measuring tape - and the scale that reported he had gained fourteen pounds - just confirmed what he already knew, though. He glanced to either entrance to the common bathroom in his residence. It was four in the morning on a Wednesday but there was always a risk of being interrupted but he didn’t have a mirror in his room and using the mirror app on his phone hadn’t illuminated very much. He looked awesome. Brent was on the husky side, and he still was, but the muscles beneath had been pumped up a notch. He had a defined valley in his pecs now, and a pronounced vein across his biceps whenever he flexed. Even his traps and lats were more prominent. He looked completely different. Not to mention… he glanced down at the reflection of his loaded bulge. At least two inches there, too, though he hadn’t given it a full examination at full mast and wasn’t going to risk THAT in the common bathroom. He had changed in the bathroom at the Black Eagle. As little sense as it made he couldn’t deny what he was seeing. He’d sobered up on the way back and hadn’t been that drunk to begin with. He had felt it happening. It had happened. Could Mahtab have been telling the truth? Magic? It was just so nuts. The things she said she was able to do weren’t anything like this, but she said there were others too. Brent sighed. He had always stuck to his guns that Mahtab was crazy and that he was justified in cutting off ties. If she was right, though… How insane was it that the most reasonable explanation was magic? If that was true - and it was still a big “if” - then the only question left was… why? Not who, though. There wasn’t anyone else around, it was obvious. It was that gigantic guy with the huge gut and the Jays cap.
    1 point
  12. Part 3: Drew Drew sighed, and switched his phone from one ear to the other. “Because that was a promotional rate, Leon. From two years ago. The market’s totally different now.” “Sabine said this wouldn’t be an issue.” Drew rolled his eyes. “Yeah, when you were renewing your first mortgage. On a new property we can’t give you the same rate.” There was a knock at his office door and he saw Ryan standing there, some folders under his arm. Drew held up his finger, mouthing “one sec.” “I just don’t understand why you can apply the rate to one mortgage but not the other,” Leon complained gruffly. “Your branch manager gave you special dispensation for the one, why can’t we get the second?” Ryan shuffled inside and sat down across from Drew. “Leon, look, for one thing, it was the district manager, and for another, the situation is different on a new mortgage than a REnewed one.” Leon paused with a sigh. “Can you get Sabine to call me?” Drew bit his tongue to keep from swearing. “Sabine’s at a different branch now. But she’ll tell you the same thing.” “Drew, I’m sorry I really need to get going. Just get Sabine to give me a call, please.” He shook his head ruefully at Ryan, who shrugged with a blank smile. “All right, Leon, have a good day.” It sounded like he had already hung up before Drew could finish his sentence. He turned to Ryan as he set down the receiver. “What’s up?” “You wanna grab a beer after work?” Drew shook his head. “Nah, can’t. I gotta make dinner.” Ryan set his files on Drew’s desk. “Isn’t Jamie still unemployed? Why isn’t he doing it?” Drew sighed. “It’s my turn. And, wait, I thought you had a date tonight. Didn’t you say you were meeting that guy off Grindr?” “OKCupid, thank you very much,” said Ryan with mock indignation. “And yeah, but not til nine. Was hoping to get a bit of a buzz on so I won’t be so nervous. He’s totally out of my league.” Drew rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, Ryan, you have nothing to worry about. Jesus.” Ryan had taken the best elements of both his Chinese and Russian heritage which had resulted in bright eyes, dark hair, a strong chin and a great complexion. Despite being a certifiable stud, he seemed to view his unique features as some kind of brand of deviance, and nothing Drew or anyone could say had yet to convince him otherwise. Ryan shrugged, standing and collecting his files. “If you say so. Oh, the actual reason I came: do you have any credit files for Sal Burchielli?” Drew nodded, opening his credenza. He stopped as he pulled them out. “Wait what do you need them for?” “Transfer request." “Are you fucking kidding me?” Drew shouted. “Let me see it.” He thrust his hand out so quickly Ryan instinctively recoiled. “Whoa! Hey! Jesus…” Ryan pulled the memo out from between the files and handed it to him. “It’s from Sabine.” “I fucking know it’s from Sabine!” Drew jumped to his feet, brushing past a bewildered Ryan. “Is Viola in her office?” he asked as he stormed out. Ryan called after him. “How the hell would I know?” It had been an uphill battle after Sabine had been transferred but this was the last straw. Drew managed to stay smiling and pleasant as he crossed the branch in front of customers, but by the time he climbed the stairs to the manager’s office, he was freaking out again. He knocked on her door as he barged in. Viola looked up from a plate of Greek salad, swallowing a mouthful before retorting. “Sure, Drew, come on in.” She sat up and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Have you fucking seen this?” he asked, shoving the memo over top her salad. Viola took it from him and looked it over. