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And then, with one swift movement, Liam instructing me take his ruby red posing trunks suddenly wasn’t the greatest moment of our encounter. Lifting both of his arms up, Liam was suddenly flexing his enormous, nickname earning guns in a front double bicep pose. His face was scrunched up, and his mouth wide open in the exact same arrogant expression he’d worn in the picture I’d shot a massive load to the Saturday before. Only this time, I wasn’t looking at a picture on the Internet. This time the scene was happening right before my eyes, in Liam “The Guns” Watson’s bedroom, just a mere few feet from where I stood. I wanted to pause time. To stay in that moment for as long as I wanted. To stand there staring at the image of this mighty flexing muscle bull before me. To marvel at the sheer hugeness of the bronze painted balls of muscle bulging off each of his upper arms. To study the vein (that glorious fucking vein) running down the middle of the right bicep. To let him overwhelm me with his display of pure power and hyper masculinity. “FUCK!” I cried in response. When Liam relaxed, he instantly started laughing to himself. His face beaming, he was clearly on some kind of incredible high from being a muscle freak, two days out from his next bodybuilding show, flexing and showing off his enormous muscles for an audience. Any audience - even near strangers who he’d just caught sniffing his posing trunks. “Just as impressive in person?” Liam asked. “YEAH!!” I exclaimed in response. The rush of seeing Liam flexing in the flesh seemed to diminish any leftover nerves and shyness. “Unbelievable mate!” Still proudly grinning, Liam then bought his fists together and outrageously squeezed a quick most muscular pose, accompanied by a deep, playful, and unspeakably hot grunt. “EURGH!!” The plates of pec muscle underneath his vest squeezed together. His enormous triceps erupted like crazy. His upper body just a mass of solid, bunched up, beautifully carved muscle. It barely lased two seconds, but just like the moment Liam first opened his front door, just like when he’d walked into his living room with his muscle bulging out of his mint green vest, and just like when he’d flexed his monstrous biceps in front of me, I was positive the scene would forever be imprinted on my memory. “Fucking HELL!!” I exclaimed, inhibitions almost completely gone. And then, the unthinkable happened. Liam flexed again! Bending forward slightly, he cranked out a brutal, power packed, crab most muscular; his teeth gritted and his nose scrunched in brilliantly animated fashion. His watermelon-like delts filled up my view. Enormous, round boulders of gorgeously bronzed muscle. His biceps had never looked bigger, or more beautiful. Balls of inhuman muscle, squeezed and popped to an absurd degree. And, out of nowhere, two thick mounds of trap muscle erupted either side of his neck like two vicious little creatures about to pounce on their prey (let it be me, please let it be me), stretching the mint green cotton material of the straps of his vest. I wanted to lick those traps. Feel the solid muscle and paper thin skin underneath my tongue. Work my mouth down until I was kissing his enormous delts. Taste the tan, sweat and muscle of a roided up muscle God who’d pushed his body to unspeakable limits. I wanted to suck on his biceps. Feel that throbbing vein against my tongue. The more Liam would squeeze, the harder his bicep would become and the more the vein would throb, the harder I would suck and the closer my dick would get to exploding with cum. When Liam straightened up he was still beaming proudly, but there was an ever so slightly bashfulness there too. He held his fist out for me to bump in a bro-ish manner. I obviously obliged, wondering whether even a simple touch of his knuckles against mine would increase my arousal (it did, fucking HELL it did). “Always fun posing for an appreciative muscle fan!” I wanted to ask for more. I wanted to watch Liam hit a whole host of poses. See his lats spread out like wings, and his tits jump up to his chin as he blasted out a front lat spread. Watch his thick pec explode off his chest, and his right bicep bulge as he treated me to a side chest pose. I wanted him to whip off his vest so I could watch his block-like tummy muscles crunch and burst through his gorgeous skin as he squeezed out an abs and thighs pose. And I wanted more of those power packed, trap erupting most musculars. A whole fucking volley of them. One after the other. And while Liam flexed, posed, crunched and scrunched, I wanted to explore every single one of his obscenely developed body parts with my hands. Squeeze every mound of muscle. Feel every lump and bump. To do the thing I’ve wanted to do since opening my very first copy of “FLEX” magazine; worship a real life, competition conditioned muscle monster. I want it. I need it. I have to fucking have it. “Thanks again for coming round, Oscar,” Liam said. I was suddenly snapped back to reality. “No worries,” I feebly said. “Thanks for the er… trunks,” I said, blushing at the reference to the inexplicably shiny red posers I was probably going to blow a massive load into as soon as I got home. He grinned in response. The most gorgeous, dimple revealing grin. I was gonna miss those dimples. “No problem, mate!” Liam said chirpily. “Glad to be able to repay you for giving me back the others,” he said, referring to the sentimental trunks he’d not long been reunited with. Liam turned to walk out of his bedroom door, and I took a step to follow, but something was suddenly bursting to get out of me. I’d been brave enough to contact Liam. To come to his flat. To give him back the missing posers I’d found, obsessed about, developed a crazy obsession with, and finally creamed into. I’d been brave enough to wander into his bedroom uninvited. To check out the sparkly pink posing trunks lying on his bed. To reach into the drawer full of posing trunks. To pull one out and take a big whiff of the material. I’d been brave enough to admit to Liam that I had a fetish for shiny posers. But it wasn’t enough. There was something else I needed before I left Liam’s flat. Something that would take just one last ounce of bravery. I want it. I need it. I have to fucking have it. “WAIT!”

Chapter Two - My Turn I barely remember the ten minute drive home but once inside the safety of my house I collapsed on the floor and started to sob. How could I be aroused by such an evil person? I got up and made it to the bathroom and started the shower. I purposely didn’t look at myself in the mirror. I was so ashamed of myself. As the hot water ran over my skin I finally started to relax. Flashes of Carl being dominated and humiliated by Bruce kept creeping into my mind. Then it wasn’t Carl I was thinking about. I only pictured Bruce. His massively hulking body lifting insane amounts of weights. Sweat puddling on the floor as he pushed his already massive body to new limits of growth. Minutes passed before I snapped out of my daydream only to discover that I was stroking my cock. My heart leap but I couldn’t stop jerking. I closed my eyes again and pictured Bruce hitting that terrifying most muscular pose just inches from my face. I could practically see the blood being pumped through the countless veins that covered every inch of his body. Less than ten strokes later, I sprayed a massive load of hot cum all over the side of the shower. I stepped out of the shower and caught my reflection in the mirror. I caressed my wet, smooth hard pecs and smiled. Maybe it wasn’t Bruce as much as his size that was getting me off. That thought brought some comfort to my racing mind. “That must be the reason” I muttered. “I could never be attracted to an asshole like that.” It was true that the larger I became, the more mass I wanted for myself. In the last two years I had become obsessed with getting bigger. I still remember the turning point years ago when I decided that enough was enough. I joined the gym on my 34th birthday and never looked back. While I had been making good gains, I was still nowhere near as big as I wanted to get. The more I thought about this, the more relaxed I started to feel. It wasn’t Bruce I wanted, it was his size. I feel asleep that night thinking about what being 332lbs of massive, superhuman would feel like. When I woke up the next day, I chalked the pervious day up as just a fluke, brought on by my desire to get bigger. For the next three weeks my workouts were amazing; I had even gained another five pounds of new muscle. I was also fortunate to not run into Bruce again. Maybe his final humiliation would be the last time I ever laid eyes on the beast…until today. --- If I was impressed by my own weight gain recently, Bruce looked to have tripled my gains. Three weeks ago he reached an astounding 332lbs but seeing him across the gym I would have guessed he’d added 15 more pounds for pure muscle. I did my best not to let Bruce’s presence derail my workout. I settled into a pretty good chest workout only flinching every time I heard Bruce let out a loud grunt or when he slammed heavy weights down. I tried not to look in his direction but I couldn’t help but glance over at him as he flaunted his growing body for the whole gym to see. I was also encouraged by the fact that as obnoxious as he was; he did not seem to be tormenting anything today. That was of course until I accidentally made eye contact with him. I had just racked my final bench press set an sat up on the bench. I lifted my head and Bruce’s hulking frame was directly across from me. He was using the bench press rack opposite me. He had just racked his weight and sat up at the exact same time. Terror overtook my body as our eyes meet. A cocky grin crept across Bruce’s face and he clasped his hands together and his upper body started to swell. He leaned forward causing his vein-covered shoulders to erupt with the deepest striations I’d ever witnessed. His thick meaty traps rose to suffocate his pillar-thick neck. As his already inhumanly massive arms reached full flex, there wasn’t a part of his upper body that still resembled what was considered human. I remember thinking LOOK AWAY but was unable to do so. It was at that moment Bruce stood up and started to move towards me. I froze in terror as the massive freak stood over my trembling body. “Good set?” I heard him ask. Too scared to look up, I just nodded my head. Suddenly I felt his enormous hand cup my chin and force my head up to meet his manic stare. He let go of me, knowing I wasn’t stupid enough to look away. I stared at a wall of flesh and veins that eclipsed everything else around me. Involuntarily the massive man’s pumped pecs twitched and flexed. Deep, sweaty cuts appeared on every inch of exposed skin. “Bet you wish you had pecs like this.” He said and turned his body 90 degrees. With a grunt he positioned his hands and started to hit a side-chest pose. Instantly, his body inflated. His already blood-engorged chest tripled in size. The overdeveloped muscles contorted and solidified inches from my face. His chest ballooned to it’s maximum size, causing his chin to rest between their deep cleavage. As if sensing my thoughts, he relaxed slightly and repositioned himself. To my utter disbelief, his chest grew even bigger. He literally transformed himself before my eyes from a being so huge, any professional bodybuilder would be envious of to something entirely inhuman. Deep separations between each muscle group tightened as every space and gap filled with hard, powerful muscle. I could see his entire body tremble to display his superior mass and conditioning. It was at his full flex that he glanced down between my legs. He stopped posing and a huge grin came over his face. “Holy shit! Looks like someone has a crush on Bruce’s big muscles.” I covered my raging hard-on instantly but it was too late. A new level of terror overtook me. “Hey everyone! Looks like this little faggot has a crush on me!” Bruce yelled so the entire gym could hear. Desperate to get away, I tried to stand up but with seemly little effort, Bruce pushed my back down on the bench. “Well little man. If you like this body so much, why don’t I give you a real show” Bruce said with a chuckle and took a few steps back. With one fluid motion, he stripped off his skin-tight shirt and tossed it aside. He then grabbed the waist band of his baggy shorts and pulled them past his ridiculously massive quads. He stood straight up, exposing his nearly naked body. Underneath his clothes he wore a bright blue pair of underwear that left nothing to the imagination. I was aware my mouth was open and tears we running down my face but I could do nothing to stop it. “You think this 67” chest is huge? Check out the rest of this 340lb BEAST.” He bellowed. Bruce planted his feet and started to flex. Displaying inconceivable muscle control, he started to flex individual body parts. It was obvious which parts he was flexing as they visible tripled in size instantly. He began with his calves. Like the day with Carl; each calf muscle mutated into rock hard muscle and thick, snake-like veins. “25 inches.” Bruce said as he reached full flex “Biggest calves on the fucking planet.” he said. Then his quads sprang to life. I swear there was an audible rumble as the thick muscles started to expand. Once again, Bruce’s muscle control was incredible. The separate muscle groups of his quads seemed to flex independent of each other. Un-flexed, they hung over his relatively tiny knee joints. With a grunt, they flexed to impossible density and raw power. Veins always criss-crossed their surface but when flexed the display was downright frightening. Through gritted teeth Bruce muttered “38 inches”. In the distance I heard someone stifle a scream. As impossibly massive as Bruce was, he still maintained an incredibly balanced physique. The sweep pf his quads was text book perfect and somehow made him look even larger than he clearly already was. With a primal growl the monstrous freak standing two feet way raised his bloated arms and somehow tucked them behind his brick-hard abs. He dropped his shoulders and started to expand his lats. At first nothing happened, with the exception of his traps and shoulders engulfing his head, then suddenly his lats sprang into action. Within seconds he looked to be as wide as he was tall. Thick, dense, piles of muscle exploded from each side. Momentarily there was a gap between his arms and back but quickly that disappeared as his lats spread even further. When I thought the flex had hit it’s apex, Bruce did the impossible. He gritted his teeth and let out a roar that shook the walls of the gym. I couldn’t contain my reaction and let our a loud whimper. Bruce’s massive form morphed right before my eyes. Every pro-bodybuilder I’d even seen online, every fantasy I ever had thinking of growing bigger and bigger, even the photoshopped pictures I’ve viewed hundreds of time paled in comparison to what I was witnessing. Every inch of the behemoth’s body was flexed to it’s maximum. Veins visibly throbbed and sweat was literally pouring off him. Even his face was covered in a network of veins. The sight was too much for most people to handle. To say that Bruce looked grotesque was an understatement. He no longer looked human. Instead he was nothing but one massive wall of quivering muscle. Bruce was visibly struggling to hold the epic flex but somehow managed to fight through he pain. Even more surprising, he was able to speak one word directed at me. “C-C-CUM!” he screamed. At that moment I lost all control of my body. It was as if I was watching myself from above. Unable to contain my reaction to the sight in front of me I felt my body convulsing. I remember feeling the sensation of wetness running down my leg but I could not take my eyes of Bruce’s body. Only when he finally relaxed the pose could I look down and see that I had sprayed a bucket of cum onto the gym floor; without touching myself. I looked back at Bruce who was breathing heavy and laughing at me. “Looks like the little faggot couldn’t handle all this muscle.” I was suddenly aware of what had just happened and that all eyes were on me. I was completely modified and jumped off the bench and started to run towards the front door. I remember stumbling a couple of times as my brain could not control my feet. By the time I reached my car I was crying uncontrollably. I don’t remember the drive home but I remained in my driveway for close to an hour sobbing before mustering the strength to go inside. I took the following week off of work. I was too embarrassed and depressed to face the world. But as my hurt feeling faded a new emotion started to take over - rage. I was no longer mesmerized by Bruce’s massive body; I was disgusted by the evil person he was. The more I dwelled on what happened at the gym, more focused I became. Sure, I spent a few days in bed feeling sorry for myself but the rest of time away from society I became obsessed. I was determined to enact revenge on Bruce and wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop me.

Look forward to MORE PLEASE!!!!

Everything in that moment seemed to happen in slow motion. A sudden, intense panic took over. I jumped, threw the trunks back in the drawer and turned to find Liam “The Guns" Watson in his mint green vest, and all two hundred plus pounds of his insanely huge muscle filling up his bedroom doorframe. A look of utter confusion sat on his achingly gorgeous face. “Were you ... sniffing my posers?!” OH GOD. This can’t be happening. This can NOT be happening. “NO!” I cried, instinctively. But as soon as I said it, I knew it was ridiculous. He’d caught me red fucking handed. I sighed. “I mean. Yes!” I confessed, completely surprising myself. Liam was still looking confused. “Why?!” he asked. He didn’t seem angry. More just baffled. My brain went into overdrive as I tried to think of a conceivable explanation as to why I was standing uninvited in a bodybuilder’s bedroom sniffing a pair of his posing trunks. But there wasn’t one. There was only one possible explanation. Only one thing to do. I had to tell Liam the truth. I winced, closed my eyes, scared of what I was about to say, but knowing I had to say it anyway, and then just blurted it out. “Because I love posing trunks!” I opened my eyes, a strange relief coming over me. “You ... love posing trunks?” Liam repeated, his eyebrows furrowed. I nodded, feeling sheepish and nervous, but also strangely elated. “I guess ... I sort of have a thing for them?!” “Huh!” Liam replied. “What kind of a thing?” he asked, folding his huge arms across his chest so they bulged and popped to an outrageous degree (FUCK)! He was still confused, but it didn’t seem like he was judging me. More than anything, he just seemed curious. “Ummmm…” I began, not really knowing how to explain. “I guess, like, how some people are into ... sexy underwear?” Sexy underwear they wanna wear under their jeans to Tesco. Sexy underwear they wanna sit in at home and spunk a huge creamy load into while watching a bodybuilding blowing up his nickname earning biceps on their laptops! SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT! “Oh right!” he exclaimed. “So it’s like ... a fetish?” “I guess,” I sheepishly said, feeling my cheeks begin to flush. It’s funny, because I’ve never really thought of my love for shiny posers as being a fetish, but I guess that was probably the easiest way for Liam to have understood it. “Are other people into this?” he asked. “Yeah! I mean, it’s pretty rare. But yeah … there are others,” I replied, thinking about the fellow trunk lovers I’d spoken to on muscle blogs, via email, and on Twitter, who go just as bonkers over a pair of shiny colourful, glute hugging trunks as I do. “What is it about them?!” Oh God. “Erm … I dunno. The shape. The look. The material. Everything really!” I explained, surprising myself at how honest and detailed I was being. The whole situation was incredible surreal. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. I’d just been caught sniffing a pair of posing trunks by the very bodybuilder who owned them and now I was confessing that they turned me on. I was scared, nervous, aroused and excited. All at fucking once. And then Liam said something which invoked another emotion; complete and utter surprise. “Huh!” he began, still with his obscenely huge arms folded across his chest; the veins popping through the hairless, bronzed tinted skin struggling to contain the pure mass it was covering. “Well, mate, this is a new one on me, but ... I think I kinda get it!” What. The. FUUUUUCCCKKK!! I was gob smacked. Completely and utterly speechless. What the fuck was going on?! “I mean ... I’m not into them the same way you are, “ Liam began. “But I do love my posing trunks. I mean … you can probably see that for yourself.” As he said this he gestured to the still open drawer containing his posing trunk collection. “There’s definitely something about them,” he confessed. “I usually just wear them for when I’m posting pictures on the Internet. And for competitions obviously. But sometimes ... I think about wearing them just for fun.” OH MY FUCKING GOD!! “I don't really know why”, Liam continued. “It’s kind of like an urge. Instead of wearing boxers, I sometimes think about just popping some shiny trunks on and going down to the shops with them on under my jeans …” PANT PANT FUCKING PANT!! “Is that mad?!” he asked, grinning slightly. “Ummmm …” I replied, wanting to tell him that actually YES - it was a tiny bit bonkers. But also just about the sexiest thing he could have possibly fucking said to me. “Wow! So you must have thought you’d struck gold when you found my trunks in your washing?" he asked, with a cheeky smile. My cheeks suddenly reddened but I couldn’t help but smirk back. “Ummm ... kinda,” I replied, feeling like a giddy teenager in the presence of a boy he had a secret crush on. “So ... I gotta ask. Why d’ya give ‘em back?” Ooooh … errrmm, I dunno. To meet the huge, gorgeous muscle bull who’d made me spunk something fucking rotten (IN his own fucking posers) by blowing up his ginormous guns for the camera. “It kinda just felt like the right thing to do,” I lied. Liam’s mouth curled into an adorable grin, and when I saw those cute little dimples emerge on his cheeks, I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn’t been completely honest with him. I decided to balance this out by telling him a truth. It was probably good that this was said so hastily in my attempt to ease my conscious, because if I’d have thought it through before hand, I probably wouldn’t have said it. “Plus ... I guess I just wanted to meet you,” I said, blushing furiously. “Ahhhh. Mate!” Liam replied bashfully, but smirking in a way that one does when they’ve just been thrown a compliment. “You know, that’s one part of being well known on the bodybuilding scene that I can’t get used to,” Liam began. “People that I don’t know wanting to meet me. Talk to me even. It’s happening more and more since I started “The Guns” nickname. I mean, it’s awesome. And flattering. But ... I’m just a lad who likes to lift things …” Liam “The Guns” Watson - marry me NOW! “… and stomp around stages in shiny, tiny posers, obviously,” he added, grinning. Hold that thought. I’m just gonna spunk in my boxers first. FUCKING HELL!! “So, I take it you have your own posing trunk collection?” Liam asked. I couldn’t help but smirk at this. Just the fact that a bodybuilder was asking me if I owned posing trunks in such a casual manner was both absurd, and fucking incredible. “Erm … no actually!” I replied. “I don't even have one pair!” “Why not?” Liam asked. “I dunno!” I was still smirking, trying to wonder whether I was actually having this conversation, or whether someone was about to come along and pinch me to wake me up. “I guess I’ve always been worried I’ll look a little silly in them,” I replied, honestly. “You could definitely pull them off!” he exclaimed. I grinned even more as Liam’s eyes, once again, focused on my upper arms. Of all the things that had happened at Liam’s flat up until that moment, nothing was as surprising as what the gorgeous muscle bull in front of me did next. He looked at his open drawer, which contained what had to be one of the hottest and most impressive collection of posers in the country, if not the fucking world. His eyes then fell on me again, and he seemed to contemplating something. Battling with himself, even, over whether he should say what he was thinking. He then shook his head to himself and firmly said, “Fuck it! Take ‘em!” Completely confused, I stood there looking at Liam. He signalled to the open drawer. “Take the red trunks.” Ermm. Huh! WHAT?!! “I owe you one for bringing my special blue ones back. So you can have the red ones. I probably have way too many pairs anyway.” What. The. Actual. Fuckety. Fucking. FUCK?! I was dumbfounded. Not only had Liam been unbelievably cool and calm with the fact that he’d not only caught me in his bedroom uninvited, but with a pair of his posers shoved in my face, not to mention my confession that I secretly got the horn for shiny posers, but he was now actually gifting me said posing trunks. Right there in that moment, looking at the insanely gorgeous muscle freak before me, tanned and bulging out of his mint green vest while his outrageously hot Mohawk sat on his insanely hot head, I swear, diary, I actually fell a little bit in love with him. “Are you sure?” I tentatively asked, hoping and praying that the answer would be “YES.” “Take ‘em before I change my mind,” he said. I reached in the drawer and my cock juddered as I was, once again, instantly met with the soft, shiny fabric of posers, and pulled out the bright red ruby trunks. I blushed furiously as I awkwardly stood there with my brand new gifted posers clutched in my right hand. Liam was mischievously grinning at me. It seemed as if he was enjoying seeing me squirm. “I reckon those bad boys’ll suit you!” he said. I goofily grinned and just stood there, red faced, letting him tease me for his own enjoyment. Letting him do whatever the FUCK he wants to me. “Well, thanks again for bringing my trunks back to me, mate! And I hope, ummmm ... I lived up to the bodybuilder on the Instagram profile?” he said, slightly bashfully. “God yeah!” I enthusiastically replied, without hesitation. Liam chuckled. “I hope “The Guns” lived up to it too!” he added, with a devilish grin. “Definitely!” I replied, feeding his ego. With the surrealism of enjoying friendly banter with a bodybuilder about the size of his biceps, I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. I didn’t think there was anything he could have said, or done, to make me blush even more at that point, so I reasoned I had nothing left to lose. “I loved that front double bicep shot you posted last weekend!” I said. “Oh yeah?” Liam replied. “That was a popular one!” And then with one swift movement, Liam instructing me take his ruby red posing trunks suddenly wasn’t the greatest moment of our encounter.

(A little quickie update ... sorry I haven't been working on this as much as I wanted to!) Dazed and frustrated, I took a bus back to the house. I felt ... different, now. I felt like a toy in their hands. I realized, no matter where I ran into the big hulks of muscle and sex-- home, class, where ever, there was now a high probability that i would catch them in some form of sexual congress. Just thinking about watching Billy or Nick, or even Chris, in "fuck on" mode again would cause instant hardness in my pants. I still wrestled with my desire for them, and, looking back now, I realize this is around the time I began to change inside. I mean, just for me to be with -any- guy I had to be drunk or very high, but now every wet dream, every jerk off in the shower, every quick fantasy scene between classes, was all about their muscles. I always came the hardest when my internal spank bank featured Nick slapping me in the face with his monster cock or Bill making me slowly worship his body. I was starting to feel guilty about my lust-filled fantasies of my three roommates. These jerk-off sessions were admittedly consuming WAY too much of my free time, but, then again, everyone else around them was acting just as obsessively horny as I was, weren't they? Wasn't I allowed to have some "personal time" dedicated to explosive, muscle-based ejaculations? I mean, I wasn't throwing myself at any of them like the rest of the basic whores hovering around them. And, I was probably around the trio like twice as much as your normal joe. I should get some credit for that! And, come to think of it, since when is enormous muscle, like, everyone's turn on?? Maybe more than just their muscle growth was enhanced by that weird light. Maybe they now had some supernatural sex appeal, too! ... Man, I could've had all that, too, if I wasn't such a god damned wuss! As I walked back from the bus stop, I looked at the sky and saw that was indeed full moon. Funny. I would have been a bit more interested, except for the fact that Nick's big, little show had left me dizzy, disoriented, and really tired. I fumbled around with my key in the main door back at the house. I pretty much fell inside once the lock finally relented and stumbled even more because the lights were all off. I grumbled to myself and felt along the wall for the big, push-button antique switches, but froze when i felt something behind me. I started to turn towards the huge thing i felt towering over me, when I felt a long, thin ... thing ... strike the side of my face. Panic-- but then a relaxed exhale as I realized what it was: that damn snake of Chris'. But how was it up high enough to touch my face? Freaked out again, I popped on the lights only to find Chris standing right in front of me. He wearing a red shirt and had his monstrous snake around his neck. “What the fuck, Chris!? You fucking scared the shit outta me!” I pushed him with an angry, playful shove, but he didn't budge. He didn’t say a word, just stared at me. His pectorals were inches from my face and my brain started backtracking and focusing on the masses of muscle my hands just felt. He sneered a bit and I looked down to see he was holding an empty bottle of vodka. He was only in his briefs and a tight shirt, crammed to overflowing, like Bill or Nick. My jaw involuntarily dropped open, and I noticed the huge lump in his boxers start to move as it swelled in size. I stepped back. I hadn't seen Chris in the flesh for several weeks. Seeing him made me realize that he had to have been growing faster than either of the other two. He was a total twig in the beginning, like me, and now he was ... well ... huge! His guns were easily twenty inches! He had been avoiding me as much as I had been avoiding him, I guess. But, apparently, he had decided it was time to change that. Chris dropped the empty bottle and patted the big yellow snake on the head. He stepped closer to me, sending the bottle spinning off into the darkness where it struck something and smashed apart. I was suddenly, genuinely scared! I turned to go back out the front door, but Chris reached over me and slammed it shut in my face. I turned back towards the monster of muscle, full of fear and full of lust. I backed up against the door as he took another step closer, his huge dick sticking straight out in front of him, leading the way. His muscled forearm still held the door closed over my shoulder, and he used his other hand to pull down on his giant pole while taking another step into me. He let go of his dick as he pressed against me, making it whap my nuts hard between my legs. I gasped as he pushed upwards against me, letting me, no, making me, feel the absolute enormity of his body and the solid mass of strength that his dick had become. A bear-like growl, a bass-only "mmmmmm," escaped from his lips and he ground his massive frame against my fragile body. Our eyes were locked, though mine were full mostly of fear, while his were filled with fiery animal lust. I couldn't control myself anymore, and found my hand reaching down to explore the solid manhood between his-- our legs-- the manhood that was pushing up, hard under my own, and almost lifting me off the ground. His other arm slammed against the door behind me, bracing himself against the house, but also trapping me in a human cage. My brave hand made contact with the base of his unbelievable cock, causing his slitted, hungry, animal eyes to open a bit, reviving his humanity. "Chris..." I eeked out as I made contact. "Oh, my fucking God..." followed, as an unwanted whisper from my wet lips as I realized the fingertips of my big hand we nowhere near connecting. I strained, stretching my hand around his impressive steel, but no go. I was really unable to completely grip his cock. It was at the point, also, that I realized his dick had literally torn through the front of his boxers, leaving the fabric remains in shreds. I shuddered. He grinned. A droplet of drool rolled down around and off my lower lip. His breath reeked of vodka and his swollen body oozed alpha pheromones as he pressed into me. On auto-pilot, my hand pulled slowly, but forcefully, down the length of his dick, my grip widened by his size along the way. My eyes must have glazed over into pure lust as I continued to feel out his organ, because his body relaxed quite a bit, stepping down from animal attacking to animal mating. My hand reached the point where his insane manhood pressed up into my nuts and I realized I was harder than I'd ever been in my entire life. I grabbed at my own dick and pushed it down hard against his, amazed at the unbelievable difference in size. I wasn't huge by any standards, but I was still happy with my 7 inches... until now. Granted, I couldn't see the whole thing, but his dick looked like it was twice the size of mine-- length AND girth! The big yellow and white boa had been making its way down his back and finally met the floor with a thud. One danger out of the way! My eyes moved back up from the floor to his and he puffed out his already huge chest. God he was gorgeous. Why hadn't I noticed this before?? Beautiful, sparkling blue eyes, deep like the ocean, straight, bright white teeth, angular, model-like jaw and cheek bones-- Chris suddenly moved one of his arms from over my shoulder and flexed a bicep right in front of my face-- right in front of my mouth. Time froze. My eyes widened. His grin reappeared, cocky as ever. His bicep twicted almost imperceptibly an inch or three from the tip of my nose. "Chris..." I somehow said, finally, annoyed and surprised how my drooling mouth had suddenly become so bone dry, "... shit... the size of it..." I wanted so bad to reach both my hands up and feel every inch of the super-heavy bodybuilder's-sized bicep right in front of my face, but i was afraid-- afraid of chris' drunken anger and afraid of my overwhelming lust. Chris grunted and his cock thrummed against my nuts. I took that as the go-ahead to touch. I palmed the enormous peak with one hand and smacked up against the huge tricep with the other. I came. Hard. Yup! Right then and there, I unloaded in my pants, just from touching his swollen, hard bicep. But! In my defense, this was insanely hot scene! And, I really had held off for an impressively long time, considering! Chris had managed to trigger so many of my hidden fetishes, scenes from my Porn To-Do/Wish List, and muscle god fantasies, that he made me unload like a week's-worth of jizz, right in our foyer, while fully dressed, and without a single finger of my own anywhere near my dick. But I think what really sealed the deal for me, was the sheer amount of bicep that remained uncovered by my oversized hands. There were actual inches of muscle untouched between my two thumbs, with zero chance of them meeting over the mass. As my jizz soaked my pants, I suddenly got very embarrassed. I couldn't think straight. I was vulnerable, exposed. I bolted. My hands actually left the rock solid, warm bliss they were holding onto and I ran. Ducking under his massive frame, I squirreled my way back and around and behind and up the stairs towards my room. My heart was absolutely pounding and the adrenaline super-charged my escape. Up. Up. Up. Top. Quick right. Run run run run run. Right. Hallway. Door! I made it! I slammed my bedroom door behind me as hard as I could, locking the flimsy little bolt, and slid down to the floor, panting, reeling. (contiuned....)

This is a new story I've been working on which I'll be posting here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog. It's written in diary format and sees a muscle addict called Oscar encounter a local bodybuilder. As you can probably guess from the title, there's a pretty heavy focus on posing trunks! HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? Monday July 10th Dear Muscle Diary, Here are five things about muscle that drive me completely and utterly bonkers. #1. Biceps Big, granite hard, croquet ball shaped guns. Huge, freaky, vein encrusted peaks. Insanely pumped, thinly skinned, beyond human biceps. Guns that erupt to heart stopping proportions when blown up in an incredible front double bicep pose. Cannons that explode either side of (and look just as fucking big as!) the head of the muscle beast who owns them when rocking out a cheeky abs and thighs. Biceps that tense into a ball of rock hard, marble-like muscle mass and explode off the upper arm of a bodybuilder when he’s blasting out a massive side chest. FUCK YES! #2. Pecs Mammoth sized, patio slab tits. Absurdly developed, vein plastered chest pillows. Deliciously thick mounds of incredibly dense chest muscle. Pecs that hang off the torso of a jacked up muscle bull, begging to be squeezed, tensed and flexed. Chests that jump up like a cobra trying to attack the owner’s chin when he hits a front lat spread. Tits that bounce up and down like two puppies in a sack when the two hundred plus pounds muscle God they’re attached to decides to treat his adoring audience to a spot of pec bouncing. BOING! #3. Attitude/Cocky Posing For me, diary, the way a bodybuilder poses, and the attitude he adopts when he’s flexing, both on and off stage, has a huge part to play in how hot I find him. Nothing gets me going more than seeing a competition conditioned muscle freak stomping and strutting around a stage while displaying the most outrageously cocky, testosterone fuelled, power packed ‘tude! Ripped up muscle lads who really give it hell on stage, pulling all manner of shamelessly cocky facial expressions. Juiced up muscle pups who scrunch up their faces to absolute buggery and cheekily stick their tongues out as they squeeze their tan drenched mass. Roided up beef monsters who grunt, groan and yell as they crank out their poses with only mission on their minds; to make every audience member cream in their pants. FUCK YEAH LADS! #4. Glutes Obscenely developed, indecently muscular rumps. Enormous sized, gravity defying bottoms. Freakishly striated, line plastered glutes. Alien-like, shredded to buggery booties that explode with lines, details and striations when tensed and flexed on stage. Wafer thin skin encased arses so insanely conditioned you could grab a block of cheddar and use them as a fucking cheese grater. Gigantic orbs of ass meat that greedily gobble up the back of the tiny, shiny posing trunks of the owner. YOINK! #5. POSING TRUNKS! It’s not just the image of competition conditioned bodybuilders that drives me nuts. It’s also the outrageous clothing garments known as posing trunks they’re required on wear on stage. Yes diary ... I FUCKING LOVE POSING TRUNKS!! Brightly coloured, teenie weenie trunks so unbelievably shiny you need sunglasses to look directly at them. Micro sized posers whose stupidly thin straps get pulled up and yanked during a cheeky lat spread (YOINK)! Shiny as shit trunks which get plastered in greasy, golden tan and fucking drenched with the sweat of the muscle bull wearing them during competitions (SLURP)! Bright pink, glute hugging trunks. Glittery gold, bulge stretching trunks. TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS! Yours, Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed muscle addict) Wednesday July 12th Dear Muscle Diary, Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!! You will not believe what has happened. Or what I'm now in possession of, and staring at, right at this very moment. FUCK!! OK, let me start at the beginning. So, tonight was washing night at my local launderette (whoop whoop). Wednesday's are not usually very busy but, for some reason, tonight all of the machines were being used. I was about to leave when I noticed that one had finished its cycle but, annoyingly, no one seemed to be taking their newly washed clothes out of the machine. I sat on the bench and started to read a book, in hope that the washing would be collected, or that another machine would be freed up shortly. Ten or so minutes into waiting (double fucking bugger) and I was seriously considering giving up and trying again for tomorrow night when, who should walk into the laundrette, but the man who owned the finished washing sitting in the machine. But not just any man. Oh no, diary. A fucking BODYBUILDER!! My jaw almost dropped to the floor when he walked in. Because of where I was sitting, I could only see him from the back initially. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick fucking shit house. A huge barn door back stretched out a black hoodie with the words "DEANO'S GYM" written on the back. Deano’s is a local hardcore bodybuilding gym. If a bodybuilder were to hail from Brighton, he'd almost be guaranteed to have trained there. Two gigantic orbs of ass meat were stretching his black shorts, making up one of the biggest and most perfectly round arses I have ever seen on a man. And on the lower part of his legs sat two ridiculously huge and developed calves. Every single person in the laundrette looked up at the sight of this monstrous bodybuilder waddling through the shop. When he was done throwing his washing into a bag, and finally freeing up the machine, he turned to head for the door, and that's when I managed to get a view of him from the front. Ho. Lee. Fucking. Shit! Well, my eyes went straight to the top of his enormous chest. Peeking out of the top of his gym hoodie zipper, I could just see the top of two plates of thick muscle, separated by a deep groove in between. Other than his shins and his thick bull neck, it was, sadly, the only glimpse of flesh I got to see. But something else more than made up for the that. Now able to see the muscle monster’s face, I could see that he was exceptionally fucking sexy in the looks department. Undeniably British and extremely masculine, but with a hint of boyish charm, I guessed he was no older than his early thirties. His hair was styled into a trendy quiff, but shaved really short at the sides. His complexion, while not quite competition bronzed, was more tanned than the average British man. Even for July. He strolled out of the door with his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the gawps and stares of every average sized person in the launderette. The way he walked, the way he looked, everything about him just exuded this incredible confidence, that sat just below that fine line which crossed into arrogance. The whole scene was incredibly surreal, not to mention insanely horny. This ginormous sized, juiced up, muscle bull casually strolling through the run down launderette I frequented on an almost weekly bases. FUCK!! So, you're probably now thinking that that's the end of the story? The reason for my overexcitement at the beginning of this diary entry? An awesome and horny muscle sighting involving a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder?! WRONG!! So, with the washing machine previously used by the muscle beast now freed up, I dumped my clothes in there without really paying much attention to what I was doing; my mind still pre-occupied with thoughts of the absurdly sexy, big bummed gorilla I'd just unexpectedly encountered. An hour later, and still on a high from the muscle sighting, I was throwing my now washed clothes into one of the launderette 's tumble dryers when I suddenly noticed something tangled up in my washing which made my heart jump into my fucking throat! In amongst my wet towels and work shirts, I could see something foreign, blue, bright and shiny, and I knew, in an instant, exactly what it was. You know that scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, where Charlie Bucket opens the bar of chocolate and gets a glimpse of the shiny golden ticket? Well now I know exactly how Charlie felt. I reached my hand into the dryer, and tentatively pulled on the blue, shiny fabric, just enough to confirm that, mixed up with my washing, was a pair of genuine bodybuilder’s posing trunks! FUCK!! I shut the dryer door, put the spin on and sat back down in the bench; grinning like crazy and barely able to contain my excitement. The gorgeous Deano’s Gym attending muscle bull had accidentally left a pair of his posing trunks in the machine, and I had clearly not noticed them when I'd popped my washing in after him. Of course, the right thing to do in this situation would have been to hand the stray garments in. And normally I would have. But this was no normal situation. And these were no ordinary garments. These were fucking posers! Actual posers from an actual fucking bodybuilder. The thing that turned me on, only second to the type of roided freaks and monsters who wore them on stage. My dick had started to stir and grow the second I clapped eyes on the blue material, and had grown further the moment my fingers had made contact with the fabric. Fuck! I'd actually touched a pair of shiny posers!! FUCK!! I was actually now potentially in possession of a pair for of shiny posers! Triple fucking FUCK! Unless the bodybuilder came back to retrieve them before the dryer stopped, of course. And then I had an image of the muscle bull storming back into the launderette, checking the machine, frantically looking around and approaching the old dear who worked there looking for his missing posing. But such an event did not occur and, before I knew it, my dryer had stopped and my washing was done. There was no way I was going to hand the trunks in, not least of all because I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than handing a pair of bright blue posers to the lovely, but slightly batty, old woman working there. I could have left them in the dryer I guess. That would have been the second most moralistic thing to do. But I didn't. Because I knew that if I did, I would always regret it. So I did what any sane muscle addict with a rampant love for tiny, glute hugging posing trunks would have done. I scooped my washing from the dryer into my bag, making sure that no item had been left behind. Whilst heading to the door, a man sitting on the bench gave me a curious look, a little like I was a crazy person, because I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face or hide the elation I was feeling knowing that in my bag was a pair of the thinly stripped, super shiny posing trunks of a gorgeous, roid munching competitive bodybuilder. JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST. The whole walk home I was absolutely buzzing. I kept thinking about what was in my bag at that precise moment, intertwined with my boxer shorts and t-shirts. I couldn't fucking wait to get home and examine the posers further. The moment that came and I was stood in my bedroom with my washing bag placed on the bed, my heart was pounding like crazy. It was madness! How could an item of clothing stir such intense feelings in me? I rummaged through the bag and, once again, my dick began to swell and my excitement grew when my fingers and eyes were met with the shiny blue posing trunk material. Retrieving the freshly washed trunks from the bag I held them up in front of me and just revelled in the horniness and amazingness of what I was holding in my hands. They looked even shinier than they had from the tumble dryer. It sounds crazy - I had seen so many pictures of videos of bodybuilders wearing posing trunks, but never, ever did I imagine that they'd be so shiny in real life. Or that the fabric would feel so good in my fingertips. I ran my hands over the thick, shiny pouch, my fingertips up and down the thin, wiry straps, flipped them around and felt the blue material which made up the back. I suddenly had an image of the muscle bull I'd so brilliantly seen earlier that day waddling towards me in the launderette, hitting a monstrous crab most muscular, tanned up to shit and wearing these very posers and my fully erect cock juddered furiously in my boxers. I don't know why I did what I did next. I bought the trunk pouch to my nose and, bringing the material to my face, I took a big sniff of the shiny fabric. Predictably, I was hit with the smell of fabric conditioner. But there was something else hidden there too - the incredibly horny scent of the material itself, which no doubt would have been stronger, sexier and more intense when the muscle bull had bought them brand new. I wanted more than anything to take my jeans and boxers off. To work the trunks up my regular sized, non muscular legs and nestle my throbbing cock into the shiny blue pouch. But something stopped me. The knowledge that they weren't really mine. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Instead, I just I lay the trunks on my bed and marvelled at the beauty and all out fucking sexiness of them. A pair of bodybuilders posing trunks. Brighter, shinier and hornier than I could ever have imagined. Yours, Oscar Grimes (sort of proprietor of tiny, shiny posing trunks - FUCK!)