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Everything?” “A half-million dollar mortgage, a two hundred thou TFSA and two RESPs,” he rhymed them off from memory. “You promised me this wouldn’t happen!” he protested. Viola furrowed her brow. “Don’t yell at me about it. Lose your shit on Sabine.” Drew ignored her. “And we just lost all the Webster accounts to downtown on Monday. Can’t we just deny them?” She set the memo down on her desk between them. “These are customer-initiated, Drew.” Drew crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, please.” “What do you expect me to do, exactly?” “Call the manager at Dufferin and College, tell him they can’t keep doing this.” Viola stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork. “What’s he gonna say? He’s not going to blast Sabine for getting them more business.” “Viola, I can’t make my goals if all my biggest clients transfer to downtown. Burchielli was like a quarter of my IP’s.” Viola picked up the memo again and paused a moment. “This is the racist guy?” Drew shrugged ruefully. “Yeah… plus he smells like talcum powder and cigarettes.” Viola handed it back to him. “Drew I get that you’re frustrated. So am I, okay? And I’m taking this into account. But there’s nothing I can do about Burchielli, or Webster, or all the rest. You’ll have to make it up somewhere else.” Drew sighed, took the memo back, and left. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fucking Sabine. She got transferred from this nowhere-branch in the financial desert of North York to downtown where business literally walked in off the street every day. She didn’t need to poach all the old clients they had shared. Fuck. It has been so sweet when she was around. The Drew-Sabine dream team. She handled mortgages, he handled investments, they had this sassy back-and-forth the clients seemed to love, and the numbers just kept climbing. Now she’d been replaced with a do-nothing trainee, making Drew the most senior mortgage expert at the branch. He fucking hated mortgages. Drew walked past the teller line to the back office, where he found Ryan at his desk and on the phone. “Okay….wait, what? That’s not the ticket number I gave you… I don’t know, but you didn’t get it from… No. Okay, are you ready? Five one eight nine seven seven three nine… Seriously? Why would it be closed no one ever came in….Yes! I’m sure! Our printer is still broken!” He looked at Drew and rolled his eyes. “Okay, so can you open it up again?... Then can you start a new ticket?... Okay great… When?... Seriously?... Ok fine…. Great. Yes. Thanks. Bye…. Yeah, bye.” He hung up and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Jesus fucking christ.” Drew handed him the memo and he set it on the stack of files. “No luck, eh? Is Sal really that big a deal?” Drew leaned against a filing cabinet. “I’m so fucked, man.” Ryan shook his head. “When did Sabine turn into such an asshole? I always thought she was cool when she was here.” Drew sighed. “I dunno. It doesn’t matter.” “Sure you don’t want that drink, man?” Drew dashed a blonde lock from his eyes. “Nah…” he checked the time on Ryan’s phone. “Actually I should get going. See ya tomorrow. Good luck tonight.” Ryan smiled. “Thanks, man.” Drew’s numbers had divebombed since Sabine left. Viola was reasonable enough, but she had district managers to answer to and if he couldn’t figure something out in the next few months he could be facing a demotion. At any other point in his life this wouldn’t be a big deal, but he and Jamie had just blown all their savings buying a condo, and now Jamie had quit his job of his own accord, which meant he couldn’t go on employment insurance. Drew loved that Jamie had stuck to his principles but his timing was terrible. If he did get a pay cut without Jamie bringing in income, they’d have to mortgage the condo just to pay for the property tax, and the current market was terrible. Even at employee rates he’d get fucked. Maybe they could sell the car instead. The hour long commute from bus to subway to streetcar home was made longer by some dumb bullshit. The announcer piped into the subway’s PA to give the riders details, but Drew tuned it out, distracting himself with Temple Run soundtracked to Portishead. After riding the elevator crammed with neighbours returning home, Drew dragged his feet down his hall and opened his door to the welcoming scent of roasting chicken and veggies. “Jamie?” he called, kicking off his shoes. “Hey D!” Jamie called back. “In the kitchen!” Drew shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it over a chair, and walked into the kitchen loosening his tie. Jamie had two pans going over the stove, stirring the one full of rice. He was wearing a button up shirt worn open over a graphic T. His favourite, faded black, worn-out jeans and bare feet. His black hair was damp and messy, suggesting he’d just showered. He turned and smiled warmly. “Hey. Chicken fajitas.” “Oh,” Drew moaned affectionately, throwing his tie onto the table as he went up to hug Jamie from behind. Half a head taller than him, Drew had to lean down to kiss his neck, smelling shampoo he’d used. “You didn’t have to do that.” Jamie sighed contentedly in his arms, leaning back against him. “Yeah I know, but I was home and everything was good to go. I’m sorry I left you alone last night. What’d you do?” Drew gave him another kiss to the back of the head and released Jamie, unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way to the bedroom. “I went to Chalkers with Ryan and some other guys from the branch. We didn’t go too late.” “Is he still going out with that, uhh… that hot Indian guy?” “Nah that didn’t last too long. He’s having a first date tonight, actually.” Drew returned to the kitchen in a snug-fitting tank and slacks. He stopped