Yes, I know: Another one too similar to the ones I have written in the past, but I wanted to let it out of my system. I hope someone will enjoy it anyhow. The third report "Initiating the third report. It is now... Ehhhh... 1308 hours on the appointed date, and the test subject has entered the chamber. If I may speak frankly, Sir, I would lie, if I told you, that I am not disappointed by your absence, but I hope, that this voice report will reach you, as soon as you will be back from your emergency mission. Our research project is proceeding slightly ahead of schedule, which is a good sign. As I mentioned in the first report and the second report, it seems like I have been able to bring the levels of pain down to the negligible, and I have also found a way to alleviate the residual pain, which will silence those who doubted that The Procedure would be within the perimeters of the ethical guidelines. Present in Lab 2 is me – that is Dr. Dubois – Guard number 4, Test Subject X1 and Test Subject X2. Test Subject X3 is already inside the chamber, awaiting the presumed effect of The Procedure. The same is presently working on a level of 23%, and we are thereby beyond the former upper limit of 20%." The sound of heartbeats and the beeping sound of a pulse meter. A hissing sound. "I am increasing the saturation of interior atmosphere, and activate the binaural-isochronic subliminals. The blood pressure of Test Subject X3 is decreasing, probably as a side effect of the analgetic stimulus. The prophylactically administered myostatin inhibitors are expected to have reached full impact by now, and it is now three days since Test Subject X3 was initially injected with the DNA-altering virus. The time schedule for injection of testosterone-enhancers was slightly re-arranged into a pattern deemed more optimal: The first one before sleep yesterday evening, the second one at reveille, and the third one at 1300 hours, now ten minutes ago. An increased production of perspiration is noticed." The sound of heartbeats and the beeping sound of a pulse meter. The hissing sound continued. "The Test Subject decide to use one of the reclining chairs, according to previous agreement: If the analgesics would make him dizzy, he would not hesitate to recline. We don't want the Test Subject to pass out and fall over, since the possibility to evacuate the chamber during peak Procedure is scant. Wait! It seems like something is happening now." The heartbeats and the pulse meter faster now. A muffled sound, almost impossible to hear. "The pulse of the Test Subject is increasing, and a visible re-structuring of his bone-structure is occurring. Since X1 was so typically mesomorph before Procedure, and since X2 belonged to an endomorph body type, we haven't been able to observe skeletal re-arrangement to the same extent before. As you will see in the statistic files, Sir, Test Subject X3 belong to an ectomorph body type, and if it is possible to expose men of his shape to The Procedure, its usefulness will increase manifold, of course. You will be amazed when you study the film sequence of this particular experiment. It is truly amazing! What was he when the experiment began? 170 centimetres? Well, 168 centimetres – about 5 feet 6 inches. And while X2 was overweight when Test 2 began, Test Subject X3 followed a normal weight curve, bordering to the underweight. 55 kilogrammes. Oh! Look at that! I didn't thought that that was even possible!" The muffled sound louder now, but still muffled, like by a very thick glass pane of lead glass. "The perspiration of the Test Subject is still increasing. Let us hope, that he will not dehydrate in there. Look at that! I didn't believe that was possible! Sir! The Test Subject is now rapidly increasing in stature, width and weight – actually beyond our former expectations. He clenches his fists. He stretch his arms and legs, as they actually extend more and more. The Procedure is presently working at a level of 30%. We have never before exposed a human being to this level. His weight has increased to 75 kilogrammes, no he is still increasing in weight: 78 kilogrammes – and all of it muscle mass. No trace of subcutaneous fat whatsoever. Look at that! We are creating a superhuman, but that was the idea of the Meta-Marine project, to begin with, wasn't it? Wait! He is growing even taller and broader! I can't believe it? What does the readings say? 179 centimetres and growing. Over 85 kilogrammes now. He is rising from the chair now. Stands up. He reach out his arms before him and flex his biceps. And pecs. His quads and hamstring force him to change his stance into something more comfortable. I can't believe the sight of that abdomen. A wall of muscle. And every muscle in perfect harmony and symmetry: A man built of boulders. Boulders of steel. That bull neck! Can't believe it is the same man anymore. 185 centimetres and 90 kilogrammes. He seem to roar something. I can't hear what. Signs of sexual arousal, but that's hardly surprising, taking his extreme testosterone levels in consideration... And all readings show, that it is perfectly safe. Perfectly safe! No signs of adverse effects. When the time comes for Experiment number 4 we will be able to take it to further levels, but probably better to abort Experiment 3 at this stage, in order to evaluate the effect, how tempting it would be to continue now. 190 centimetres and 110 kilogrammes! He has gained 55 kilogrammes in a matter of minutes. Those shoulders! And his trapezius! Unreal! Have to switch the chamber off..." Sounds of movement. Sounds of grunts and struggle. A metal vessel falling on a stone floor. A glass object breaking. "What are you doing X2? Let me go!" Boots on floors. More grunts. The sound of the power supply intensifying. The muffled moans and roars from inside the chamber louder now. "What are you doing X1? Leave the controls alone! Don't change the settings! The danger... What are you doing? Where are you taking me and Guard number 4? Maximum dose? You are insane! No! Not inside the chamber! NOT INSIDE THE..." The sound of a deep male voice moaning in pleasure. The hissing sound of a safety sluice. The sound of power supply louder now. Crackling power emissions. Five male voices moaning and grunting. The sound of panic in Dr. Dubois' voice. "NO! I'm inside! I can't get out! Why are you doing this? I and Guard number 4 are unprepared... The danger! You don't understand! What are you doing? You can't be..." Dr. Dubois' voice silenced and turning into moans. A wet, strange sound. Yelps of fear. Fear and pleasure. Heavy breathing. The heavy breathing of three men. Power bolts. The yelps of fear of two men. Breathing heavier now. Wet strange sound. Roars of release. "NO! What's happening to me? The Guard too? You are turning us into Meta-Marines like yourselves? But I'm not... Oh!" Hissing gas. Power bolts. Deepening voices: "Yes! THIS is what we were made for! The FULL effect!" And Dr. Dubois returning. Fear in his voice. Fear receding. Leaving space for something else. Confidence. Mindless revelry. "The Formula? Transmittable? From man to man? Inside me now? Can't believe! NO! I'm not supposed to... Oh! The programming! Can't resist... Fuck! No, oh... Sir! I'm inside the Chamber. X1 and X2 forced me and the Guard inside. I must leave you this report before it is too late... I'm affected by... OH FUCK! The scent of man. The Chamber... So full of it... Growing together... Becoming... this... together... Together with my brothers in arms. FUCK! Look at us! LOOK. AT. US. We are redefining what it mean to be a man. BUILT BY STEEL BOULDERS. So incredibly strong now. All of us. Look at you! And you! All of us. Together. Fighters. The Procedure... 100%. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT! The programming... Why resist it? Why. Resist. Something. So. Overwhelmingly. Uh! Uh, yes! Make me one of us! I'M A META-MARINE NOW! AND I WANT MORE! Yes! All of it! To protect and defend!" Power bolts crackling. A weird and sickly sound of growing meat. Hissing gas. Men moaning. Roaring. "Look at us! None of us under 2 metres! None of us under 200 kilogrammes! All this brawn! Beyond human limits! Masculine perfection! Those pecs! These traps! O, fuck, Bro, what's happening? Too good! Increasing more. Can't believe this muscular power. Yeah! Let me feel those biceps. OH FUCK! Yes, taste my shoulders, Bro. TASTE MY SHOULDERS! Yeah, your lats a incredible, Bro. Pure, indiluted, incredible masculine brawn. Must spread the Procedure. Spread the Procedure to all men. Spread the Gift. All become brothers. Brothers in arms. Sharing the Meta-Marine power." The sound of breaking glass. Metal bending. "Look at the size of us, Bro! Beyond human! Metal can't withstand our strength!" Alarms sounding. Gas hissing. Power bolts. The sound of movement. "Yeah! Look at that! Gas spreading in all vents. The radiation leaking into the entire base. Look at our Bros! They're growing too! All of us. Growing. MORE! Yes! The experiment is a success! MORE! GROW ALL OF US! NEED MORE BRAWN!" A signal. The voice message had abruptly ended. A beep. Welcome [Commander]. You have [seven] new voice messages.

This is the first part of a story I put together on Gay Spiral Stories, which I'm reposting. Here, at least, I can properly use italics. FRAT HOUSE IN THE WOODS: SAM It was the usual dossier. Ordinary intelligence agencies would have considered it bizarrely incomplete, except in certain areas, but the Adjustment Institute was only an intelligence agency in a very specialized sense of the word. Their assessment of their five targets was impressively complete—in the areas it cared about.Lawrence skimmed over it one last time. The old-school dossiers fed you a bunch of raw data about penis length (flaccid and erect), girth, erogenous zone sensitivity, and other bits of extremely technical information. It was an impressive display of just how much raw sexual statistics the Institute could acquire without alerting anyone, but it was a huge amount of effort for something mostly useless. Lawrence had gotten this promotion by figuring out a very clever shortcut for finding the important information. Lawrence couldn’t help but smile a little. Clearly, whoever had written the dossiers had some opinions on how this adjustment should go. Of course, given the writers’ first-class knowledge of the subject, there were certainly worse plans. Yes, Sam Houston would be the first sacrifice on the board. He flicked a finger and beckoned the high-tech viewing glass towards him, and called up a live view of the opening minutes of the ritual: * * * * * The car crossed the city line, and, shortly afterwards, another and invisible line, as it entered the woods and crossed unknowingly into a different kind of space altogether. The five young men reached their destination without incident and piled out to look at their home for the next few days. “It’s bigger than I was expecting,” said Nathan. “Apparently it was going to be a frat house, as part of a Greek village that failed,” said Sam. “That is… an amazingly terrible place to build a Greek village.” Sam shrugged. “I did say it failed. Anyway, the rental was very cheap. And there’s absolutely nothing to do here except finish our article. Is everybody ready to buckle down?” * * * * * And they did. Lawrence fast-forwarded through the entire weekend, which was nothing but five men working steadily on an article for the university’s quarterly magazine. This would never please the Great Ones. Lawrence rewound time back to the beginning of the weekend on the glass and went looking through his tools. He selected an option titled BREAKDOWN. * * * * * The car crossed the city line, and, shortly afterwards, another and invisible line, as it entered the woods and crossed unknowingly into a different kind of space altogether. But there was a hitch, and something on the road tore a hole in one of the tires, forcing four young men to wait while the fifth, the only one who knew about cars, jacked up the car and attached the replacement tire. “Well, at least we’re here,” said Nathan, when they finally were. “Wow, that’s… a big place.” “Man, I don’t even care,” said Sam, who was dirty, sweaty, and disgruntled. (Lawrence had assisted in this with a few presses of his DIRT and SWEAT buttons.) “I just want a shower.” They trooped in, four of them looking for a workspace and one of them looking for the bathroom. * * * * * “Much better,” said Lawrence, moving the glass to follow Sam only. “And now that I’ve got you alone, Mr. Houston, you’re going to need a few adjustments.” * * * * * Sam found the master bathroom and went looking through his shaving kit for shampoo. Lawrence deleted the shampoo. (Protocol dictated that he should have deleted it as soon as he decided on his approach, but doing it on the fly was much cooler. If you did this job without style, you were missing the point.) Sam, finding no shampoo of his own, went to see if there was any left in the shower. Lawrence paused the weekend and put some there. This took a few minutes as Lawrence went looking deep into his menus for some of the specialized options. There was shampoo, and conditioner, so Sam took his clothes off (SCREENSHOT, pressed Lawrence) and got in. Finally, he could get all that dirt off. He wondered if he could call someone to bring a proper tire, or if he’d have to drive the car out to be repaired on Monday. Meanwhile, he lathered the house-brand shampoo into his hair. * * * * * Lawrence opened a status window off to one side to monitor the progress of the adjustment. It showed Samuel Houston’s naked body full-on, along with a few important statistics like height, weight, arousal level, and, of course, IQ. The IQ bar read 120. Then, it dropped to 119. “Oooo-gah,” said Sam, like a moaning bull, without really noticing he was doing it. The arousal bar, and his cock, began to rise as the chemical cocktail in the shampoo did its work. The shampoo, as altered by Lawrence, had effects that were both complex and very simple. The chemicals immediately went to work on Sam’s powerful brain and began sealing shut neural pathways having to do with higher rationality, complex reasoning, and the superego. It was a very intricate process just to achieve the simple result of turning Sam stupid. About three minutes after getting into the shower, the IQ bar read 87. Sam didn’t notice himself getting dumber, partly because the parts of his brain that could make that kind of observation were turning into goo, but mostly because the secondary effect of the chemicals was to make him much hornier. Since Sam was already quite horny naturally, this served to focus his attention completely on the arousal bar between his legs. By the time he turned his thoughts back to thinking, he’d have no thoughts left to think about. “That’s a… blue-steel boner I’ve got,” he muttered to himself, soaping his hand up to pump it more easily. God, the hot water and his hot cock felt amazing. He could feel his cock inside his head as he stroked it, as if he were building a model dick in his imagination and watching it fill more and more of the available space with pure pleasure. “I feel… feel… fuuuuckkk…” What Sam felt was, indeed, fuck. As the heavy dose of pharmaceuticals completed its mission, he came, and a tidal wave of an orgasm washed across his mind and drowned it. He moaned loudly, exactly like a stupid, horny bull, and his fuckstick (which was now also his only working brain) fired ropes of cum across the shower, then continued throbbing in ecstasy for a full minute after his balls were empty. Slowly, slowly, the golden ocean of pleasure receded from his brain. When it had gone, there was not much left. Where there had once been a shining citadel of knowledge, bedecked with hopes, dreams, and a few naked selfies, there was now nothing but a giant dick-shaped skyscraper, permanently erect. Sam’s ejaculate, and most of his doctorate, went down the drain. He did not miss them. “Uh!” he said, still drunk with bliss. “Guh!” That sort of expressed how he felt, but even with his drastically-lowered intellectual capacity, he thought that his world-record orgasm deserved better. The former English major struggled with his words as though he was herding kittens, but finally came up with: “Man. Perfect man. I am the perfect man.” And that, he felt, pretty much summed it up. * * * * * “Damn right you are,” said Lawrence, admiring his handiwork. Sam’s glazed eyes, heavy torso, and his swollen cock all spoke to a magnificent thickness that was the Institute’s one and only product. “Adjustment complete.” He paused the flow of time, removed his clothing, and knelt down in front of the glass to pray. As he spoke, the image slowly stretched out into full-screen mode until it covered the space from floor to ceiling like a stained-glass window. He stroked his own cock and called out to his gods: “Oh, Great Ones, I offer unto you this, the first sacrifice of many! This man’s body was as solid as a rock, and his lust was mighty, but his mind was displeasing unto you, for it was powerful and full of thoughts. I offer that mind to you in sacrifice, that you may see him as he is now, a dumb-ass horny jock, and be appeased!” The giant image of Sam, which looked more like stained-glass than ever, flexed its giant muscles and moaned. “I’m such a fuckin’ dumbass!” it bellowed in a voice that sounded kind of, but not really, like Sam, even the new stupid Sam. “I got a head full of muscles and I fuckin’ love it!” The glass giant jerked itself off, and the Great One’s pleasure poured itself into Lawrence’s own cock, letting him share in the divine orgasm. In theory, this shared pleasure helped to cement obedience in the brains of Institute executives, but the money that was even now flowing into the Institute’s bank account was a powerful incentive as well. Lower-level members were taught that the Great Ones were offered sacrifices of human potential—that the men whose bodies were enhanced and minds numbed became symbolic offerings to the controllers of reality so that the rest of humanity could be spared. Executive members knew the truth—ultimately, the Great Ones wanted to see nerds turned into jocks because they thought it was super hot. As the moment of communion passed and the glass returned to its normal mode, Lawrence stretched. “Now the first sacrifice will be made obedient unto us, that he might bring further offerings unto you. Except, first, I need a shower.” “Or,” he said, “maybe later…” Lawrence went looking into the submenus under BREAK WITH REALITY. * * * * * Sam flexed. God, his body was hot. It was amazing that he ever wore clothes; he could look at himself all day. Actually; he wasn’t looking at himself. He could have admired himself more efficiently if he’d stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror, but he was no longer good at having ideas like that. Besides, he could picture himself perfectly, and that was what counted, and the hot water felt so good… He was surrounded by warm rain and steam, almost like he was in six showers at once. He opened his eyes and found that he was, and that the shower had expanded into an enormous, circular room with many shower-heads blanketing him from all sides. In between the showerheads were exactly the mirrors he hadn’t realized he needed. “Mm,” he said. He was no longer curious about things, but this was nice. He flexed at himself in the mirror, good and hard. “Fuckin’ sick, bro,” said somebody’s voice. This matched so perfectly with what he was thinking at the time that he didn’t realize he hadn’t spoken. “You’re as ripped as hell. You’re like a god among men. You are a sex machine. Your cock is…” The stream of narcissistic admiration went on and on, and as it continued, Sam, still unable to tell the words apart from his own thoughts (so similar were they) began to repeat the things it said out loud. “Your cock is the key to happiness. My—my cock is the key to happiness.” Overhead, the room lighting began to pulse and fade into many different colors. They fell on the eyes of the many reflected Sams, causing them to change hue over and over as Sam stared into them, mindlessly repeating the thoughts he was given. “I got so horny that my brain bust a nut and now I am stupid. I like being dumb. I have big muscles and a big cock. I don’t care about finishing the paper. Instead I will…” Sam hesitated, as some small remnant of his own personality objected to the commands being transmitted to him. The mirror-Sams, grinning dumbly at him, reached for their cocks. “Uhh! Yeah! Uh! I’ll fuck all my friends this weekend! Yeah! I’ll help make them into muscle morons! I obey—uh!—all commands! Anything you say! Uh! Yes! Yes, master!” Sam came again, and his last traces of resistance were wiped away. Sam smiled. “I will fuck Nathan first,” he said, dreamily. “I will lure him here and bring him into the shower. I will help you to adjust him. Yes.” He blinked, and the shower was again an ordinary shower. He turned it off, found a towel, and dressed himself. “Fuck machine, engage,” he said. He was happy, as men are who have found their one purpose in life and set out to do it. He went in search of Nathan. * * * * * “Nice to have some reliable help,” said Lawrence. Sam, no longer capable of much introspection, was helpless to resist his hypnosis. It had taken only a few minutes to make him willingly, happily obedient, even to the point of betraying his best friends. The Institute could transmit its orders directly into his dick, which now performed the bulk of Sam’s thinking. Now, he would bring the next sacrifice to them himself. Of course, with his superior strength, Sam could easily manhandle Nathan into the shower, rub shampoo into his hair, pump his cock until his brains blew out, and then hold him in place for another round of hypnotism. It would take less than ten minutes to make Nathan into one more zombie just like his friend. But that would never do. The Great Ones had been much pleased with the turn-smart-horny-jock-into-dumb-horny-jock-in-the-shower-with-brain-damage-shampoo-followed-by-shower-jerkoff-with-hypnosis scenario, but they wouldn’t be pleased by a repeat of the same performance, or even a mild variation. The Institute had not achieved its prominence by giving its gods less than constant innovation. The second adjustment would have to be something completely different. This, Lawrence was prepared to provide. He reached to the glass and pulled up his second dossier.