at Jamie, turned his head to kiss him, then went to the cupboard and took down two wine glasses. “Hey how was Adam’s? How’s his boyfriend?” “Husband,” Jamie corrected. “Cassidy. He’s, uhh… good, I guess. He’s changed completely.” “He was the weirdo, right?” asked Drew, squatting down to get a bottle of merlot from the rack. “Yeah. Well,” Jamie hesitated, “he’s still a weirdo but he’s been totally domesticated. I barely recognized him.” Drew rounded the counter and set a glass of wine next to the stove, sipping his own. “And Adam? You said you were worried.” “Uhh, yeah,” Jamie answered slowly. “Look, that’s kind of a long story…” “Oh,” Drew blinked. “Okay.” he turned and grabbed his tie off the table, tossing it through the bedroom door as he made his way to the living room. It wasn’t like Jamie to deflect him like that. With their arrangement, it’s not like he could have anything he would have to lie about, though. Oprah dozed on the couch watching W on mute. Drew sighed loudly. “What the fuck are you doing watching Property Brothers?” he shouted back at the kitchen. “What? It’s fine it’s got a bunch of ideas. Like, for the living room?” “Oh my god,” Drew turned off the television. “Who are you trying to kid?” The fajitas were perfect. The wine was all right. Drew spent most of dinner complaining about Sabine, Viola, and mortgages. Drew tended to get pretty technical with his rants about work, and it wasn’t entirely uncommon for Jamie to tune out on the finer details, but he seemed to be barely listening at all. “Hey is everything okay?” Drew asked after a prolonged silence. “You seem a bit… preoccupied.” Jamie had a strange look on his face for a moment that Drew didn’t know how to read. He seemed almost confused. It melted into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe, I just… it’s just looking for jobs and stuff.” “Oh,” Drew looked down at his empty plate. He had supported Jamie’s decision to quit right from the get-go, and if being unemployed had Jamie down Drew didn’t want him to feel worse about it. After they cleared the table Drew started affectionately fondling Jamie by the sink, and they rolled along the wall, kissing each other and getting their hands under each other's shirts as they guided each other into the bedroom. Drew closed the door behind them, wary as always of what he interpreted as puritanically condemning glares from Oprah. “God, I was so horny last night,” Drew breathed, quickly stripping the shirt from Jamie. Jamie smiled and tried to return the favour but Drew pushed him back onto the bed. Jamie bounced into a half-sitting position and undid his belt, squirming out of his jeans while Drew slipped out of his own clothes. Jamie barely had time to back himself up to the headboard before Drew had lunged onto the bed, crawling on top of him, cupping his face with his hand and kissing him hungrily. “Missed me, huh?” Jamie asked with a grin when Drew finally came up for air. Drew smiled back, “I miss you whenever I’m not looking right at you.” “So when we’re watching a movie and I go get you a beer?” “I die. Every time. It’s fucking Sophie’s Choice.” Jamie laughed, pulling Drew down on top of him and twirling them around so he was on top. He moaned and slowly undulated his body against Drew’s, feeling his soft belly and tasting his salty skin as he kissed his neck, lashing his tongue behind his ear. Drew dug his heels into the mattress and gasped with pleasure, clawing his fingertips into Jamie's back. Jamie pulled back and maneuvered one of Drew’s legs to the side, pausing briefly to grab the lube off the nightstand and apply a thick glob to his palm. He took Drew’s erect penis in his hand and covered his own as well. Drew grasped Jamie’s ass and pulled him close, writhing against the bed, biting his lip as he felt Jamie press his tip against him, then slowly enter, grinding his hips against Drew’s, forcing his dick deeper inch by inch. “Oh fuck…” Drew whispered, his head reared back against the pillow. “I love your cock so fucking much.” Jamie faltered, losing the rhythm. Just long enough for Drew to look at him quizzically, and then he was back on track. Drew got back to groaning and flexing his cheeks around Jamie’s cock. He grew louder as Jamie quickened his strokes, and he grunted a loud sensuous cry as he climaxed, shooting a load that splattered hot on his chest. He moaned and flexed his ass again, only for Jamie to withdraw. He lay there basking in post-coital bliss, waiting for Jamie to plunge in again, but instead felt him toweling off his chest. Drew opened his eyes. “Is everything okay?” he asked quietly. “You didn’t…” Jamie smiled gently, kissing Drew on the forehead as he tossed the towel into the hamper. “It’s fine. I’m just really tired.” “You’re sure?” Jamie rolled into place beside Drew, taking his hand in his and squirming up next to him, his chin resting on his shoulder. “Don’t worry.” He smiled reassuringly. Drew turned to look at him, their mouths close enough to feel each other’s breath. Drew reached up and ran his fingers down the side of Jamie’s face. “I love you.” Jamie leaned down to peck Drew on his shoulder. “I love you too.” “So fucking much.” Jamie smiled. “So fucking much.” Drew reached over and switched off the lamp, and they laid together in the dark.