Ginger 1 and Ginger 2 or G1 and G2, as I call them as I could never keep them straight, and I think they like it that way. We lay entangled on the bed, one on each side me, each nuzzled against my side. G1, on my right, with an arm draped over my chest, playing with my dark blonde chest hair, pulling at my nipple every once in a while, licking at some drying cum. G2 laying soft wet kisses to my upper left rib cage. Their legs enmeshed with mine, and sweaty after our recent session. They both continued to move their legs around, rubbing against my hairless legs, hitting my ball sac and dick once in a while, hoping I’d respond somehow. My right arm caressing G1’s back, stroking his lower back, down towards his firm ass. A light coating of sweaty ginger hair making my fingers slip and glide over the area. My left arm tucked behind my head so my bicep is flexed and available if G2 decides to move on to something different. I nudge G2’s head, he looks up, sees my bicep, and licks his lips, then scooches up. Even after the fun we just had over the past hour, these two seem to be insatiable, but I’m just toying with them, waiting for my strength to return, so I can get back into the show and give them a second round they won’t soon forget. Now, I’m 6’2”, 235, gym rat, strong as fuck, blonde hair, grey eyes, and a nice coating of chest hair. I don’t bother to trim it, but keep the rest of my body hair free. I like to keep my chest hair as a surprise for when I meet up with a guy and they think I’m smooth. But, these two were a treat. I eventually found out they planned on trying to put a fast one by me, by making it seem there was only one of them. I’m in the process of getting them back for it. I saw G1 in the gym one day. He’s about 6’, 190, great build, and found out he is stronger than I thought he’d be. There was something in the way he looked at me with his hazel eyes that made me just walk over and stand behind the flat bench to spot him. I doubt he would have needed the help as he seemed confident he could push the 285 around with ease, but he appreciated the help. He also appreciated the view up my shirt, when he laid down, to my flat abs and muscled pecs as he licked his lips. He stopped staring, his eyes grew intense and he pushed the bar up and proceeded to grind out 8 reps at nice even pace. On the ninth rep he started to falter. I put my hands under the bar to help, but he grunted angrily and I moved them away. He arched his back to the fullest it would go, pushed out a spit laden breath, and shoved the weight up. He blinked and I helped him re-rack the bar. Dude had some strength. I’d have to get his name at some point. There was sweat pouring off his head, onto his neck, and down into his t-shirt. Then I noticed the ginger hair and how curly it was and I nicknamed him Ginger in my head. I wanted to reach my hand into it and just play with the curls. I was getting hard just thinking about the fun I could have with him. He gave me his thanks and proceeded to wipe the bar and bench off and walk away. What the fuck just happened. Nobody walks away from me, yeah, I know, cocky sounding SOB here, but I’m really not. Just a persona for the gym boys. I stare after him and watch that tight ass move away. I start to pitch a tent. A few days later, I’m at the gym again and I see Ginger walk right on by, as if I were invisible. He walks back to the flat bench and starts his set. I stand there thinking it’s a bit weird to do a second round of chest right on the heels of the first round, but you know, everyone has a plan. Let him have at it. I start my set of bicep curls using a straight bar with 25lb weights on each side to start, going light tonight. I rattle off a set of 10, rest for 30 seconds, and then do another 10. Good warm up set. I glance over to Ginger and see he’s up to 185 and moving along like a champ. I toss and another 10 to each side and decide to take my time. I want to be fresh if he looks for help again. I curl out another two sets and switch up to 2 25lb weights on each side. I glance into the mirror to check my form and notice he is looking at me. He wasn’t giving me the ‘come spot me’ look from a few days ago and it kind of bothered me. Who was this guy and was he giving me the brush off? Again, what the fuck. He gets up, ups the weight to 285 and I think, here it comes, the look to come spot him. I’ll get him by ignoring him. I stand there and, as casually as I can, turn towards him, but look past him. He grins at me, almost laughs, lays back down and proceeds to rattle off 10 reps. He racks the bar, gets up, wipes the bar and bench off, and walks by me. He says, “You’re going to catch some flies keeping your mouth open like that.” I am dumbfounded. What just happened? I am tempted to follow him, trap him in a corner, lift him up by his armpits and shake him around a bit. Need to show him who the boss is and that I’ve got the muscles to back up what I say. By the time I come out of it, he has started his next exercise. Ginger proceeds with his chest routine, barely giving me a glance. I try to put him out of my head, but every time I turn around, he is just in my range of view. I’m not sure if he is doing it on purpose or it’s just a coincidence. I move from the straight bar bicep curls to lateral shoulder lifts and some squats. I know, I know, concentrate on one or two body parts a day (legs or chest or arms), and don’t go with a pansy workout of hitting a lot of body parts all on the same day. But this kid, and I wasn’t even sure how old he was, was under my skin and it was bothering the fuck out of me. I need to calm down. I head to the bathroom, lock the door, and yank off a quick load. It eases my mind. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you think of it, the mental image I was focusing on was me tossing Ginger around and fucking him silly. A few days later, Thursday night, leg night for me. Back to my routine. Ignore Ginger if he shows up. Plan in place. Start on a leg extension machine, move to a quad curl machine, onto incline leg presses. My legs are pumped I feel like they could crush watermelons between them, or some punks head, if he gets on my nerves, and then he shows up. I ignore him, but he settles into the full rack machine next to me and starts doing squats. Dammit, why does he have to do legs on my leg day? I stare at my machine, 6 plates on each side, easy set coming up. I polish off 10 reps. I reach up to pull myself up and he leans over and says, “Not bad”. I ignore him. Yeah, dick move, but I act like I in full workout mode. He shrugs and adds another 45lb to each side his bar. Up to 90lb a side and the bar itself, 225, not too bad. He gives me the can you spot me look and I glance away, but them realize I’ve taken it too far. The kid is asking for help, just suck it up and help him. I turn back and nod yeah. He nods. We get into position and he pushes out a solid 10 reps and racks the bar. He turns and nods again in thanks. Ok, ice broken, he’s not a dick as I thought. I go back to my routine and he moves on with his. About 15 minutes later, I’m doing deadlifts and notice he is back in the full rack machine and is loading up the bar again. I’m completely puzzled. I wander over and ask, “Doing another set after the ones you pushed out earlier?” He looks at me and says, “Just got here buddy.” I stare at him for a long moment, muscles start to tense up, biceps twitch, and my chest tightens, and the feeling of needing to show him whose boss pops into my head. “Can I help you with something?” he casually asks. Then I hear a similar voice behind me say, “If he can’t, maybe I can.” I turn to see his spitting image. Ok... Twins… Fuckers. I turn back to the first one and he gives me a mischievous grin. G1 walks next to him and gives me the exact same grin. I start to laugh out load. A bunch of guys stop their routine and turn to look at me to see what’s so funny. We exchange names and I tell them I’ll just call them G1 and G2. They laugh and say ok. I find out they are in their mid-twenties, have good jobs, and like to be with each other as much as being with other guys. They explain they saw me a few weeks ago and hatched a plan to get my attention and to act as if there were only one of them. They’d run hot and cold towards me to see how I reacted. Once they got me riled up, they’d come clean. I tell them G2 almost got the shit kicked out of him for his antics. They laugh and I thought to myself, I’m going to have a lot of fun these two. That was 2 months ago. We decided to become workout partners, or a workout trio?!? They indicated they were looking to get stronger and I agreed to help them. I also told them I would not take it easy on them and if they expected to make some gains, they’d have to work at harder than they were used to. They both agreed. I gave them all the workout tips I knew and if I did not know something, I researched it and showed them what I’d found. They really appreciated all the help and were always asking what they could do for me. I told them working out together was the best thing they could do for me. It pushed me to new heights and made me rethink my workout plan as now I was planning for 3 – or 2 as I counted them as one. LOL Earlier tonight we met at the gym and were going to do an intense bicep workout. I planned on giving them a show afterwards as a surprise. We started off with Incline dumbbell hammer curls, 25lb, 35lb, 45lb weights. They kept up. All biceps getting a nice early pump and sheen from the sweat we break. Next was Incline Inner-bicep curls, 25lb, 35lb, and 45lb. G1 and G2 are powering thru it like beasts. They stood next to each other and gave encouragement and would act as spotter. I would point out adjustments to form or movement so they were getting the most out of the exercise. Onto standing concentration dumbbell curls. Same weights. They were keeping up which was good. I wanted them to push themselves thru the workout. Only way to get stronger and bigger is to push yourself. I ask them how they’re doing and they say fine. I ask them to flex and they both throw impressive double bi’s. I toss mine up and they nod with approval. I can tell they want to reach out and touch the muscles. I squeeze for an extra second and they keep on staring at the muscles. Next was the EZ bar curl. I used a 45 bar with 35lb weights. They used a 45lb bar with 25lb weights. This is where I moved ahead of them. Second set we all added 10lbs to each side. Last set, I added a 25lb weight to each side and they added another 10 to each side. I’m curling 185 and they’re at 135. Not too bad, but I’ll get them higher. They’re each sweating profusely and their t-shirts are becoming soaked thru. I can see G1’s nipples and that G2 tends to shave his chest more religiously then G1. Exercise # 5 is a wide grip standing barbell curl. I start at 115lb again. They move down to a 35lb bar and put 25lb on each side. 85lb is pretty good, especially after the workout we’ve already had. We power thru it. I toss another 10lbs on each side and goad them into doing the same. If you want the muscles, pay the price I tell them. Last set, I pull the 10’s and put another 25 on each side. They add 10’s to each side. I’m pulling 165 and they’re at 125. I playfully mock them saying I’m almost curling one of them right now while the two of them are barely getting me off the ground. They grin and both lick their lips. Next, I move to a Zottman curl. Love this exercise as it targets the two heads on my bicep and does a great job of tearing up the muscles to let them grow. I start with 45lb, move to 55lbs, and finish with 70lbs. Ah, the pain is excruciating, but worth it. I finish the set, and move over to the mirrors. I need to check out my pump and maybe give the boys a peak at what’s to come. I start to flex unabashedly, and they gawk at me. Yeah, just what I wanted to see. They did the same exercise, but with 25’s, 35’s, and 45’s. I tell them to get over near me and show me what they’ve got. They move next to me and proceed to show off their guns. God, who thought twins could look exactly alike, even with the muscles they’ve got on them. I’m really hungering to get these guys into bed tonight. I announce last exercise and that I expect them to leave everything on the floor by the end or else. I say this with my meanest psycho maniacal voice, literally spitting on them. They look petrified as I’ve never been this ruthless with them. Then I wink and give them a crooked smile. They laugh and wink back. I point to the Overhead cable curl and tell them to move or lose it. I make them start with 70lbs on each side. They look exhausted, but I yell, no pain, no gain. They do their sets and I move in and start with 105s on each side and kick thru 10 reps with ease. Biceps full of blood and expanding each time. I glance over to the boys and each has started to pitch a tent. I hold the last rep and flex extra hard to really make the peak pop. I start to sprout a woody as well. They move in for their next sets. I move them up to 90s and shout encouragement to push thru for 10 reps or complete failure. G1 makes it to 8, G2 gets to 10 and takes pride in letting his brother know it. I punch my weight up to 135 on each side and move thru the set like I’m in a different body. I’m watching myself and the boys in the mirror and I just muscle thru it. I think their obvious erections have influenced me. I hold the last two reps in the pulled position so everyone can stare at the biceps and how big and hard they are. I want these kids to get in the mood for later on. I slowly release the hold and the biceps are shaking as I move them back to neutral. After the final rep I give one final all out double bi pose and quickly move into a most muscular. I’m even impressing myself tonight. Full on erection going on and I’m not ashamed of it. The guys see it and glance at each other and smile. I call last set and move their weight ups to 105. I stand right behind G1 as he starts. He gets to 6 and starts to slow. I get real close, my dick almost poking him in the ass and whisper in his ear, “You get to 8 and you get a prize. You get to 10 and you get first shot at it.” As I casually look down towards my raging hard-on in the mirror. He immediately has renewed energy and pushes out another 5 reps, getting to 11. He lets go of the handles, the weights slam down, and he purposely backs into my erection. He asks, “What do I get for 11?” I say, “All 11 I have to offer.” He casually grinds his ass to my dick, completely unbothered by the fact we are in a public gym and there are a bunch of other guys watching us do our workout. G2 moves in and pushes G1 out of the way. “Any encouraging words for me?” he asks. “Yeah, get to 12 and you get to make your bro watch you go first.” G1 starts to protest, but I hold up a finger and point it at him, indicating you did your set, now it’s his turn. He angrily stands to the side. G2 starts his set and gets to 7 with ease, but really slows down. G1 yells encouragement and I move behind him and tell him to look in the mirror. He does and I flex my left bicep and proceed to lick it. His practically cums in his shorts, but manages to push out 3 more reps before dropping the handles. G1 looks on with a snarky grin, but comes over and gives G2 an honest and heartfelt high five. I can tell these guys are all about pushing each other and regardless of who does more reps or pushes more weight, nothing will come between them, not even me. I announce shower time, but not here. I explain I have a large enough tub shower unit at my place and we can relax there and recover. They both agree and follow me home. I wonder what they talked about on the ride over, if they have plan for me, like I do for them… When we get to my place, I ask who wants to shower first and they say they will. “Together?” I ask. They say, “Yeah, it saves on hot water.” They give me another mischievous grin and head off to the bathroom. I smile as their asses shake as they walk down the hallway and into the bathroom. I hear the water come on, and then I can make out both of them getting in… They conveniently leave the door open a crack. I walk down and peak in. Low and behold they are in the tub shower lathering each other up. I thought I had finally nailed down who was G1 and who was G2 based on their chest hair, and I was correct. G1 was washing G2 at this point. Man, they were putting on a show. G1 had the soap and was lathering up the G2’s legs, ass, balls, and dick. The G2 was moaning and enjoying every minute of it. He had his hands on the walls to keep his balance. Apparently not the first time G1 has helped him out after a workout. G2’s legs were more muscular than I thought and watching his brother’s hand slowly rub the soap on the muscles and gently massage his calves, thighs and quads was almost illegal. Watching G1 rub away any kinks made me spring a boner right there. He moved up the legs and stood up so he was right behind his twin. Both were sporting impressive erections and the G1 moved in behind G2 and applied a copious amount of soap and suds to his twin’s ass, really working the crack and hole. His dick leisurely bangs into G2’s ass and eventually he pushes it down, so it is between G2’s legs. He gets a slow fucking motion going on. G2 leans over a bit to give G1 a better angle and sightline. After about 3 minutes of that, G1 moves his hands around to the front of his twin and started to stroke his brother slowly. I was in heaven, but also in hell. Here were these two guys putting on a show, with me peeking in on them, and they were having all the fun. I wanted to see how far they would take it, so I stay quiet and out of sight. G1 stopped stroking the other, to my dismay, and moved up to the abs and chest area. His dick was still between G2’s legs and the fucking motion never ceased. He gave the chest and abs a thorough work over and moved on to the arms. I figured they would spend a lot of time massaging them, and I was correct. G1 worked up a good froth of soap and gently started massaging the biceps and triceps. G2 put his arms over his head and turned around so G1 could wash the armpits and underside of the arms. Now, I knew these guys were close, but when G1 moved in and gave G2 a long sensual kiss right on the lips, my mind was blown and I almost blew my load. G2 casually says, “Instead of staring, come in and help him.” I blush and slowly open the door. I ask, “How did you know I was watching?” “Um, nobody moans as loudly as you do, buddy.” G1 says while still facing G2. He turns to me and says, “Well, get your ass naked and get over here, we’re only half done.” He’s got that evil grin going on. I smile, strip like my live depends on it, and walk right to the tub shower, erection on full display. They both whistle. I step in, grab the soap and get a good lather going. I get behind G1, and push him closer to G2. I start to wash his back, while G2 takes care of his front. Plenty of soap to go around. G1 leans over to his twin and starts kissing him again. G2 cocks his head and sees me watching and wink at me. I put my muscular arms between the two of them and pull G1 back towards me. “Want your reward now for winning the Overhead bicep curl challenge?” I ask. G1 says not yet, but playfully grinds his ass into my dick, causing it to swell up a bit more. I pull him back into me harder and say with a stern voice, “What if I don’t give you a choice?” He coyly replies, “Think you can take on both of us? Because how can you be sure I’m the one who won, and not him?” I stare at him and say, “G2 takes better care of his chest hair then you do.” And I proceed to rub one hand on each of their muscular chests. I wanted to get a good grope in while I was at it and they both seemed to enjoy it as they both flexed their chests and the same time. G1 was right, if their chest hair were not different, I would not be able to tell them apart. He winks back and says, “Nice job big guy. Way to pay attention.” He looks at G2 and says, “I told you he’d find a way to tell us apart. We’ll have to work on making it harder for him.” I smile, pull on his dick and then grab G2’s dick and say, “It’s hard enough already, or should I say, you’re both hard enough already.” They both smile their evil grins, and surround me. They both put a hand on my dick and start to yank on it slowly. I tell them to hold on, but they continue. I need to assert myself. I put my hands on their chests and spread them away from me, biceps flexing, and chest expanding. They hold on for dear life, but I muscle them away. They grin again. “Rinse off and dry off now.” They comply. Once they are dry they try to help me out, but I push them away again and give them the look. They both pout, but stay back. I proceed to dry myself off, but put on quite a show. I turn around, bend over, and start at my ankles. My tight ass on display, I playfully open and shut my hole. I begin to stand up and continue drying myself off. I get to my dick, which is still hard, I turn around so I am facing them and proceed to massage it to its full length and girth. I got 4 eyes ogling my body and I enjoy it. I move thru my abs, chest, and linger on my arms, flexing them so the peaks stand out. The guys start to crowd in, and I let them now. We come together as a group, and I put my arms around them and give them a gently squeeze, just to give them an idea of what’s to come. “Bedroom now.” Again they comply. We walk to my man-cave, or bedroom. A large king-size bed dominates the room. Dark curtains make sure no one can peek in. I didn’t go for a mirror on the walls or ceiling. Just too corny. Plus I want to concentrate on the guy I’m with, not my reflection. I already know how fucking built and strong I am. Also, I want them to concentrate on me too. I want them to feel my power as I do what I want with them. So the boys are standing there, sporting erection which would put most guys to shame, and I move closer, put an arm around each of their asses, bend my knees, pull them to me, and stand up. No wobble or stumble. I stand straight the fuck up and lift these kids off the ground a good 5 inches or so. They extend their arms to steady themselves using my shoulders or biceps, but I growl “No” and they move their arms back. Kids need to see and understand my strength. I proceed to walk to the bed, toss G2 down and look at G1 and say, “It’s time for your reward, whether you like it or not.” “Yes, please.” Is all he says gazing into my eyes. His hands come up and wrap around my neck. I shrug my shoulders and pinch his arms there. He tries to move them, but I apply more pressure and give him the look saying you’re not going anywhere unless I say so. He grins to show he understands and moves in for a kiss. It is long and sloppy, wetting my mouth, tongue, and lips. I reciprocate. Our tongues are dancing with each other. I shift him around so both hands are cradling his ass. I look at G2 and tell him to go into the nightstand and pull out the box of condoms and lube. He obeys. I tell him to open one and put it on my dick. He rapidly complies, taking his time to make sure the condom is on all the way and has a nice big pouch at the top to catch my load. I tell him, “Lube up your brother’s ass, I’m sure you’ve done it once or twice before.” They both laugh. I’m still cradling G1 and he’s started massaging my arms and playing with my chest hair. I like the feel of his weight in my arms and think, I may use these guys for warm-up curls one day. I lean in for another kiss and begin to ravage his mouth. His dick gets even harder, starts spurting pre-cum, and I’m not even in him yet. He tries to pull back as I begin to get rough, but I glare at him and he lets me continue. My tongue invades his mouth, spilling saliva and spit all over his teeth and the roof of his mouth. He seems to be getting into it now. Good. G2 has finished lubing his ass. I flex my bi’s, raise G1 up another few inches and flex my dick to his hole. I slowly but adamantly lower him onto my dick. His eyes grow wide when his ass feels me penetrate him. He wants to yell, but I am still kissing him and sucking the air out of him so he cannot yell. G2 is squatting behind his brother making sure my dick is sliding in nice and easy. Every once in a while he puts some lube on his hands and applies it to my shaft. G1 starts to shake a bit due to my size. I realize there is no use in harming him, so I ease up the pressure. He relaxes and his ass opens up for me some more. I release my grip and bit and let his weight lower him further down my unit. He’s almost there, but then shows a pained expression. He grunts and G2 immediately gets up and says, “You’re hurting him, pull him up a bit.” I bark, “I know what I’m doing G2, now get behind me and lick my ass.” I release my right arm from G1’s ass, grab a hold of G2 by the neck and pull him close to my face. “You want to see real strength, keep it up.” G2 grabs my wrist with both his hands and says, “If you hurt him, you’re going be sorry.” “Yeah, who’s going to do it, you?” I say as I start to lift him up. Good thing he grabbed my wrists, more support for him. His eyes get wide and I slowly put him down and nod for him to get busy with my ass. I turn back to G1, see there is still a pained expression on his face, but it has lessened. I’m not going to hurt him, but I’m not telling them that yet. I’m still getting them back for their hijinks. I know they’ll have a shit ton more fun if I’m rough with them, then if I went soft and cuddly. If they want soft and cuddly, I got a buddy I can introduce them to. Back to G1. He’s sitting down and seems to have become accustomed to my dick in him. I release my left arm from his ass and pull it behind my head and flex. He looks at it lustfully, licking his lips. I nod, and he moves his head towards it. He has wetted his lips and starts slobbering all over the face of the biceps and goes down to my armpit. He’s washing it out like a good little boy and man it feels good. I put my right hand into his curly ginger hair and finally get to play with the curls. They’re not long flowing locks, but not too short so as to keep me from having fun with them. He moans as I move my hand around. I seem to have hit another sensitive spot. Wonder if G2 is the same. I lean over slightly, spread my legs a bit, and put my right hand on G2’s head and force him into my ass crack. His tongue goes into overdrive worshiping my hole. I open and shut it as I feel his tongue play with it. At one point he darts his tongue inside when it’s open. I clamp my hole shut trapping his tongue. He feels the pressure, but still manages to maneuver his tongue while it is inside. Good boy. I rub my right hand thru G2’s hair like I did with G1. He moans the same way. Ok good. Twins to the end. Time to put this party into over drive. I lean back up, tell G2 to come around front and sit his ass down on the bed. He obeys… Good, he’s learning. I proceed to put both hands on G1’s lats. I look him in the eyes and say, “You ready for the best ride of your life?” His eyes get wide, both his arms shoot out and lock onto my biceps, and he nods yes. “Good. Here we go.” At this point I raise his ass up almost off my dick and slide him back down. His eyes roll around and his head starts to roll on his shoulders. I start to move him up and down more quickly. His hands start to increase their pressure on my biceps, but I just flex them harder. He responds by tightening his ass’s grip on my dick. I love the new found pressure, and let out a little growl, move my lips towards his, and start to kiss him again. He’s loving it. He’s now moving his ass up and down on his own, well, I’m still helping out by raising him up by his lats. Lips locked, hands locked onto my biceps, and his dick as swollen as any I’ve ever felt. Now is my time to push him over the edge. I move my hands to his waist, and start to pump him up and down like he’s my own private flesh light. He’s in heaven, I’m just breaking a sweat and G2 is whacking off vigorously. I yell at G2, “Stop. You’re not allowed to cum before him.” He obediently takes his hand off his oh so erect and swollen cock. He desperately wants to jerk it, but I turn so I can watch him. He now understands how serious I am. I turn my attention back to G1, who is gurgling and seems to be passing out. I free my left hand, wrap it around his cock, and start to jerk him off, timing my movements to match with my thrusting. He can’t take it anymore and eructs with a massive load. First shot, over my shoulder. Good boy. Second shot, my face, chin, and chest. I lick as much up as I can. Third volley coats our chests and abs. Final one, dribbles out and slides down his cock to coat his shaft and balls. His arms let go of my biceps. I walk over to the bed and pull him off me and put him down. I don’t throw him onto the bed as he is about passed out and I’m not trying to hurt them or scare them off. I looked at G2 who is still sporting a gorgeous boner, lean down, pick him right up, and start to slide him down my shaft. “I hope you’re ready for the ride of your life.” He tightens his ass just like his brother did. Nice. I grab his lats, he puts his arms around my neck and hauls himself in for a sloppy kiss. He’s biting my lower lip when I enter him. His eyes open even wider and I nod yeah, now you know the pain your brother was in. He uses his hands to massage my deltoids and neck muscles. I move more quickly with G2. I’m already sliding him up and down my shaft quickly. He pulls his lips back, sticks his tongue out and starts to lap his brother’s cum off my face. When he has a tongue full he moves back in to pushes his tongue into my mouth, depositing the jizz. I swallow and lick his tongue and lips clean. I have him moving at a good pace on my dick when he suddenly grows tense. His hands latch on to my delts, and he wraps his legs around my waist. He freezes and shoots a load to match his brothers. Cum is everywhere on me and him. Our faces, chests, and abs. His legs release from my waist, but I am not done yet. I walk back to the bed, pull him off my dick and place him next to his brother. G1 has regained his composure, is leaning up on his elbows, and caught the end of my fucking his brother. He gives me a smile, and starts running his hand thru G2’s hair. I rip the condom off my dick, place both hands on it and start to go to town. G2 opens his eyes, leans up, but is still kind of out of it. I keep whacking off, but release my right hand, and throw up a bicep flex. I pull my left hand off and now do a massive double bi pose. The guys are aroused again. I move closer and nod my head for them to grab my dick. They maneuver around on the bed and each put a hand on my dick and start to jerk it off. To me the feeling is unbelievable. G1 then puts his other hand under my ball sac and starts playing with my balls. Oh boy, there’s a mistake. I go from double bi to most muscular, let out an animalistic yell and spew my load onto both of them. Cum is again, everywhere. I’ve shot four volleys and coated the bed, them, and my legs. I’m still erect, but the boys looked wiped out. I lean down, pick up G1 and move him further onto the bed. I do the same with G2. I move into the area in between them and pull their heads close to me. “Rest up gentlemen. Next show coming soon.”

Twenty Something Inches (the Remix) Forum Note: I've always loved this story, and ploder4 on our site mentioned wanting to continue it (his continuation here: Twenty Something Inches - continued). I decided to start posting my remix of the original. Please keep in mind that this version, my version, is also relatively unedited, but I wanted to start posting what I have to get some feedback and buzz going. So, its A Work in Progress! I'll be posting updates as the creative juices flow. ** A heavily edited and modified redo of the original "Twenty Something Inches" - credit for the story concept and original content goes to the original author, theEd. ** Where should i start? boys? men? muscle gods? well, in order to talk about these gods-among-men, I guess I need to start with the .. uh ... well, with the blast of gamma radiation ... yeah. its gonna be one of those kinda stories... cept this is real. Let me talk about my life first. Male. 20 years old. I recently moved out of my parents house. No big deal, it was way overdue and I loved the freedom. It was a whole new adventure for me, out on my own, even if it meant living with roommates that were nothing like me. There was Bill, the guy who decided it was safer to park his motorcycle in our living room. There was Chris, a quiet emo kid who raised tarantulas and snakes in his bedroom. And, there was Nick, a very bad guitar player who had a grower connection and sold dope on campus. We were all about the same age, the youngest being Chris, at seventeen. It was a shitty living environment by any standards: bugs everywhere, the shower muddy and barely a trickle, food, clothes, papers everywhere. The roommates had these unexpected parties which only further trashed the house and made the whole place reek of pot smoke. I never partook and really didn't like the smell, so, of course, the thick haze somehow, without fail, would always manage to settle right in my bedroom every time. We were lucky that this house was buried in the woods, or we would've gotten to know our local cops quite well. Another good part was that no one ever knew who the true owner of the house was. We never met, or even had a phone conversation with, anyone who claimed ownership. We all found the house on craigslist and sent our rent checks to some corporate management firm. No one ever bothered us, even if one or more of us had missed payment last month. We enjoyed our freedom in this arrangement, so we tried to pay rent as often as possible. I was the one who almost regularly missed rent payments. I was there because I had no money and the rent was super cheap. Even then, it was rough for me. But, I still had my notebook, so I could write; I was going to be a famous writer someday, and repay all these debts. Writing was my gift, my passion. I approached the world with an open mind and an open heart, pen and paper at the ready, but I never quite expected that I would write about Bill, Chris and Nick. That's all the background you need about them: Bill was always an okay kind of guy, Chris was kind of creepy, really, and Nick… well, we never got along very well. Nick’s all-night-long parties got popular mainly because of the non-stop supply of beer and weed, but he also had live, local bands blasting throughout the night and eventually, the parties became known for the overall "higher" quality of guys and girls that would fill the house. Popular kids from the schools, jocks, athletes, dealers, actresses, up-and-comers, all started flocking to Nick's parties. The house always seemed near collapse, though somehow it would hold together til the next day. In the beginning it was fun; I even scored with some girls and guys. (I’m bi, by the way.) But, then it started to get on my nerves. I couldn’t sleep normal hours anymore, the kitchen was always a total mess, and the bathrooms were beyond disgusting. We had to start pooling money to pay a clean lady to come in two times a week, but after four or five months, even she gave up on our mess. One random Tuesday night, Bill and Nick decided to barbecue at 3am. They fired up the grill on our outdoor roof/deck/rickety-death-trap/patio area and proceeded to laugh and yell and stomp around until the whole house was awake. Drunk and stoned outta their minds, even more than usual, the guys were interrupted by a bright falling star streaking across the clear night sky. Bill laughed, pointing, “Hey man, look at that! Make a wish!" The star suddenly froze in place and started to swell with a white so bright the boys had look away. “Wow, dude, what the fuck is that? It's so fucking bright!" Nick said after a few moments of awed silence. "Where's our wannabe astronomer? Hey Einstein, get out here! You're missing the most awesome thing!” Nick yelled down in my general direction. They called me Einstein, very original, aren’t they? I looked out a nearby window and saw the blinding ball of light, now the size of the moon. “Shit, what the hell," I muttered to myself before reason kicked in. "Guys! Come inside, quick!” I yelled. “Fuck! Who we should call? NASA?” Bill asked, completely ignoring my warning. "Someone get a camera! Grab my phone!" Nick yelled into the house, never taking his eyes off the light. "Come inside! Quick! That thing could be dangerous!" I repeated from inside the safety of our house. Chris rushed passed my open bedroom door with his phone in hand. I followed after him, hoping to at least get him to stay inside. No dice. He quickly tucked his thin frame through the open window and climbed out onto the roof. “Look at that,” he said, watching the light show through the screen of his phone's video app. I peeked out at the scene from the edge of the window frame. The star exploded with a blinding light that turned the entire sky white. I stepped back as the guys outside covered their eyes. Whatever it was, I had to protect myself. Those guys were crazy to stay out there! I slammed the old, leaded window closed just as a burst of purple and green flashes filled the horizon. I crouched down into a ball as I felt the whole house start to shake. I was scared shitless! The rumbling got louder and louder, making everything rattle and vibrate with a deadly intensity. "We're all gonna die!" I cried in a meek whisper, mentally complimenting myself on a wonderful choice of last words. At the peak of noise and shaking, there was a huge BANG! and then it all just... stopped. I was trembling; too afraid to open the window to see if they got toasted by whatever THAT was. I made myself stand and was about to peek through the window when I suddenly heard Nick and Bill yelling "oooh"s and "aaaah"s, like they were watching a 4th of July firework show. Seconds later, they calmed down and that was it. That was the moment that changed our lives. That brief moment... and no one had a single clue. **** Two months later, I started to notice odd things happening to my roommates. Specifically, to their bodies-- They began to ... "swell," i guess is the word ... with muscle. That Bill would grow muscles easily, was expected. But Chris and Nick? Both were sticks. Two totally flat, tall guys. I had always been attracted to athletic bodies, male and female, and Chris and Nick flew under my radar. Nick always dressed tight, emo/punk shirts. I started noticing those old shirts were straining against his now-curvy body. His arms had visible muscles swelling now, and when he played his guitar, veins would start to web across them. I also started to notice, to my quiet anger and jealousy, that he was scoring a lot more often, and off a wider variety of girls. Chris would never leave his room and he when he did, he would always wear baggy clothes, so I had quite a shock when he finally started coming out of his cave. The first time he came up to "chill" nearly killed me! My initial surprise was that he was being overly social all of a sudden, but what really dropped my jaw was that he wearing very little, allowing me my first real glimpse of him shirtless. He had pecs, big pecs, and abs, and biceps-- the whole package! He was still border-line "slim," but he was already becoming muscular, showing off more size and thickness than I could claim on my own twinky body. I knew that this guy had never set foot in a gym, and the last, and only, time I saw his chest, there was not a single, pale muscle to speak of. My brow furrowed in confusion, asking myself, “What the hell is going on…?" I tried to ignore all three of them, chalking up their changes in normal male growth spurts, but each week it became more and more difficult to ignore. I had some abstract suspicions by the forth week, and by the fifth and sixth, my otherwise wacky suspicions were becoming fact. On afternoon, I realized I was now about an inch shorter than everyone. Bill, already tall, became much taller. So did Chris and Nick. I began to wonder how much longer they were going to pretend nothing was going on. How could they continue to pretend not to notice when they were obviously starting to tower over me? My main theory was, of course, something related to that night. I began my quest for answers and searched everywhere i could imagine. I Googled, Binged, Yahoo!'d, and newsgroup'd long into the night, digging deep for a single, tiny shred of information that could connect an odd, unexplainable celestial event to multiple counts of spontaneous, unnatural muscle growth. I found some great muscle growth-related sites, but I found nothing of scientific merit. (I bookmarked the fiction and morph sites) **** One night, Bill knocked on my bedroom door and started shouting through the wood about needing more condoms. Of course, I had plenty. I grabbed a couple from my sad, unused stash and opened my door. My jaw dropped. There was Bill, one hand holding onto a loosely tied towel, stretched taut across the bulging muscle of his thighs. His pecs were huge and thick, his abs deep and defined, his bis swollen and round-- My eyes didn't know where to start! I was drawn back down to his waist, where my eyes froze in place, locked onto his crotch. Pushing against the towel, and outlined in glorious detail, was a full, huge, hard dick. It was big-- abnormally big-- mouthwateringly big. I was speechless. For way too long. Who was this muscle beast?! I already knew (from his loud bragging) that he had 18’ 1/2 biceps, but that stat was from a while ago, and now... now, the rest of his body seemed unreal. “Hey man? Something wrong?” his pecs bounced as he adjusted the towel. “It’s… I... uh... here. I… hope they fit...” “Me too, I already blew three of these fuckin things tonight. They just don’t make rubbers like they used to!" he laughed to himself. "I mean, man, it sucks, you know," he said, leaning in, lowering his masculine baritone a bit, "I have two babes worshiping me down there and these fucking rubbers don’t last a fucking second. Fuck! Can I take more?” I started at his enormous body... Too long, apparently. He raised his eyebrows and loudly cleared his throat. "Sure," I stammered out. “Thanks pal, you’re the best,” he said, bouncing his pecs again as he took the second handful of condoms. I couldn't help but watch him saunter away. For the next hour, I heard Bill absolutely trashing his dates. I decided those girls had to be waaaaaaay too drunk to scream like that. I soon found out, though, they weren't drunk at all. All the screaming and begging for more and "Oh God"'ing was because of, what I would later call, Bill's "Factor." I wouldn't understand any of it until much later. **** One day later that month, I was coming back to the house from school and was surprised to find Nick, tanning on the death-trap-patio above the main entrance. He was completely nude except for a tiny, little pair of white bikini underwear. Now, normally, he was that kind of guy that avoided sun at all costs, but apparently, "New Nick" had other ideas. I was dumbfounded and had to make a snarky comment, “Hey Nick, sunbathing?? You?” This got his attention and he stood up, moving dangerously close to the edge of the roof. The sun was glaringly bright, but I could still see he wasn't big as Bill, but was certainly getting close! I made special note of big swell his legs were showing. "You got a problem with that, Einstein?” he said, looking down on me, like a god surveying his property. “Hey, woah. No problem, man!” I shot back, trying to recall the last time Nick had been a dick to me. I couldn't remember a time, but then again, we never really interacted much. Maybe it was a bad day? I continued on into the house and managed to overhear him taking a phone call. He certainly wasn’t a dick to the person on the other end of the call! I began to wonder, "did I do something to him?" I found Chris fixing himself something to eat in our huge, common kitchen. He never cooked! I quickly took in his impressive new body. His enhanced curves and swells pulled his otherwise shiny, black UnderArmor outfit to the point of being translucent in places. “Hey, Chris, hungry enough to finally cook?” I managed to get out, fighting my suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah. I get hungry a lot, lately.” “Oh. I see… do you…” he turned to me, and my God, his pecs were the size of Bills! Maybe bigger! “…are…” His body stopped my brain, dead. “Are... what?” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. His biceps exploded as he lifted a huge jar of water to his lips. He gulped and gulped, but some water spilled from his mouth and soaked his shirt. “err… uh... nothing...” I was sweating. When I first met Chris, we were about the same height and build. Not anymore. He was now quite a bit taller than me. I actually had to look up at his eyes. What. the. fuck!? What is going on?! Is it just me? Am I the only one noticing these sudden changes to my roommates? Am I going insane?! **** I gulped, “Well…uh... I guess you are on the right track…" My eyes followed his hands as they moved around his body, feeling and testing his mass. He paused and I looked back up into his eyes. He caught me staring, again! I had to distract, "but aren’t you concerned about how or why this insane muscle growth is happening? I mean, this sudden gain in size isn't norm--" “Yes… a little…" he interrupted. "But, I have a feeling that whatever this is, it's good for me... and it'sh beyond any of our control… you undershtan, Matthew?” I suddenly realized that he was drunk. “I… guess…” “I shaw that you started lookin at me in a different way, too…” he smiled at me with this cocky grin, totally out of character. “I…. What you mean?” My eyes jumped down to his hands as they cupped at his delicious-looking pecs. “Everyone should look at me the way you do…” Chris let his hands fall to his sides and balanced his weight on one hip. He looked at me through tipsy, yet expectant eyes. “Ok... Chris, lemme put it this way… you… are not exactly my type. You know? Just not a match." He actually looked disappointed! Then, a bit angry. Then, defiant. "I saw you checking me out." “Waaait a minute… you are like… growing bigger, right in front of me! What do you expect?” “And, it doesn’t turn you on?” He flexed his arm under my nose. Whatever gorgeous visage was standing before me and making me drool, I had to remember the person that lie beneath. “Look Chris, sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but…” I could see he was not happy. He had opened up to me and I was treating him like he's crazy for thinking anyone would be into him. I mean, he was a kid! More than three years younger than me and, besides, he had pet snakes and spiders. He was kinda creepy like that... He loved watching his pet predators killing their prey, up close. Growing muscles aside, that kid had problems that I didn’t want anything to do with. “Let’s be friends, okay?” “I understand...” he said coldly and turned his wide back to me. He didn’t talk to me for weeks after that night. I think he always thought of himself as a freak and I just validated those core fears-- I might have even made him feel worse! **** During those following weeks, the musclehead trio bought some free-weights to use in the house. They started to spot one another, spend all their time together, eat tons and tons of food together, and even go to clubs together. I tried to stay out of their way as much as possible. I'd even listen for their heavy footsteps around the old house so I could move around without incident. It wasn't a precise science, but with Bill's extra muscly pounds, I could at least hear where he was; from there I could kinda guess where the other two were. And, throughout every single day, dawn to dusk, I could hear at least one of them lifting weights in the garage. With their all-over size gains, it was hard to guess who was spending more time in there. Then, by early evening, they'd be pounding away at some new herd of slutty "friends." All three of them were fucking as many holes as they could. They didn’t even need to throw parties anymore-- the parties came to them. To the party clique, I was totally invisible. My witty banter couldn't compete with the guys flexing an arm. People just wanted to be near them. Chris was still struggling, though. He was an oddball at heart, and didn't always fit in-- Well, that wasn’t my problem! But, most of the time, I could walk around the party-packed house without any rude encounter. I'd just throw out the obligatory ‘hi’ now and then to the random faces I saw, and scoot along my merry way. But, when I'd actually see one of my roommates, in the center of the throng, I had to fight so hard not to stop and stare at their increasing muscular size. But what would stop me in my tracks, without fail, was the fact that their dicks were getting bigger, too. I think. Each of the guys, with their own clothing styles, managed to wear pants that clearly outlined every lump, flare, and vein of their increasingly huge alpha cocks. The boys now looked porn-star hung and didn't care who saw. It was getting more and more difficult the bigger and bigger they got. For the first month, it was relatively easy for me, but with their bodies lookin the way they do now... **** One day I got really hungry and was too tired to go out and grab food myself. So, I went to the fridge and grabbed some meat to cook-- our fridge overflowed with labeled chunks of various beasts, wrapped in plastic or covered on plates. I was really hungry and ate a whole portion of honey-roasted chicken breast. I didn’t realize the danger I'd put myself in. I turned around to see Nick standing in the doorway, and, man, did he explode at me: “What the FUCK are you DOING?” He was shirtless and huge, and had two of his "groupies" behind him. Nick was bigger than I ever seen him before. And, the last time I had seen him shirtless, he had 19’ arms. He was starting to look like a competitive bodybuilder! I jumped at his sudden appearance and the pure anger in his booming voice. “Man, I was hungry. I'm gonna replace it later when I go to the store! I'm--” his speed surprised me even more, given his new size. He was right up against me and, grabbing my neck, he lifted me in the air, choking the air from me. “You fucking PRICK! Who gave you permission to take MY food?” “I’m… sorry…” my feet were dancing in the air, scrabbling for something to alleviate the pressure on my neck. My face felt like It was gonna burst. “…I--" “Answer me!” “I… am…(gasp) answering… you(gasp)” The two swooning groupies, a blond and a ginger, begged Nick to he put me down after a minute or two. I crashed to the floor, gasping to breath. I coughed and looked up at him to see, much to my relief, that the girls had managed to soothe the beast. As the girls continued to rub themselves against his solid form, I saw his cock starting to swell and push out hard against he jeans. He groaned as the girls rubbed their tits on his arms and back, whispering in his ears about how strong and huge he was. His torn jeans barely held his legs muscles-- every lump and mound clearly visible, with the tough fabric stretched to near-transparency over his waist-thick quads. I found myself staring again. “Listen to me, you fucking idiot. Get my food now, or I’ll fucking rip your fucking arms off!" “Ok," was all I could manage as I scrambled to my feet, stunned. What the fuck was that?!! Roid rage?!! Jesus! He turned and strolled out of the room, leaning in to kiss each of the girls as they grabbed at his hunky muscles. Fuckin steroids! I rubbed my throat, thinking, and it dawned on me. Now I get why he named his band "Roid Rage!" He's fuckin' explosive! And fuckin psycho! About as psycho as the dumbass producer that actually seems interested in signing him. Maybe Nick attacked him like he did me just now, and the dudes too scared to say 'no.' My brain worked to quickly block out what had just happened and I started to ponder Nick's career. He's gonna get signed?? No way! He’s not that good! Not at all... He’s a prick. An immense prick. And dangerous, apparently! But, then there's that body... I followed his movement out of the kitchen and into the chill zone, where two more girls joined the threesome. They all fell onto a couch and basically started a little orgy right there in front of me. Nick was getting too dangerous to be this close to. He could have killed me, the fuck! What the hell could I do, though? Call the cops? Leave? In the end, I went out and bought two big packages of fresh meat which more than replaced what I'd eaten. **** I realized I was feeling fucking submissive. Hearing Nick call my name, or any mocking variation thereof, would knock the wind outta my sails, and he knew it-- Fucking bastard. He never exactly "bullied" me, but there was psychological torture that he definitely enjoyed putting me through. And, his new favourite torture was to tease me with his big muscles. He totally got off on how I got mesmerized by his size. He would even go as far as to taunt me by jumping on my lap, grinning that cocky, hot, alpha grin, and trace his finger along each muscle, going from group to muscle group, pointing out just how much bigger he was than me. I was just an average guy, with an average life and a slim, albeit defined, average body, but Nick... Nick was becoming this arrogant, swole, bulky muscle god-- and I hated that I loved watching it happen. It was quickly becoming hell to deal with Nick. ***** Bill seemed easier to deal with, at first. Even bigger than Nick, he at least started off with a bit of respect for me. But, I saw their growth was starting to do funny things on their heads. Some weeks ago, Bill asked me to take down any random messages that came in for him on the landline. (We all used that number as a dumping ground for spam calls, but I guess he was giving it out more frequently now.) What started as a favor turned me into his personal fucking assistant. He hated electronic stuff, so every email, every call, I had to be there or Bill-- William, I had to call him, now, to sound more "professional"-- otherwise, William would get pissed. He probably be even more pissed if he knew i often called him "Billy" in my head. He opened up to me and finally started talking about how his newfound, massive muscle gains were absolutely changing his life. He proudly went on to tell me about his financial windfalls. He'd grown huge and now he was gettin paid! BANK! His body was generating some serious cash revenue... People all over were sending him money for various reasons. He got a new computer for cam chats, several new phones to help track his