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  13. Hugh the Young Knight written by Ceep for the Seigneur de M. Hugh felt uncomfortable in his own skin, but that was the only pitiful facet of his life. The fact that he acheived knighthood at the legendary round table at such a young age was truly remarkable and enviable, yet all he knew was unease for it. It was not the affections and admirations of the people that left him feeling sheepish and shy, though; no, it was the very reason that he sat among knights who, in his eyes, were twice the man he was, yet the opposite was true. A specimen of masculinity rarely unseen, a contrast to the freshness of his face, his young body rippled with muscle tone and power; even through the stuffy clothing and the chainmail he was obliged to wear as a knight, the lines of his musculature were unmistakable, lending him to be unintentionally intimidating to those around him, yet the gentle, freckled features of his face and his supple, pale flesh lent themselves to a more friendly, youthful appearance which rendered him approachable. Indeed, Hugh had a gentle, if not quiet disposition, yet a fierce loyalty to that which he believed in - and what he put most of his faith into was his coat of arms and the honor of his kingdom. Though the youth had not yet been tempered by the fires of bloody combat, nor had he taken a life, those he stood beside thought of him as an intelligent and capable knight in spite of his age. In celebration of Hugh's knighthood, the captain of the knights saw fit to propose a banquet - and the queen, an intelligent beauty who was thoughtfully involved with the knights of the roundtable, allowed this feast without opposition. Amongst the queen and the entirety of his greatest peers, Hugh felt absolutely tiny, a truly ironic sensation, considering his musculature over even the most fit individual there. There was conversation, a great meal, and drinks to be enjoyed, yet Hugh was ever the wallflower, eating quietly and talking politely, avoiding any and all eye contact with the queen out of a sense of bashfulness - and that was quite difficult, for she frequently looked his way. Hugh was certain he could see ulterior motives in her gaze, and had he been a little bit more mature, he would have easily seen her lust. Yet, all he knew for certain was that the queen was giving him queer looks and flirtatious glances - what could he do but tolerate it? Very soon, a toast was held in Hugh's honor, one he found difficult, to say the least; bearing a contrived, cheeky smile brought on by overwhelming embarassment, he took the praises of his queen and his fellow knights with modesty, yet the lovely royal lady blindsided the youthful knight with a command that shook him and rendered him speechless. "Brave young Hugh," she said with a tone not unlike a sultry purr, silencing the entirety of the dining hall, "rise for your queen. Let me gaze upon your youthful body, a fine model of the male form!" All heads turned from her majesty, Guinivere, to lowly Hugh, so young that he should not have been any more than a lowly squire. "I, ah... I beg your pardon, your majesty?" he said, his voice a tiny squeak. "Hugh," she said slowly, "you heard me well." Then, letting a seductive smile grace her features, the queen relaxed in the comfort of her decorated seat, awaiting young Hugh's show. It was so unlike Hugh to be any kind of an exhibitionist, but there it was - a direct order from his queen. For many long seconds, he simply thought of rejecting the command and forfeiting his knighthood, but that would have cost him everything. Resigning himself to the queen's will, he rose from his chair, standing above the heads of all his fellow knights. All eyes were on him; in deathly silence, they awaited his next move. Please give me the strength, Hugh silently prayed with momentarily closed eyes. He felt no divine will enter him, but he made up for its' absence with willpower of his own. Emitting a long sigh, he began to curl his mighty arms inwards, at the same time subtly hunching himself over. With blushing cheeks and a subtly grimacing expression, he flexed his arms for all they were worth, and Guinivere looked on with obviously hungry eyes - had anyone been watching her and not Hugh, they would've seen the very unladylike way she licked her lips. Hugh felt all their gazes on him, criticizing him, scrutinizing his every move, and it unconsciously spurred him to do the best that he could. Straightening his back, he smoothly lifted his arms above his head, and he exerted every ounce of his strength; his muscles bulked heavily, stretching the tight mall to its limits. It would have been appropriate to see him holding an anvil in his bare hands, or maybe even the entirety of the castle's tower, but all he lifted was the air itself. As he ran every cluster of youthful muscle in his arms through their paces, they trembled, as if such power was too much for them. He balled his supple hands into white-knuckled fists, and he shuddered. He soon reached the height of his spectacular double-bicep pose, and at much the same time, a noise of wheezing, protesting metal came forth, growing more and more intense as the youth worked his muscles. With a grunt of exertion, the chainmail he was dressed in split in a dozen places, ripping like fabric, just as easily as the shirt over said mail. There he stood, still blushing, his unlikely arms and his defined chest clutched loosely by ruined garments, his face still alight with blush, by then more than ever before. "Very good," Guinivere said quietly, belying the true lust she felt for that handsome youth, "you may take your seat again, young Hugh..." Well past the banquet that evening, Hugh found himself amongst his fellow knights, still quite bashful from the outcome of the feast. He had been issued a new set of chainmail and a fresh