progress, brand new cutting edge gym equipment, clothes, shoes, supplements, giant new flatscreens-- even a fancy, 3D, curved behemoth for us to use in the chill room. He got money to buy a chopper and was even given a modded Subaru WRX-somethingerother. He was as surprised as I was! He had no idea that people would actually pay just to touch him. And, neither of us could've ever imagined exactly just how much his "fans" were actually willing to pay! Turned out, by doing absolutely nothing cept flexing on cam and maybe dancing a bit, he was making more per month than both my parents, combined!! I had to admit, tho, he'd gotten to the point where I could totally understand why. He was prime, huge, alpha stud. So Bill paid me to be his personal assistant, which barely put food on my table. I saw the money coming in and quickly decided I deserved a bigger cut. But, typical mousy me, I didn't have the balls to mention it. Granted, greed aside, he was being nice to me as it was... and I did really, really enjoy the primary perk of the job: getting up-close, VIP-level, nearly unlimited access, to behind-the-scenes views of that fuckin huge-ass body! Bill-- William-- was now proudly sporting guns that broke the twenty inch mark weeks ago. He had always been a jock, not necessarily intelligent, or "book smart," I guess you could call it, but he was certainly smart enough to manipulate the hell outta people. **** Once, in his newest gift, a badass truck, I was complaining about friggin Nick when Bill suddenly interrupted me. “Man, you remember that night you freaked out because we were growing…?” “Yeah...” I asked cautiously, quietly impressed that his muscular frame was taking up my entire view. I realized that even with our new working "relationship," we'd never actually discussed that night. “We were playing dumb… Of course we knew it was happening!" Finally! The validation made me smile, inwardly. "C’mon, do you really think that…” he flexed his monstrous bicep pretty much in my face “…that we wouldn't notice... this?” “oh, really...” I let the sarcasm roll off my tongue. “Those days, you couldn’t stop staring at us. It was so funny!" That snapped my mouth shut! I began to blush-- I wasn't expecting that hard truth! I wasn't ready to admit anything to anybody about my inner feelings; I certainly wasn't ready to openly discuss it with Bil-- William-- right here, right now! “What the hell you are talking about, William?” I tried to feign ignorance then anger. He stopped the car at a light and faced me, “Look at my body, bro. I know what you're thinking..." I gulped, my throat suddenly dry, “Oh? What am I thinking, William?” He grinned at me, that cocky alpha sneer, for an uncomfortably long time. He grabbed inside his collar with both hands and tore his shirt halfway down his torso, exposing his gorgeous chest to me. The ripping motion made his pecs bounce into view, swollen with an unnatural weight. I literally lost my breath. My jaw went slack. Bill was so huge that my brain couldn’t compute. I reacted like a girl seeing a penis for the first time. My eyes were everywhere, trying to take it all in. I actually felt an embarrassing rivulet of drool slide along my lower lip. The traffic light had long since turned green, but neither of us cared. He shifted in his seat and grabbed at his bulging crotch. My eyes couldn't help but follow. "Now, you're thinking about the size of my horse cock." He grinned after that matter-of-fact statement. I couldn’t even react because that was exactly what I was thinking. I could only make out lumps and curves, exaggerated by the glow of the truck's console. A car behind us beeped in annoyance and we started moving again, but William kept his hand pressed on his crotch. As we rolled along the street, the evenly-placed street lights began to animate a beautiful thickness, creeping down his thigh. The surreal flip-card show ended abruptly as we pulled into a parking lot and, Bam! There, in his tight pants, the fine details of this massive snake were illuminated-- the lump was just the base, and halfway down his huge thigh sat the most well-known shape in the history of modern man. The drool fell heavily off my lower lip. “It's over ten inches, dude." “…ten…” I dragged the back of my hand across my lips, absent-mindedly trying to wipe away any more tell-tale drool. The slurping sound was abnormally loud. “Each month, a new inch, Matt... Can you believe that?! Fuckin awesome!! An inch a month! Fuckin sex god, right here, bro!" My eyes followed his hand down to the plump cock head clearly outlined by, and straining against, the fabric of his shorts. I licked my lips. "What if we don’t stop growing, man? Can you imagine...?” He kinda trailed off, lost in his own fantasy. His cock flexed hard against his shorts, the mushroom tip starting to peek out from the stretched leg opening. “This is just the beginning, Mat... can you fuckin imagine?” I didn’t have to imagine! It was real. This tank's shoulders took up almost the entire width of the front seats. I was being pressed against my door just sitting next to him. His big-ass cock was now threatening to rip his pants if it grew any longer or harder. I forced my eyes shut and tried to imagine what it would be like to actually have sex with this guy. I would be squashed like those bugs on the windshield. I'd have to hold on to his massive frame for dear life, constantly pushing back against him just to get a breath! I could easily fit on his lap, my legs wrapped around his tiny waist, if I were lucky enough to be given the option to ride him. Then I could focus on surviving all 10+ inches pummeling my insides with animal abandon, it's arrow-straight thickness reinforced by the tree trunk enormity of his quads, flexed hard against the seat of the car. The painful hardness of my own cock suddenly ripped me from my fantasy. Shit!! OMG! I was ready to explode! My rod was clearly tenting out my shorts. I was oozing pre-cum. Dangerously close to "go time." I froze in fear, embarrassment, lust, everything... paralyzed. A sliver of clear liquid inched down my inner thigh. He could do whatever he wanted with me. We locked eyes. And, I would let him. Not that fighting against him would make any difference. And, I would love it. He kept looking over at me with that arrogant grin shining across his huge muscular frame. Bill knew I was trapped-- my senses, lust, fantasies, all locked me up, rendering me totally unable to think properly. I felt completely invaded by his gaze and control over me. “...are- are you going to rape me?” I've never been harder or more horny. I ached. My puppy-dog eyes belied my feigned surface fear, desperately pleading for him to take me. God, how I wanted him to push me down, hold me in place, and just destroy me-- to just fuck me hard. I heard myself whisper in the faintest of secret breaths, "Please--" I could feel the truck shaking. He was howling with laughter! "Hey, Mat, you are so fuckin funny!!" He patted me hard on the shoulder. "That’s exactly what every fuckin client of mine wants! But you might have actually had that pleasure!" Another rough pat on my shoulder shook me totally back to reality. "Fuckin crazy, man! People all around me, hoping I'd actually rape them. Isn’t that fucked up!?" I could only nod. "Grab me another shirt from those boxes in back.” I didn’t know what to think. Did he get his huge cock hard in front of me as some kinda joke? Was ripping his shirt off just a mind fuck? If so, these were games I would always lose. I recovered a bit more and asked, “Are you sure these people don't want normal sex, not… uh... to be raped…?" What a weird topic of conversation. And, damn, his cock was still as hard as before. I busied myself with finding a new matching shirt for him in the pile of boxed clothes, stuffed in the back of the truck's extended cab. “That’s the weird thing, before all this growth I had this girlfriend that I fucked on daily basis. Her mother fuckin hated me. It was worse with her dad. They totally despised me... But as soon as I realized every hot-ass chick in sight was startin to get all up on me, I dropped my girl faster than flaming shit." I pulled out a XXL polo and handed it to William. "So, last week she called me again. She said she missed me and all that bullshit. I went to her pad to bang her one more time; kinda a goodbye/sympathy fuck. But, when I walked into the living room and her hater family saw me, all brand new, with these swole-ass guns and big-ass pecs…” Bill pulled off the rest of his destroyed shirt. I could hardly pay attention to his story, every move was an explosion of huge tanned muscle. His old shirt was basically glued to his body and the new polo was no different. He pulled it down, covering his godly torso. It was like an angelic light had been suddenly shut off. I could think again! But, was immediately entranced by his cloth-covered, massive pecs, lit perfectly by the lot's security lights. And, his bis!! Good God! They were like footballs tucked under flesh! Everything pressed against his strained shirt, bouncing and bunching as he continued his story, talking loudly with his hands. “...and then, I had her fuckin mother, under the table, suckin on my cock while her fuckin daughter was taking a shower for our date! Unreal, bro!" My eyes fixated on his cock again. "I could fuck anyone in that family. Haha! I came on the old bitch’s face while her wimp-ass husband was sitting right in the other room! I made sure he knew what was goin on, but he kept pretending it wasn’t happening! Man, I totally dominated that fuckin family. Talk about change of respect.” Shit. God. When is William gonna do that to me? Bend me over, break me in, make me a slave to his every whim? Am I gonna have to act like a dog and beg? Get on the ground and look up at him, "Please fuck my face, sir?" What if he doesn't like it, tho? The possible punishments... Would he crush me? Never talk to me again? The truck's windows had completely fogged over and it was friggin sweltering inside. “So, uh, William, let’s go back home?” “Nah, let’s go inside." “Hooligan’s? Isn't this the place that Nick plays?” “Yah. Always a lotta chicks. Haha! Look at my fuckin cock! It's ready to go all night, bro! It ain't gonna rest til I sink it deep!” His arrogance shot right to my dick again. Hot. And, Hello? Billy! I'm right here, mouth open, totally fucking wanting to suck you dry! Right here, fucker! Don't even have to get outta the car. He swung his door open, “I’ll fuck the first set'a huge titties I see! Promise you!” He wasn't even really talking to me anymore, but I didn’t doubt it. Waking side by side towards the club, anyone could see who the real man was. Bill towered over me with his 6’6" or 6’7"-- I wasn’t sure anymore. There was a pretty long line to get in, but William pushed right through everyone, his 10 incher rock solid, bumping asses, and totally on display. The line of generic people hushed as he moved through them. Bill was hunting for a good-looking girl to fuck. Of the hundred or so people, he zoomed in on a decent-looking brunette. She knew she'd been chosen-- her pupils dilated and nipples got hard. She tried to look away as he approached, but went crazy with lust when she finally got a full view of him. He grabbed at his crotch while she feverishly groped his arms and pecs, then, without a word, they pushed out of the line, and tucked around a nearby corner. Bill started to fuck her, right there, in a nasty little alley, just three or four steps off the busy sidewalk where everyone was waiting. Flashes of flesh and clothing would briefly pop into view, writhing and whipping around, giving visual to the unmistakeable sounds of hungry sex audible just under the walla of the crowd. Watching the edge of the wall long enough it was easy to tell he was ramming her from behind, standing, pressing her up against the wall. To Billy, it was quite normal, I think. But to me and others keen to the show, it felt beyond surreal... A cheesy porno plot made real, right before a shocked audience's eyes. To the normal Joe, this would never even begin to take place, but with his model-boy, chiseled looks, his enormously pumped, muscular body, and his 10"-and-growing Magnum dick, all powered by his alpha cockiness and sex drive, this was an expected, regular event for Billy. A typical weeknight, really. After a solid 10 or so minutes, Billy was making his way back to the front door, still stuffing his deflating cock back in his pants. “Shit man, I fucking ruined her clothes.” I looked past Billy and saw her walking back to her friends, with her dress in rags, completely soaked with his cum and sweat. She could've been ashamed of herself, being so openly and quickly dominated and fucked, but instead, wore her fucked-up hair as a trophy. Her friends were asking all about it and him-- they envied her! Wow. What the fuck was going on? He was a total dick to this random bar chick and she still wanted more. Billy was ready to go inside and didn’t give a shit about the line. He pushed to the front and I noticed none of the doormen made moves to stop him. I was pulled inside right behind Bill, but I quickly moved off to the side for a second, so I could adjust to the loud, dark nightclub. My mind was still reeling from the previous 20 minutes, and I was still in shock over the stuff with Billy in the truck. Shake it off. **** While Bill was being showered with attention, I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Sipping at it and getting lost in thought, someone patted me on the shoulder. Turning around I saw Nick looking down at me, over and between his pecs; his wifebeater left nothing to the imagination, helping to show off their size and symmetry. He squinted his eyes at me before shouting over the noise, “Hey girls! The music critic is finally gracing us with his presence!" In an instant whirlwind, I was thrust into the center of Nick’s ‘friends'-- people whose lives were spent in his shadow, agreeing with any stupid bullshit thing that came out of his mouth. The "yes" crowd. But, man, he certainly did have a lot of these ‘friends.' “I come in peace, Nick,” I yelled over the music, trying to sound cool. “You have to, bro. Joe, tell him what happened to the last… critic." Joe was the original bandleader, the alpha, the number one, the rising star, before Nick’s unexplainable growth. Now, he was a zombie like the others. “Haha! All I remember was him having his mouth too full to talk any shit, right Nick?” The laughed. “Yeah, dude, his face was fuckin hilarious!! But, he -was- begging for it, wasn’t he girls?” All the chicks swooned in agreement. “Tooootally,” said one punk girl as she patted and ran her fingers along Nick's cock bulge. It had to be a full moon! Two muscle-monster roommates of mine, basically threatening to rape me on the same day! Nick adjusted his cock to help it snake down his leg while the punk groupies rubbed him. It grew obscenely large, incredibly quickly. Two other girls were feeling him from behind, cupping at his pecs, squeezing his bis, but none of that stopped him from glaring down at me with a sneer. He flared his muscular back and the two babes gasped and moaned as they continued feeling him up. Hands were everywhere, dwarfed by his frame. It made me suddenly realize, as he flexed, that he'd grown so massive, he now rivaled most pro bodybuilders I'd seen pictures of! He was wearing some kind of purple dark unitard beneath the white wifebeater-- clothes only a Mexican luchador would choose-- clothes that managed to make every line of his growing cock and thick-ass legs stand out with a bright, glowing shine. He was looking like a glam-ish version of Conan, the Barbarian. He was just plain huge. Everyone looked like children next to his 6’5", thick, broad frame. “Show time! Means, time for you to go, critic!" He shoved me away, with a wink. "Later, you gotta tell me what you think of my show!" As could be expected for a band called "Roid Rage," their show was a bunch of guys torturing instruments and insulting their audience. It couldn't even be classified as thrash metal. It was just noise, a very loud noise, created just to deafen any ear. Of course, the primary focus of their stage show was Nick, lit by spots, destroying a guitar and yelling at a microphone. His guitar was a cheap piece of crap because it wouldn’t survive that night. By my side was an older guy, an odd figure amidst the clubgoers. He was entranced by the spectacle. and when Nick ripped off his sweaty wifebeater, this guys eyes practically burst into cartoony dollar signs. Apparently, he was a low-life unsuccessful music producer. Needless to say, he quickly became Nick's producer, but thankfully, and just as quickly, he faded into the background, becoming just another sex slave, worshiping at the altar of Nick's neverending growth. But, for the moment, he was just another guy who couldn’t tear his eyes away from Nick’s crotch. I realized that I had lost track of Bill, and he was nowhere to be seen. He was probably off fucking some girl(s). Some stupid lucky hoes. Some pretty, titty, trashy tramps that... weren't... me. Huh. Was I actually pissed that he was off long-dickin some gutter skanks when he should really be fucking me? Did I fall that hard for him, or, shit... them... that fast? Fuck!! My dick was sprung imagining Billy and Nick just destroying some faceless bar whores, but my heart was aching in an ugly jealousy that it wasn't me being banged unconscious by the two godly studs. Their lives were suddenly heavenly-- like twin white-hot suns, scorching to ash everything they looked upon. It made me think of Kafka’s Metamorphosis; it was about a twenty-something guy turning into a repulsive, very fragile giant cockroach. Enduring this transformation took everything he had. He survived, only to die in the end from hunger and loss, abandoned by all, even his family. It was a fucking sad story. Really. But here, it was the complete opposite-- it was Kafka antimatter! Each day, these boys were getting more and more appealing to everyone around them... Forcing a kind of pervasive mob-mentality onto the throngs of slack-jawed groupies, brain-washing them all into living for one thing, and one thing only, the worship of their bodies-- their muscles, their enormous biceps and pecs and quads-- their unchecked egos, their alpha male monster cocks, their insatiable appetites. Each day, their power and control grew, and their true prime alpha status became more and more obvious. And, stuck at ground zero? Little ol me. I've been forced to watch this whole... ascension... from the very beginning! I couldn’t hold in my own shameless desires for Nick and Billy any longer. Each day, I felt would finally be the day where I crumble and give in to my lust. My addiction was becoming harder and harder to feed. Sometimes, I'd find myself hiding in some cramped corner in the garage just to watch Bill work out. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that tomorrow they will actually be bigger. Bill's musings in the truck that day started to dominate my thoughts: when it will stop? Will it stop? What if they turn into giants, fucking and devouring everything in sight? They weren't anywhere near that point yet, but, my god, these boys were pushing all the right envelopes already. The sound of Nick obliterating his guitar ripped me out of my reverie. His massive frame filled my vision, abuptly interrupted by someone handing me a thick blunt. I glanced briefly at the generous club-goer, shrugged, and took a nice, long, suffocating hit. Nick was moving into a hard double-bi pose, his hips thrust forward, showing off that mouth-watering monster cock. It was just there, on full display under his sprayed-on skinny jeans. The crowd went wild with the sound of the guitar screaming as Nick jerked its dangling strings like some bitch's hair he was holding in place to slap with his dick. The high from the pot helped me finally realize that everyone in this nightclub was sharing the same nasty fantasies I was. We all wanted, minimum, to feel Nick’s iron muscles. Some were even shamelessly begging at Nick's feet, high up on the stage, while others were desperately fighting those insane urges. The latter few were the most amusing to watch; big dudes who thought of themselves as alpha males, realizing in shame that they all utterly paled in comparison to Nick. The deafening band was horrible, but Nick didn't need anything to command the respect of the club. In the center of the screeching noise, I could just make out a devouring kind of energy being evoked; it was chaotic like a hurricane and destructive like a tsunami. I had never heard anything like that. The interesting part of this metaphor was that Nick, essentially in the eye of the storm, was actually fueling the whole hurricane on stage. He spun and whipped, full of energy, full of muscle and veins, swollen and pumped like hell. And, suddenly, a pulse of light and thump of bass was the last… whatever this was. I found myself thinking the show was actually way too short. Everyone shouted and begged for more, but the band-- Nick-- didn’t give a shit. I was gasping for air like everyone in the club when I felt an unnatural, roaring heat behind me. I wavered a bit on my feet and bumped straight into something painfully hard and massive. I turned to figure out what the hell piece of furniture was suddenly behind me only to be shocked that the mass was fuckin Bill’s quad. I looked up at him, reeling, "Hey-hi, Bill! Uh... Where were you?” “Backstage. Fucking some twins." He said it so blasé. “Oh… uh..." I quickly understood why he was so hot-- I mean, his body temperature. You get the idea. Some other girls came to talk to Bill, but he just shoved them away, "Let’s go find Nick!” he said as he took my arm and pulled me backstage. We pushed through the decorations and people and I was stopped in my tracks. There, in the middle of everything and everyone, was Nick, sprawled on a ratty couch, getting his beautiful, giant cock worked over by an absolutely on point blonde hottie. He drained his beer and hurled it at the nearest wall. It exploded in glass, just adding to the nearly impassible layers of debris on the floor. Cans, glass, scraps of food and clothes, cigarette butts, baggies... all manner of shit made me scared to move for fear of falling on my face and catching hep-C. But, then Nick spotted me. “So, critic! I've been waiting all night! How many stars?” People went quiet when Nick spoke. Everyone looked at me. I had no words when Nick stood up, the blond still sucking his cock. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her off his tool. I could see in her eyes that she wanted to be treated like that. Every girl in this room wanted to be Nick’s whore. He casually tucked his huge hard cock inside the weird glam fatigued leotard he'd changed in to. “Answer me!" I jumped. “It... Uh... It was chaotic, like a hurricane. Destructive, like a tsunami." Everyone looked back at Nick, waiting for his reaction. Bill was the only one chuckling. “That’s a good one… I like it!" Nick said, thoughtfully. “Good review. You're safe, for tonight.” It hurt my pride, but I said, “thanks.” I was spared the public humiliation of being forced to deep throat Nick's amazing cock, but I had conflicting feelings about it. He fell back onto the couch and resumed his private sex show. I left before he changed his mind about publicly raping my throat. (to be continued ... )

Hehe! Well I'm still tweaking and editing the story, but it's kinda fun to leave each bit on a little cliffhanger!

damn this is getting hot , and your so mean again lol leaving it like that, i mean liam saying “always fun posing for an appreciative muscle fan” ..... he must be into muscle worship!! i wonder if oscar is really going to be brave enough to ask him? ???

Thanks for all the feedback guys!

This jouney will be an epic one!

this is really good love your cliffhangers, leaves us wanting more!!! and wondering where “the guns”watson is going to go with it cant wait for more hot chapters!!!

I’m loving this story!

Outstanding! Whichever direction you‘re gonna take this, please keep this great attention to (muscular) details. I love your sensual descriptions! Cheers

Great entry and great descriptions but I gotta tell ya... If Bruce came on to ME like that, my response would have been: "You better goddamned believe it, Big Boy! Now show me whatcha got!" I had a fun exchange on Instagram the other day. One of the 1500 or so bodybuilders I follow posted a really great chest shot. Only problem was he was wearing a tank top. My comment was: "It should be illegal for you to wear a shirt!" Which prompted another follower to reply to my comment with: "Dude, that's pretty gay." My response? "Well, I should HOPE so!" Which elicited a "LOL! OK! No disrespect!" I long ago stopped pretending that I wasn't looking at handsome men!

Fuck man! Thsi si awesome. Liam is arealy great guy and i have a feeling he loves to show off si Iur friends is onna gave so much fun now

I still dun get why people love bullies like that so much. But dang I hope Carl (or the narator) will become so freaking big that he'd make Bruce look like a freaking ant. And would humiliate him more than Bruce ever humiliated Carl, yet would not do anything to Bruce afterwards so he would not be a bully like Bruce. >=(

Oh god this definitely has to continue!! Bigger is better yeah mmm groooaaarr

Great story/start!! finally a mean bully story. I hope that Bruce can become bigger and more aggressive! Show off more! found out he gets to turn on by muscle and dominance, love it ! Great story!!

He just found out he gets turn on by muscle and dominante. What a ride he will have

Nice! Looking forward to the next installment!

Great story/start!! Yes, more please, there is definitely an appetite for more out there I am certain. :-)

Wow finally a mean bully story. Based on the title I presume the protagonist is going to get the last laugh? Before that happens hope that Bruce can become bigger and more aggressive

Friday July 21st - 10:00 pm Dear Muscle Diary, My name is Oscar Grimes and I'm obsessed with exactly two things; shiny, tiny, brightly coloured posing trunks, and the huge, roided muscle bulls who wear them. Last Wednesday was a day I'll never forget. Not only did I witness a bodybuilder in the flesh in my local launderette, but I also found a pair of his posing trunks left behind in one of the machines. And today, Friday July 21st, is also a day I’ll never forget. For so, so many reasons. I've always found it amazing how a single moment can stick in your memory and stay there forever. So many things happen to us every single day, and many of them are forgotten so quickly. But sometimes, something will stay in our heads. Like our brain takes a picture of a precise moment that we can access any time we like. And every time we do, it’s almost as clear as when it happened. Today was full of those very moments. One of which was when Liam “The Guns” Watson opened the door to his flat, and all six feet and two hundred plus pounds of him was stood staring at me from over the threshold. Obviously I’d encountered this absurdly sexy muscle beast in the flesh two Wednesday’s before when we’d waddled into the launderette. Another such moment that will forever be etched on to my memory. And yet, as he stood looking at me with a warm, inviting smile, I was completely overwhelmed with just how insanely fucking hot he was. Presumably because he was only two days out from competing, his skin was tinted a gorgeous, golden colour. A few more coats and he’d be bronzed and ready to step to stage. It completely contrasted with my typically pale complexion. His hair had changed since our first encounter a week and a half ago. It was now shaved except for a strip down the middle, which was not only spiked up and styled into a hot Mohawk, but dyed bright blue in the most outrageous fashion. Strong, masculine features sat on his handsome face. His slightly large, jug ears stuck out in the sexiest fashion (perfect for grabbing hold of with both sets of fingers when pounding his obscenely huge arse) and on both cheeks, either side of his devastatingly gorgeous grin, sat two little dimples like parenthesis. (The most adorable looking parenthesis you’re ever likely to see.) As for the mountain of outrageously developed muscle sitting below his neckline; annoyingly, it was covered up save for the top of his broad chest peeking out over the top of the same black hoodie he'd worn at the launderette. Much like on that occasion, he was wearing long shorts, so everything bar his completely smooth, bronzed shins were covered up. But even though there was very little beef on display, I was still completely overwhelmed and incredibly aroused by his enormous frame. Standing before me was a man who’d moulded and transformed his once ordinary sized body into that of an excessively sized muscle freak. I couldn’t help but wonder at one moment had Liam realised he’d crossed the line from gym going muscle lad into all out roided muscle bull? When random strangers had started gawping, shrieking and pointing at him as he walked down North Street? When he’d attempted to buy a hoodie in H&M to discover it was too small, forcing him to buy an XXL sized one from the shop at Deano’s Gym? Or maybe it had been the first time he’d looked in the mirror and his dick had instantly exploded at the image of the monstrous muscle freak staring back at him? “Oscar?” he asked as I stood at the door, about an inch shorter than him, the shiny blue posing trunks I’d said my sad goodbyes to fifteen minutes before tucked up in the backpack slung over my regular sized, non freaky shoulders. The nerves I’d felt walking to Liam’s house seemed to have been overtaken by a sense of sheer shock and disbelief of being in the presence of, not only a real life competitive bodybuilder, but one as utterly huge and sexy as Liam. “Yeah. Hi!” I said, trying to keep my focus on his face, and not be too blatant about staring at his enormous frame. “Come in mate,” he said, ushering me over the threshold and shutting the door behind me. As he sidled past me, we were closer than ever. Just being in such close proximity to a muscle bull of such magnificent size was incredibly horny. I followed Liam into his flat, taking in his huge back covered up by his Deano’s Gym hoodie and his outrageously developed and astonishingly huge arse stretching the material of his blue shorts. “Do you want a drink Oscar?” I loved the way he called me by my name like we were friends, even though we’d only just met. “Ummm … can I just have some water please?” “Sure mate!” Liam replied, before disappearing into the kitchen and leaving me in the living room of Brighton's biggest and sexiest muscle bull. I quickly scoured the room. A big Union Jack rug sat on the floor, matching Union Jack cushions sat on the black leather sofa, a huge flat screen TV was stuck to the wall, and sitting on a book shelf at the end of the sofa were multiple bodybuilding trophies, shaped like mini muscle men. Three framed pictures sitting on a shelf above his mantelpiece caught my eye. An old fashioned photo of a married couple I presumed to be his parents, an adorable picture of a black French bulldog looking joyful with his pink tongue flat out and a picture of Liam himself; tanned from head to toe, his whole body a mass of bronzed, shredded, competition conditioned muscle mass, a medal round his neck and a bodybuilding trophy at his feet. And all he was wearing was a pair of bright blue, shiny posing trunks. The very same posing trunks tucked up in my backpack at that precise moment! My dick juddered as I moved closer to get a better look at shredded Liam, flexing a hand on hips most muscular, an ecstatic grin on his oh-so gorgeous face, every freakishly developed muscle separated my beautiful lines and cuts. And all in those very familiar posing trunks. The hottest blue posing trunks in the world. The trunks I’d sniffed, and rubbed in my face as I wanked myself stupid. The trunks I’d fucking SPUNKED in just six nights before! “That was my first ever win mate!” I jumped as Liam “The Guns” Watson re-entered the room, and when I spun around to face him, I was met with an image so surreal and unexpected my jaw literally dropped, and my mouth hung open for just a second as I tried to compose myself. Liam had taken his hoodie off, and now had only a mint green coloured vest partially covering his upper body. His bare shoulders were absolutely fucking ridiculous. Like two bronzed half watermelons bulging either side of his frame. I could see a lot more of his chest. Huge, thick plates of muscle which stretched out the material of the vest at the bottom (begging to be squeezed, fondled and played with) and spilled out of the material at the top. And his arms. Jesus fucking CHRIST those arms. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing those in the flesh. The biggest upper arms I’ve ever seen on any human being outside of a bodybuilding competition. It was like they’d been injected with every fucking steroid and growth hormone on the market and pumped till they were in danger of going pop. Even relaxed I could see that vein I’d become familiar from his Instagram pictures, snaking down the middle of the left bicep. His forearms were obscenely thick too. Almost twice the size of mine, completely hairless and snaked in outrageous veins. As he walked towards me and reached out his right arm with a glass of water, freaky striations suddenly erupted underneath the paper thin, gorgeously golden skin of the accompanying shoulder. I took the water, all the while in a state of shock that I was in the presence of a man so freakishly huge and muscular. I wondered in that moment if Liam ever played with He-Man action figures as a young lad. And then I wondered just what that lad would have thought if he’d have somehow been shown what an enormous, superhuman muscle bull he’d become as an adult. “Sorry Oscar! I didn't mean to make you jump,” he said. His mouth curled into a mischievous grin as he said it, and I got the sense that he not only knew that his incredible body was making me nervous, but was also getting a bit of a kick out it. Whether he had any idea of the other thoughts that were going through my head I wasn’t sure. Or what effect his newly revealed slabs, lumps, bumps and mounds of obscenely developed muscle were having on my crotch. “Novice class of Mr Brighton 2014,” Liam added, referring to the picture of him on his mantle piece. “You probably recognise the trunks!” he exclaimed, grinning even more, with those adorable dimples appearing in his cheeks. Meanwhile, I furiously blushed at the mere mention of the item of clothing I’d been obsessing about for the past week. “It's partly why I was so gutted when I lost them. Sentimental value and all that,” he said, slightly sheepishly, making me want to melt into his Union Jack rug. I nodded. “I get that!” I replied. “You must have thought I was a bit of a nutter for putting up that poster!” he said. I’ve always struggled to conceal my true feelings. I winced slightly and made a, “Hmmmm…” noise, to which Liam just laughed. “I was a bit desperate mate! I went straight back to the launderette when I realised they were missing. I think I scared the woman working there a bit. Not just cause I was trying to explain to her what a pair of posing trunks looked like, but because, well …” at this point Liam paused, looked down and signalled to his body. The huge, freakishly muscular, competition ready body bulging out of the mint green vest just inches away from me. FUCK! “The poster idea came to me when I saw a similar one for a missing cat taped to a lamppost a few days earlier. I went back and asked the old dear in the launderette if I could put it up. I think she thought I was well and truly NUTS but let me do it anyway. Probably for fear I was gonna eat her!” I laughed out loud at this, and Liam grinned. “I’m guessing it was the first time anyone’s ever put up a poster for a missing pair of posers,” he said, still grinning and looking rather pleased himself. I was getting the impression that Liam rather liked doing things which were not completely of the norm. “I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to respond to it! So I was really chuffed when I got your text Oscar! It's not just the fact that I won my first ever show in them. I’m competing on Sunday and they were gonna be my trunks for the finals. To match the hair,” he explained, running his right hand through his outrageously hot, bright blue Mohawk. “It's kind of an ensemble. Blue hair. Blue trunks. To make me standout,” he said, cheekily grinning. It seemed utterly absurd that a man this huge and gorgeous would need to make any sort of attempt to stand out in a group or crowd. “Plus, I guess they’re kind of my favourite trunks,” he added, shrugging and looking a little sheepish. I couldn't help but smile at this. The idea of Liam having a favourite pair of posers was as adorable as his dimples. He’d stopped talking and there seemed to be something hanging in the air. Liam had an expectant look on his face and the penny suddenly dropped. He was waiting for his posing trunks. Of course he fucking was. “Oh! Your posers,” I said. The word had left my mouth without any kind of pre-thought. Turning around from Liam to fetch the trunks from my backpack sitting on his sofa, I had no idea whether he noticed that I’d gone bright red with embarrassment. But I was also feeling a rush of adrenaline too. I had never said the word “posers” or “posing trunks” to another person out loud before. My heart was pounding as I fetched the obscenely shiny, blue trunks out of my bag. An act which enhanced my adrenaline even more. Turning around and nervously handing the posing trunks I’d shot a huge wad of spunk into back to the gorgeous muscle freak standing before me was single handily the most surreal moment of my life up to that point. “Thanks dude!” Liam said, beaming as he was reunited with his beloved trunks, now dangling in his right hand, in the horniest image. A huge sexy muscle bull reunited with his favourite shiny posers. There was still a part of me which had doubted whether I’d done the right thing in parting ways with the posing trunks I’d come to love so much. But standing in front of Liam in that moment, I realised I’d absolutely made the right decision. I wondered whether it would be completely out of the question to request him to strip, put the posers on and start hitting up some poses in the living room? “So how come you didn't hand them in?” he asked. Because I fucking LOVE tiny, shiny, slurp-tastic posing trunks! "I, ummm … didn't find them until I’d gotten home,” I lied. “Ahhhh! That makes sense,” Liam said, nodding, and making me feel slightly guilty. “So, you go to Deano’s?” The question completely threw me. Why on Earth would he think I go to the most hardcore gym in town? My biceps aren’t THAT good, are they?! “Erm .... no. I go to Fitness Addicts,” I replied, nervously. “Oh right. I just assumed,” he said. Liam was looking at my upper arms, which were mostly on show below the sleeve of my t-shirt. An actual bodybuilder was checking out my biceps. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. But I also felt something else. Flattery. Confusion. He actually thought I went to Deano’s Gym. What the fuck?! “So ... how do you know me?” This question threw me even more. I was completely and utterly baffled. And then he explained himself, and everything suddenly make sense. “You used my name in your text message.” HOLY FUCKING JESUS!! I wanted the ground to swallow me up. To pause time and run the hell out of Liam's flat. I used his name in my text message! “Hi Liam!” How could I have been so fucking stupid?! My brain went into panic mode. How WOULD I know Liam? Me, a regular sized, non-bodybuilding guy? How could I explain that I was completely and utterly obsessed with huge, freaky muscle? That I regularly creamed off to pictures and videos of posing trunk sporting muscle bulls on the Internet, just like I did with a picture of him when I stumbled across his profile on Instagram on Saturday night? And that’s when it hit me. An answer for Liam which could just save me. “I follow you on Instagram,” I hastily said, my voice trembling slightly. “Oh right!” he replied. The answer seemed good enough for him. “I forget I’m pretty well known on the Internet. So you follow bodybuilding?” he asked. “Yeah,” I replied, nervously, but fairly confidently. It was the truth after all. “Awesome!” Liam exclaimed. His eyes went back to my arms, and his next statement made me blush crimson. “I can see you've got some biceps on you!” he exclaimed with a cheeky grin. I sheepishly grinned. I couldn’t help it. I don’t know why I said what I did next. Maybe it was the confidence of having a bodybuilder praise the size of my arms. “The guys I work with actually have a nickname for me.” “Oh yeah?” Liam asked with one of his eyebrows raised. I nodded, blushing like crazy and regretting what I’d said, but knowing it was too late to back out of the conversation. “They call me Mr Biceps!” I said, wincing. “HAHA!! That's awesome!” Liam exclaimed. “Mr Biceps! I like that. They call me “The Guns”, but you probably know that already,” he said. I smiled and nodded and my eyes went straight to those upper arms of him. Huge, bronzed, and the size of fucking tree trunks! It would have been the perfect opportunity for Liam to have lifted those bad boys up, and given me a quick, cheeky, front double bicep pose. Or to lift up one of his forearms, squeeze his fist and flex one of those hard, marble-esque balls of beef. But sadly, he didn’t do either of those things. Suddenly needing to relieve myself of the water Liam had given me, and also perhaps wanting to prolong my encounter with this gorgeous, cheeky, charming bodybuilder I‘d amazingly found myself in the company of, I asked Liam if I could use his bathroom. Today was full of moments I’ll never forget and, and being distracted by something on my way to Liam “The Guns” Watson’s bathroom was most certainly one of them. Along with every single thing that followed that night until I eventually left his flat.

As a current library student, I wholeheartedly approve of this story and look forward to more!