tunic - bothh with some extra slack in them, to help prevent another such incident from occurring - but the youth chose to remain in the nude following his bath. As he finished up and dried himself off, he heard escalating words from Lancelot, arguably the most respected and beloved of all the knights of the roundtable; ordinarily, a scrap between even such noble knights was not unheard of, but the things passing Lancelot's lips were stunning to all - Hugh included. "I can hardly believe the behavior of our queen! I saw the lust in her eyes as clear as day!" Though Lancelot's plight was, on the surface, one of morality and disgust, the truth was that he felt jealous - Guinivere was a woman of impeccable beauty, not to mention exclusivity for her royal blood. It certainly flustered Lancelot to know that a youth nearly half his own age had her favor and her sexual admiration, yet to admit his own lust for the queen was not at all acceptable; the bitter irony was that speaking derisively of her was accepted more than admitting his own wantings for her body. Whether he picked up on this or not, Hugh correctly assumed that Lancelot's anger was his fault; being a good, noble knight, however, Hugh simply would not stand for such words about his queen. The youth abolished any and all shyness; all that mattered to him was the honor of the queen. He emerged from the baths with his expression set in stone, his inexperienced eyes glowing with intensity. Lancelot turned his gaze on the nude form of Hugh; momentarily, he was staggered by the sight of his body, though it wasn't the first or even second time he'd laid eyes on the young knight. "You shall not speak of the queen in such a way, Lancelot!" he warned, finding himself unafraid as he stood toe-to-toe with Lancelot. For a moment, Lancelot - dressed in merely a loose-fitting undergarment - looked as though he were sizing up the youth as an opponent, but ultimately, he shook his head. "Forgive me, Hugh, I should not have spoken ill of our fine queen," he conceded, his tone one of benevolence, but not submission. More and more, he found himself admiring the pale-skinned youth before him in more intent ways, and in the slack confines of his undergarment, he felt his shaft swelling with blood. It was just obscene that a teenager, nearly a mere child, hat such an enormously powerful body. Hugh, pacified but still not accepting of Lancelot's behavior, stood proud and tall, his muscles flexing and twitching even at an idle, his heavy, uncut shaft hanging freely between the carved flesh of his thighs. "Your body," Lancelot said absently, having stepped back to better view Hugh's form, "such a form, it's like your mother and father carved you out of marble, Hugh." The comment brought Hugh pause, and it interrupted his unconscious intimidation, replacing his stern expression with a blushing, somewhat dull look. "Ah, thank you, Lancelot," he bleated, suddenly well aware of his handsome fellow knight's roaming eyes - in some way, he felt comfortable with Lancelot ogling him. "Please, Hugh, satisfy my curiosities," Lancelot said with a hint of arousal in his voice, taking a few steps away from the youth. There, in the training hall - just off of the knights' quarters, where they slept and bathed - was a rack with hundreds of pounds of armor and weaponry upon it. It would've taken a horse and a carriage to move it with so much gear upon it - but, almost instinctively, Lancelot knew Hugh could move it with ease. "You want me to lift that?" Hugh asked, tightening his jaw in unease and disbelief. Wearing a small, coy smile, Lancelot nodded and chuckled. "Try it. You might be surprised." Feeling just as shy and uncertain as his forced show in the banquet hall, Hugh momentarily sized up the rack; at least ten feet tall, it was covered in mail, plate armor, swords, axes, and shields - easily several tons worth of steel, not to mention the fact that the rack itself was built out of sturdy, ancient wood. "Lancelot," he said uneasily, looking back at the handsome knight - Lancelot nodded reassuringly, folding his arms across the toned form of his chest. "Try, Hugh, please. Satisfy my curiosities." Hugh sighed, and though the noise reeked of impatience and disgust, it was actually a sound of exasperation - why did everybody wish to ogle his body like so? To somebody so sexually inexperienced, it was very unusual to Hugh, but he would oblige Lancelot. Squatting down, clutching the cumbersome rack by its' base from the side, Hugh grunted, the sound not youthful, but rather one of a grown man pushing his body to the limit. Before Lancelot's eyes, the pale, freckled example of pristine, male beauty before him began to rise that loaded rack - clutching with his arms, lifting with his legs, Hugh rose inch by inch. His carved biceps balooned, the mighty pecs flexed tight and in deep striations, every single muscle strained and bulged, stretching the velvet boyskin. Hugh’s body became carved and edgy, a superior, unreal musclebeast as he showed off his true power. His breathing, once steady and calm, had since degraded into animalistic and unintentionally lewd huffing. Lancelot was staggered, and had his jaw not been clenched, his lip not bit in a display of admiration and arousal, his mouth would have hung open. To see a form so youthful and perfect as Hugh's lifting that rack so high that it crested over his head, revealing his animal-like, bushy armpits, his body glistening with sweat, his herculean chest heaving with the labored breathing of a wild animal, Lancelot was shocked, amazed, and incredibly aroused - in the snug-fitting undergarment around his hips, he sported a mighty erection, and all he knew for certain was that he had to feel that youth's body. Hugh set the rack down a mighty thud!, followed shortly by the rattling of mail and armor. A few armaments fell to the floor in noisy, harmless clanks and clatters, but Lancelot could hear none of this - all he wanted to hear was the gruff panting, the near snarling of Hugh's breathing. He smelled the youth's undeveloped scent, that which would one day be a potent musk of unspeakable attraction and heartbreaking sexuality, and he availed himself for the youth. As he approached, Hugh turned, his freckled face alight with blush, his skin damp with sweat; before he could speak a word, Lancelot kissed him, slipping his tongue into the warmth of young Hugh's maw, teasing over the youth's palate and teeth in an enormously sexual gesture. Before Hugh could even register the kiss, Lancelot ended it, and he pressed his cheek to Hugh's own, savoring the feel of soft, pubescent flesh on the shaven stubble of his own - which, inversely, was a sensation Hugh enjoyed. "L-Lancelot," the youngest knight stammered, finding himself silenced with another kiss, this one shallow and brief. Lancelot had no words, and he drove on with instinct alone. He nibbled and kissed down the impossibly mighty youth's jawline and neck with brisk speed, but he dabbled on Hugh's chest. There, he licked, he kissed, he gnawed; no crease of muscle, no swatch of smooth, freckled flesh was safe; Hugh shuddered and moaned, and involuntarily, he flexed hard for Lancelot, pouting out his chest, presenting like a peacock to the handsome knight. Hugh unknowingly fed off of Lancelot's worship, and his shaft, once casually flaccid, had already begun to swell with arousal, engorging its' length with blood. As it reached its' peak and it came around to a respectable length but an unbelievable girth Hugh shuddered, and Lancelot was further stricken by the youth's form. Even as compelling as the ambivalently tender and hard flesh of the youngest knight's chest and arms was to his kissing lips and licking tongue, Lancelot could not resist that which dwelt between Hugh's chiseled thighs. Dropping to his knees, unabashed in his homoeroticism, the handsome Lancelot clutched Hugh's meat in a strong, tough hand, a contrast to the virgin flesh of that penis. Squeezing it firm in his grip, he pulled down upon the uncut foreskin of the youth's length, exposing the tip, its' shade a muted pink, one unaccustomed to light or the chilly air of the outside world; indeed, to have the tender glans of his shaft so ruthlessly exposed sent a shiver up Hugh's spine and made him moan, yet the moisture and warmth it naturally knew was replaced with another - Lancelot's mouth. The handsome knight struggled to engulf Hugh's colossal manhood, and as he descended, he removed his groping, tugging hand, placing it, along with the other, on one of the youth's thighs. Hugh's cheeks lit with a vibrant and youthful blush, making his cute freckles all the more apparent, and though he quaked and moaned with pleasures yet unheard of to his sexually inexperienced body, he found himself embracing an almost feral dominance; setting one of his smooth hands on the back of Lancelot's head, he encouraged the handsome knight to work his swollen shaft harder, doing so with wary pushes and squeezes on the back of his skull - Hugh was not entirely sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he somehow knew it was right. Distantly, Hugh wondered if this was a common occurance for Lancelot, or if it was similarly his first time with another man - but at the forefront of his thoughts, all he really acknowledged was how wonderful that mouth felt around his length. Huffing with nearly the same intensity and urgency as when he'd so effortlessly hefted the armor rack, Hugh held firmly onto Lancelot's head with both of his supple hands. Everything about the moment was unspeakably fine; Lancelot, whether by practice or dumb luck, sucked and bobbed upon the youth's turgid member with incredible ferocity and skill, and his manly, rough hands alternately fondled the hairless, wrinkled, tender hide of Hugh's scrotum, or the carved-in-stone curve of his rear-end. Hugh soon felt himself nearing the bliss of a climax; he had masturbated, but it was a rare occasion, for he found his time spent better practicing with the sword or maintaining his fitness, and so Lancelot's ministrations were helped along by a pent-up, pubescent libido that rarely knew the casual release of a loving hand. "Oh, ah, nngh!" Hugh grunted, screwing the charming, youthful features of his face into a toothy grimace, clenching his naive eyes shut. Sweat dripped from his body; once but a sheen not unlike a morning's dew, it freely poured from his form, and his member, nestled safely in the hot and humid confines of Lancelot's gulping, sucking maw, oozed incessantly with bitter-salty pre, stinging the knight's tongue, but not in a manner unpleasant. With his huffing and near-snarling reaching a crescendo, Hugh pulled Lancelot's head flush to his pelvis, and he stood up on his tip-toes in the sweet, sudden agony of his climax. Every cluster of muscle and iron-hard sinew tensed to a density not unlike chainmail, and he blew a colossal, pent-up load down Lancelot's hungry throat. The older knight wasted not a drop of the young, yet virile and thick seed that Hugh saw fit to feed him, and the youth's orgasm and dominance brought him such scintillating pleasure that, without the use of his hands, he sullied the insides of his undergarment with a sloppy, manly mess of his own. When Hugh at last returned to his normal posture, and he appeared to be his timid, usual self, he awkwardly unhanded Lancelot's skull and apologized down to the handsome knight - Lancelot stood, and without a word, he silenced the young knight mid-sentence with another kiss. The feel of such supple, pink lips on his own was blissful, accessable pleasure - but they were finished for the night. "You, young Hugh, need not apologize for anything," Lancelot said enigmatically, walking off to the baths. Hugh watched him go, and then he made his way to bed for that night, where he slept very soundly. The next day, Hugh's attempts to reconcile all that had happened the night before were cut short; a mysterious command from the queen herself, delivered by her handmaiden - he was to come directly to the queen's bedchambers and speak to no one along the way. Hugh felt an odd chill down his spine, a tingling of worry, even though he assured himself he had done nothing wrong - it was simply an immature reaction to being summoned by the highest of authority like so. Stepping through the threshold of her bedroom door, dressed in his new chainmail and more slack, forgiving tunic, Hugh looked adorably uncomfortable, and more out-of-place than ever before. "You summoned me, your majesty?" said the handsome young man, moving before the bed, for upon its' edge sat queen Guinivere, as lovely as ever, if not in the regal setting of her throne room. Hugh made to kneel, but the queen stopped him with a hand upon his chest. "There is no need for formalities or anxiety, young Hugh," she cooed with gentle reassurance, her tone not unlike that of a caring mother, but her eyes exhibited anything but such innocence. "Regarding your display at last night's banquet," she began, at once summoning a mighty blush to Hugh's smooth, freckled cheeks, "I wish to see more of the same, without the prying eyes of your peers - only mine." Sitting back, she looked unusually casual for a queen, but her eyes were ever lewd, burning with sexual intensity and desire. Despite his endearing shyness, Hugh obliged - but this time, he disrobed, shedding the tunic, the mail beneath, and his undergarments, exposing the naked, supple flesh of his chiseled body to the chilled air of the castle and the hungry eyes of the queen. His manhood, though flaccid and unaroused, hung heavily between his thighs, promising to be the most handsome penis the queen had ever laid eyes upon - and indeed, she couldn't help but glance at it, even as it was. Her eyes studied not just the youth's genitalia, however, for she examined every crease of muscle and every bulging strand of sinew, taking in his appearance with a subtle, nearly animalistic lick of her lips. It slowly dawned on Hugh that the way his fellow knights treated him was not derision, but jealousy - he was so reluctant and bashful to acknowledge it, but he was built like no other man he'd ever seen, his body chiseled out of what seemed like stone. With this realization, he began to flex almost involuntarily, well before the queen's mark, but she didn't seem to mind it at all; biting his lip in concentration, he pouted out the mountainous bulk of his chest, presenting that smooth flesh, and at the same time, he raised his swelling arms high above his head, his supple hands clenched into white-knuckle fists. Lifting his arms like so exposed the wiry, fluffy bushes of his armpits - the pits themselves exuded an acquired taste of a scent; though Hugh did not yet possess a true musk of his own, having not matured enough, the smell of his body and his sweat was unmistakable, and it aroused Guinivere in incredible ways. With her behavior growing increasingly unladylike, Guinivere stood from the bed, looming before the bulging, yet charmingly youthful form of Hugh. With another subtle lick of her lips, she leaned in close, and she partook of a sniff of an armpit, a tentative one; the smell of his sweaty masculinity made her shudder, and beneath the regal dress she wore, she was growing quite wet. With lust unchained, she pushed her delicate nose into the bush of his armpit hair, and she sniffed deep, taking the youth's undeveloped musk deep into her lungs. Just as bold as her nose was her hands; delicate and soft, covered in pale flesh nearly as supple as Hugh's own, she clutched the youth's half-erect penis and plump, dangling scrotum in one, and with a distinct, royal thoughtfulness, she gently bounced and groped the tender flesh, coaxing a deeply aroused, wavering groan from the handsome young knight. Such a careful, yet intent touch saw his penis swell with arousal, its' shaft engorging with blood, reaching its' full length in record time. With a smile most coy, Guinivere wrapped her slender digits around that penis, and she gave it a few long, soothing pumps, coaxing mighty wads of pre from the tip in heavy spurts, each one accompanied by a full-body shudder and a deep moan from the youth. It was not Guinivere's intention to get Hugh to a climax yet; his pleasure would come, but only as a consequence of her own. "Hugh, sweet, handsome, valiant Hugh," cooed the queen, shedding her dress and the stifling undergarments beneath, exposing the striking female beauty of her form to the chilly air and to Hugh's hungry eyes. Her hips - delicately curved, so very womanly, but not overtly pronounced. Her breasts - swollen and full, pale and supple, the nipples stiffened and hard with arousal and the cool temperature. Behind her, a fine ass, but Hugh's was arguably finer. With the queen so close to his colossal form, Hugh was unable to partake of the view of her long legs, but what he saw was enough to leave him nearly drooling. "Your majesty," he whispered, his tone laced with lust and reverence, both vying for control of his quaking voice, "your body, it's so beautiful, I would give anything to have you." She pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss, and then she trailed a delicate digit down the range of his hairless chest, savoring the contrast of his body; though supremely muscular, he was so pale, so soft, his flesh sprinkled with charming, youthful freckles - this would be a night to remember for both the queen and her loyal knight. "Come, Hugh," she said tenderly, backpedaling, moving to kneel upon her bed. Hugh did just the same; beneath his bulk, the bed creaked in protest and unease, though it held up. With the youthful, hulking knight so close, Guinivere let her fingers run wild over the creases and crevasses of his chest, though they came to dwell upon the pink, tender nubs of his nipples. Once soft and inoffensive, they had since stiffened with arousal, not unlike his member. Though nowhere near as tender as that particular flesh, Guinivere's touch brought him tingles and shivers of pleasure, impulses that shook noises not unlike whimpers from him. "Oh, your majesty, Lancelot's touch was not half as pleasing as yours," he cooed, blushing only after the fact; in consideration, Guinivere paused, then twisted her beautiful lips into a coy smile. "So Lancelot couldn't resist you? I see... It seems I am not the only one so afflicted with your form," she chuckled, punctuating her words with a soft kiss upon his cheek. Hugh could only shake his head slowly; the poor youth was so embarassed by what he had blurted out that he couldn't even answer with words. Guinivere acknowledged his bashful nature; indeed, it was one of the things that made him so adorable, and it was a fine contrast to the masculinity of his male form. Furthermore, she had precisely the cure for such a lack of confidence; lying back, shying away from the youth's bulk, the queen slowly spread her legs, exposing the slender lips of her cunt. Hugh had never seen such a thing before, but instinctively, he wanted it. As she spread those folds with her digits and he was allowed to gaze upon the moist, inviting pink of his queen, he bit his lip, erasing the pale, pink color from it for a moment. "Have at your queen, young Hugh," she said, her voice a sultry purr, her eyes exuding raw sexual desire. "As hard as you wish it - my body is yours this night!" Hugh needed to hear no more words; he pounced with animalistic lust. Just on instinct, he knew what to do; he prodded the swollen, blunt tip of his penis to the inviting, deep pink of her cunt, and he sank it in to the hilt. Precum and vaginal juices were his lubricants, and they were beyond sufficient; he entered her without pain, only pleasure. The handsome youth quaked and shuddered with overwhelming pleasure, finding his first time with a lady to be an erotic dream; Guinivere was not so noisy, but still, she moaned and stroked fondly over the ripped arms of the youth, which were planted on either side of her. "Mmm, yes, Hugh, have me!" she shuddered, rolling her eyes before closing them; with all the ferocity of a beast, Hugh started to pound his shapely hips, bobbing his deliciously taut behind up and down in an endless, mindless groove that matched no music, and served only to please himself and his queen. Hugh panted and grunted in gruff, overwhelming desire; not unlike the way he had snarled and rumbled like a bull when he performed his feats of strength for Lancelot, he became similarly noisy for the queen. Consciously, he told himself it was all for the queen, but deep in his subconscious, he knew it was all about him; there was his ego that she was nurturing, whether he realized it or not. He knew that his own pleasure was what mattered most, and that Guinivere's beautiful body was a means to an end. It was a thought no self-respecting knight would ever admit - but Hugh hadn't even realized it himself. Indeed, he was straying off into more animalistic territory; he heard her moans and smelled her scent, but those impulses came to him like visions. He watched her plump, pleasing bosom bounce and jiggle enticingly, doing all it could to lure him in for a lick or a suck, but he was set in his ways; he would fuck his queen for all she was worth. "Oh, Hugh, H-Hugh!" she cried out to him, losing any and all composure as the handsome youth went on, his rhythm degrading into chaotic bucks and grinds - soon, he would climax, and that was apparent in his grunting and snarling as much as it was in his actions. Hugh knew nothing in the way of prolonging sex; so inexperienced and full of the hormones of puberty, all he knew was how to get off, and that was precisely what he did. Pounding his mighty cock in to the hilt, smacking his balls into the queen's thighs, Hugh erupted with an outspoken noise of pleasure, and he shot an incredibly virile load deep into the queen's womb. Her cry suggested a climax of her own - whether or not she had actually gotten off, Hugh didn't know, and in an uncommon moment of callous thought brought on by self-serving fucking, he didn't care. But, in his afterglow, he cuddled close to his queen, and he partook of her compliments and her kisses - and in time, he drifted off to sleep in her arms, so used to the exhaustion of sex.
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