Thursday July 20th - 8:00 pm Dear Muscle Diary, Just one question; what the actual buggering fuck am I gonna do? So, last Wednesday night I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about Liam’s posing trunks. Well, last night I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking about the poster Liam had outrageously (and crazily!) put up in the laundrette asking if anyone had seen them, and just what that means for me. I have the opportunity to speak to, meet, and converse with the huge, gorgeous bodybuilder I spunked off to on Saturday night while looking at a picture of him blowing up his enormous nickname earning biceps whilst wearing an actual pair of his super shiny posing trunks! FUUUUUCKK!! But, as much as the idea of meeting Liam excites me, it fucking terrifies me. Even just the initial first contact. Phoning the number he gave on the poster. Actually speaking to him on phone! Oh God! What the fuck would I say? “Ummm ... hi there. Yeah. I have, well, practically stole your posing trunks, which I fucking SPUNKED in by the way. Whilst looking at a picture of you blowing up your biceps on my laptop.” OK, so maybe I wouldn't say those EXACT words. But even just the idea of saying the words “posing trunks” out loud to another person (any person) makes me nervous. And then to actually meet Liam in person, to go to his house, or for him to come here (a huge competitive bodybuilder in my FLAT!), talk to him, converse with him, hand him back his posers ... OH JESUS!! By the way, diary, is it completely and immorally wrong to give a bodybuilder his trunks back AFTER you've wanked and blown a huge creamy load in them? I put that very question into Google but, strangely, nothing came back. I may be the first person in the history of the universe to face this dilemma. No. I can't do it. I can't meet a huge, gorgeous, pumped up muscle bull and give him back his shiny, slurp-tastic trunks I came in whilst looking at a picture of him flexing his biceps with his mouth wide open in an outrageously cocky fashion. I just can not do it. Yours, Oscar Grimes (nope, can’t do it) Thursday July 20th - 9:00 pm Dear Muscle Diary, I’ve made a decision. I’M GONNA DO IT! I've been thinking about this all evening and I’ve come to this conclusion; the question is not how CAN I meet Liam “The Guns” Watson in person and give him back his missing posing trunks, but how can I fucking NOT?! I've thought about the pros and cons of both options, and it really comes down which set of cons outweighs the other. CONS OF MEETING LIAM: 1. I could potentially make a right TIT of myself. 2. I’d be nervous as fucking HELL! 3. I’d lose the shiny blue posing trunks forever. CONS OF NOT MEETING LIAM: 1. I would miss the this amazing, potentially once in a lifetime opportunity to meet and interact with a real life competitive bodybuilder (and a bloody gorgeous one at that)! And once that opportunity has gone, it will never, ever come back. And THAT is why I’ve decided ... I have to fucking do is! Yes, I'll lose the trunks. But they were never really mine to begin with. And there are other trunks. TONS of other trunks for me to order, buy and own. But there will be never be another opportunity like this to so easily meet Liam. And I’m nervous. God, I'm fucking nervous. But I’m excited as hell too. Liam "The Guns" Watson ... the unthinkable is about to happen. I’m about to meet Brighton’s biggest and sexiest roid munching muscle bull, and you’re about to get your missing posing trunks back! Yours, Oscar Grimes (I’M BLOODY DOING IT!) Friday July 21st - 6:30 pm Dear Muscle Diary, Oh God. Oh fuck. OH JESUS! I think I’m having a panic attack. I have just got off the phone with ... LIAM “THE FUCKING GUNS” WATSON!! But there's more. I’m going to his HOUSE! In half a fucking HOUR!! FUUUUUCKKK!! I’m nervous. I’m bricking it. But FUCK I’m excited!! Well, diary, despite my last entry I've still been deliberating over whether to use Liam’s number and meet up with him all day. Thanks to the Deano’s Gym Facebook page I know he’s competing at the Tiger Bodybuilding Classic in London on Sunday though, so I figured if I didn't act soon, I'd be spending the entire weekend, and probably most of next week too in this state of mental torture, so I told myself it was “now or never“. I don't think I've ever been so anxious about making a phone call. My heart was pounding as I brought up Liam “The Guns” Watson on my contact list and hovered my finger over the call button. All that was screaming in my head at that moment was, “I can't do this! I can't fucking do this!” I dropped the phone on my bed. Relaxed for ten seconds, and then a wave of inspiration hit me. I picked up my phone again, and like a big fucking coward, composed a text message instead. “Hi Liam. My name’s Oscar. I saw your poster in the launderette and I have your posing trunks.” I deliberated for a second whether to include a kiss. Maybe even a smiley face emoji. But left it as it was and, heart still pounding, hit send. The sweeping noise of a sent message sounded from my phone and one single thing went through my head; “FUUUUUUUUCK!” But I was smiling. Like crazy! I couldn't fucking help it. Even just texting Liam was such a fucking rush! And then something happened which completely wiped the smile off my face and caused my whole body to go into severe panic mode. My phone started ringing. And the name of the caller which appeared on my screen? LIAM “THE GUNS” WATSON!! I answered the phone. Nervous as HELL. “Hello?” “Hey! Is that Oscar?” OH JESUS!! Even his voice was HOT!! Deep, smooth, confident, SEXY! My dick started swelling instantly. “Yeah. Hi!” My voice was trembling slightly but what the fuck do you expect, diary?! “I just got your text. You have my posers?” There was a tone of hope in his voice which was adorable as hell. “Yeah!” I replied. I just couldn't think of anything else to say! "Where d’ya find ‘em?” Liam asked with a tone of curiosity. “In the launderette,” I replied. There was a pause and I knew I needed to give Liam more. “They were in with my washing. I think you must have left them in the machine?” “Oh right,” Liam replied. “HA! Sorry about that mate!” What the fuck? He’s apologising? He's fucking apologising! That is both adorable and fucking ABSURD! If only he bloody knew what finding a pair of shiny posers from a gorgeous competitive bodybuilder meant to me! “So, where do you live dude?” As I told him, I had an image of him turning up at my door. Coming into my flat. Following me into my bedroom. A six foot, 200 plus pounds bodybuilder. In my bedroom! My heart raced further as I told Liam where I lived, and he informed me that his flat was about a fifteen minute walk from mine. “So ... are you free now?!” Liam asked. OH JESUS! “Ummm ... yeah!” I replied. FUUUUUCK!! “Any chance you could come round to mine in half an hour?” WHAT IS THIS LIFE?! “Sure!” I replied, as casually as I possibly could. “Awesome!” There was a sudden excitement in his oh-so-sexy voice which was incredibly endearing. He was just a lad who wanted his shiniest posers back. Just a lad who regularly stomped around bodybuilding stages plastered in greasy, glistening, golden tan flexing his ginormous sized nickname earning biceps, twice the size of most men’s heads! And he’s inviting me round to his fucking flat!! “I'll text you my address. See you in half an hour Oscar!” I don't know why, but hearing him say my name in his insanely sexy voice made me want to melt into my bedroom carpet. I hung up the phone, and my whole body felt like it was going to combust with excitement. I fetched Liam’s posing trunks from my drawer and, as I held them in my hands, I felt a twinge of sadness. It was time to say goodbye to the shiny, bright, ridiculously hot blue posing trunks I so fondly loved. We’ve had some good times together. From the time I found them tangled up amongst my washing in the tumble dryer, to the first time I got them out of my bag at home and ran my fingers through the super shiny material. From the night I wanked off with them placed over my face, feeling the material on my skin and breathing in the fabric to the night I finally put them on for the very first time and blew a huge load of spunk into the shiny pouch whilst looking at a picture of a bodybuilder blowing up his enormous sized biceps. But now it’s time for a bigger and potentially better adventure, because in half an hour, I’ll be standing on the doorstep of that very fucking bodybuilder’s flat! Holy. Jesus. Fucking. CHRIST!! Yours, Oscar Grimes (soon to be standing in front of local bodybuilder Liam “The Guns” Watson!)

Monday July 17th Dear Muscle Diary, Well, diary, It's been five days since my last visit to the laundrette and almost all of my thoughts are still occupied by two things; 1. The super shiny, brilliantly blue posing trunks I found sitting amongst my washing in the tumble dryer, now filled up with my muscle loving spunk (blush)! 2. The original owner of said posing trunks who was part responsible for them being filled up with my muscle loving spunk and whose Instagram profile I've been regularly checking since Saturday night; Liam “The Guns” Watson! So you might think I'm slightly bonkers when I make this confession, but now that I've actually put the trunks on (and shot a massive load of spunk into them - ker-SPLAT!), I keep fantasising about wearing them out in public! Obviously not just wearing the posing trunks (I’m pretty sure I’d either get arrested, or carted off to the nearest nut house) but wearing them under my jeans. I don't know why but the idea of walking around my local Tesco with the obscenely shiny fabric of a pair of posers clinging to my arse under my jeans really appeals to me! As does wearing them under my trackies at the gym. Using the leg press or pumping up my biceps with my dick tucked into the blue poser material. Or even (and this is the craziest idea of the lot), wearing them to work! Shaking hands with a client, who has absolutely no idea that, underneath my smartest suit trousers, lies the obscenely shiny trunks of a huge, roided bodybuilder! Going to the toilets, unzipping the flies and being greeted with the sight of that bright blue poser material! FUCK!! And, as much as I love Liam's posers, I can't stop thinking about how much I'd love to own another pair. Just as shiny as the ones I have, but a different colour. Maybe I'd go for red, like the ones in the Instagram shot of Liam flexing his biceps. Or maybe something more adventurous. Bright pink. Or glittery gold! Maybe I'll buy a couple of pairs and build up a collection. Maybe I’ll make it my personal mission to have a pair of posing trunks from each colour of the rainbow. A different pair to wear and spunk in for every day of the week. Slurp, squirt, SPLAT! And as for Liam himself? Well, I just can't comprehend the fact that there's a bodybuilder who is that huge and gorgeous living in Brighton, and presumably not that far away from me if we share the same launderette, who I've seen in the flesh, and who's posers I've fucking SPUNKED in! And with the posing trunks, we'll always have this awesome, special link (even if he does not know it)! Since finding him on Instagram on Saturday night, pretty much the first thing I did when I woke up on Sunday morning was check out his profile again. He looked just as huge, just as gorgeous and just as fucking spunk-worthy in the cold (and sober) light of day. Since then he's been regularly posting new pictures. More shots of him hitting various poses at home in front of the Pumping Iron poster, and even a few pictures of him flexing at the infamous Deano’s Gym. Even more amazing and horny is the fact than in almost every new picture posted he's wearing a DIFFERENT pair of posers! FUCK!! Purple, bright orange and emerald green trunks have all made an appearance. All super shiny. And all incredibly horny. Which begs the question; just how many fucking pairs of posing trunks does Liam “The Guns” Watson own?! And where, and how, can I get my greedy mitts on another one of them? SLURP!! Yours, Oscar Grimes (possible future owner of more pairs of tiny, shiny posing trunks!) Tuesday July 18th Dear Muscle Diary, So, tomorrow night is laundry night, and exactly one week since I saw local bodybuilder Liam “The Guns” Watson and found a pair of his posing trunks amongst my washing. I'm actually kind of nervous. It's not just that I feel like I'm returning to the scene of a crime, but also because I'll be returning with the spunked up posing trunks in my wash bag. I've also had a terrifying thought; what if Liam is at the laundrette again? I mean, on one hand, that would be fucking AWESOME because I'd absolutely love to see the gorgeous muscle bull whose Instagram profile I've been regularly checking since creaming a load over on Saturday in the flesh again. But, on the other hand, seeing him again and just knowing that I was in possession of his trunks, which I’ve fucking SPUNKED in, would make me feel incredibly nervous! I'd probably turn into a quivering mess. And what if (and this is my biggest fear, diary), he's not only there, but also, somehow sees his missing posing trunks in amongst my washing? I have this image of myself sitting on one of the benches in the laundrette waiting for my washing to finish, eagerly and nervously checking the door to see if Liam has walked in. The washing then finishes and I'm putting my clothes into the basket ready for the tumble dryer, but ooooops, I accidentally drop the shiny blue posers on the floor, just as Liam Watson walks through the door. FUCK! Maybe I should go to another launderette? Maybe I shouldn't take the posers, even though I really want them washed so I can wear (and then shoot another fucking load into) them again? ARRRGHHH!! Yours, Oscar Grimes (self confessed perpetual worrier!) Wednesday July 19th Dear Muscle Diary, Oh. My. ACTUAL. Fucking. Buggering. GOD! I'm starting to wonder whether I'll ever have a non eventful night at that bloody launderette! You will not fucking BELIEVE what's happened now. Nope, Liam didn't catch me washing his missing posing trunks. And no, he didn't accidentally leave anther pair of shiny as shit posing trunks in a washing machine for me to find and keep. Thankfully, Liam wasn't at the launderette tonight. But I know for a fact that he had been there since his visit last Wednesday. Let me explain, diary. With my washing in the machine (creamed up posing trunks included - SLURP!), I sat in my usual spot on the bench by the door. I turned to look at it, half wishing Liam “The Guns” Watson would come waddling through the frame in his Deano’s Gym hoodie, half hoping he wouldn’t, and that’s when I saw it. Something was pinned to the notice board on the wall of the launderette which made me heart leap into my throat and my eyes almost pop clean out of their sockets. Barely able to believe what I was seeing, I nervously stood up and walked towards the notice board to examine it. Stuck to the board was a poster. At the top sat six words I never imagined I'd see put together; “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS?” Below them sat text which read, “IF FOUND CALL” followed by a phone number. And in the middle of the poster sat a picture of the most beautifully shiny, brilliantly posing trunks you could ever hope to see. The exact same posers I’d found amongst my washing exactly one week ago today. The exact same posers I'd sniffed, tried on, obsessed about and blew a huge creamy load in four nights before. The posing trunks of Liam “The Guns” Watson, who apparently is so desperate to have them back he's erected a poster in the fucking launderette, and supplied his phone number! As I tried to comprehend exactly what the hell was happening, a middle aged man sidled up next to me. I looked over to see him examining the poster. He screwed his face up in confusion, then raised one eyebrow and looked at me, as if to say, “What the ACTUAL fuck?!” to which I nervously smiled and furiously blushed. I sat back down on the bench, trying to take it all in. Liam wants his posers back. I could see Liam again in person! I could phone him (fuck!), go to his house (FUCK!), actually talk to him in person (OHGODOHGODOHGOD). But that would mean giving the trunks back. The trunks I love so much. I looked at the poster from the bench once more and looked at the words at the top. Have I seen those posing trunks? Hmmm. Seen ‘em? Yep! Sniffed ‘em? YEP! Spunked a huge creamy load in ‘em? YEP YEP YEP! And then I saw the number again. The phone number of Liam Watson, local muscle God, beef monster and spunk inducer extraordinaire! Whatever my decision, I wouldn't get anywhere without that number. I waited for my washing to finish, and as I headed out the door, I stopped once more at the notice board and nervously got out my phone. Pretending I was looking at a flyer just beneath it, I tapped Liam’s number into my contacts, before leaving the launderette with the freshly cleaned trunks in my bag, and absolutely no clue what the hell I was going to do next. Yours, Oscar Grimes (possessor of Liam “The Guns” Watson’s phone number - FUCKING HELL)!

Saturday July 15th Dear Muscle Diary, Well, diary, it's been three days since I found the shiny, bright blue posing trunks of a genuine bodybuilder hidden amongst my washing in my local launderette. And I've barely been able to think about anything since! I've now creamed off with the posers placed over my face three times (blush!) and I officially feel like a right kinky little bugger. None were quite as amazing as the first time though and I've been thinking more and more that it might be time to take things to the next level, i.e. trying the posing trunks on! It didn't feel right at first, but the more days that pass the more that feeling is fading, and the more they're starting to feel like they're my trunks (even though they're really not)! Now it's just a case of choosing the right moment. I want to save it for a time when I'm really fucking horny. I’ve always fantasised about owning a pair of posing trunks, and trying them on for the first time and I basically just want it to be the best experience that it can possibly be. Yours, Oscar Grimes (potential soon-to-be wearer of tiny, shiny posing trunks!) Sunday July 16th Dear Muscle Diary, Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. I did it, diary! I tried on the trunks. FUUUUUCKKK!! But that's not all, diary. There's more to tell you! So much fucking more. And it involves the original owner of said trunks! So I went out last night for a few drinks with my mate, Ste. It was one of those nights where I didn't really wanna go but I just sort of forced myself because I felt like I needed a night out. Well, as soon as I was in the pub, I knew I shouldn't have bothered. The atmosphere was dead and the alcohol didn't seem to be helping much. We went to another place which was a little bit better, but as the night went on, I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to be at home with my posing trunks, watching and wanking off to some obscenely shredded muscle bull on YouTube! Anyway, things finally picked up after a few shots and the place livened up. Ste was drooling over guys that would never be interested in him (sorry Ste!) while I suddenly found myself snogging this young cutie patootie with a hipster beard and leather cap. Whenever I go out with Ste, he hardly ever pulls and I always do, which always surprises me because Ste is so outgoing and confident, and will literally chat to anyone, and despite being a wee bit chunky he's really handsome. Maybe it's because I still have a bit of a baby face and, despite the fact that I’m thirty-two, still occasionally get asked for ID when I try to buy vodka from my local Tesco Express. Or maybe it's the modestly sized arms I've built up since my mid-twenties. Don't get me wrong, diary, I'm not going to be entering any bodybuilding competitions any time soon, but my arms do look quite good in a t-shirt. Ste's grabbed and copped a feel of them on a couple of nights out, which I always secretly get a kick out of. My workmates even christened me with a blush worthy and rather ego boosting nickname a few years ago; Mr Biceps! So the leather capped cutie patootie (he didn't tell me his name) asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. I thought about it for a moment. He was a sexy little bugger and the kissing was pretty horny, but then I thought about the morning after. Waking up in a stranger’s bed feeling and looking like a bag of warmed up shit and just wanting to close my eyes and melt into the mattress and disappear, before magically landing in my own bed. Alone, and safe from any potential awkwardness and the possibility of morning sex which they always want to have. And then I thought, again, about watching some obscenely huge muscle monster flexing and squeezing in a pair of brightly coloured posing trunks on my PC screen. And then I thought about the posing trunks sitting in my drawer back home. The insanely hot, indescribably horny posing trunks of a real life, genuine bodybuilder, both of which I hadn't been able to stop thinking about since my adventure at the launderette on Wednesday night. So I said my goodbyes to Mr Cutie Leather Cap, grabbed Ste and headed for home. Ste was feeling a bit down on himself on the walk. Apparently, not only has he not had sex for the last six months, but he hasn't had a snog either. I don't really know how that's possible, but apparently not only does he never pull when he goes out, but hardly anyone messages him on Grindr either. The last guy he met from there opened the door, looked him up and down, screwed his face up and told him he wasn't his type. We were almost at the Pavillion when Ste asked me a question. “Oscar, if you didn't know me and you saw me in a club, would you pull me?” The honest answer is, diary, I would have pulled Ste seven years ago when we first met. He's never been my type, but he's handsome, and funny, and it's so fucking endearing how excited he gets about things like Doctor Who and Batman. But now, I can't even contemplate kissing Ste. It's Ste, for fucks sake! But I sensed that he needed some type of validation and because he was feeling so down on himself, I gave it to him. “Yes Ste! If I didn't know you, I would pull you!” He grinned like mad and I felt a slight warmth. “You still could you know,” Ste said with one eyebrow cheekily raised. “Pull me!” Taken aback, I laughed and playfully told Ste to fuck off. It was when we were approaching Ste’s turning and we were stood still facing each other that he offered up his next proposition. “OK, if you won't snog me, at least let me feel one of your biceps!” I laughed again and Ste just cheekily grinned. I decided to play along, so I took his left hand and firmly placed it on my right, unflexed bicep. Ste made a jokey, “Mmmm,” sound and I rolled my eyes and giggled. And then? Well, I’m not really sure what made me do it, diary, but without even thinking, I bought my forearm up so it was sat horizontal against my stomach and clenched my right fist so that my bicep flexed and bulged underneath Ste's fingers. He suddenly stopped grinning, his eyes bulged, and his face transformed into a shocked expression. “FUCK!” he cried out. Something happened to me in that moment. Seeing Ste's shocked and amazed reaction to my muscle, having someone feeling my flexed bicep, I suddenly felt incredibly horny, and starting to swell in my boxers. It was nothing to do with Ste himself. I think it was just seeing someone’s amazed reaction to what my flexed muscle felt like. Ste's not even into muscle. Well, not the kind of grotesque, shredded freaks I cream off to on a regular bases. So, diary, imagine his reaction if he were into muscle? And imagine if, instead of my modestly sized bicep, I had a twenty inch, paper thin skin covered, bronzed painted, freakishly huge ball of bicep muscle bulging off my upper arm? “That feels HUGE!” Ste said, still squeezing my flexed gun, and doing nothing to diffuse neither my ego or power trip. I sheepishly grinned at him. “Hardly!” came my honest reply. When he finally released his grip, we laughed, hugged and said goodbye. “See you later … Mr Biceps!” Ste playfully called out as he walked down his street, giggling in his typically extroverted manner. That unexpected but brilliant little moment with Ste got me even more in the mood to get home and watch some seriously freaky muscle. I wondered, in that moment, what Ste would think of the huge, roided muscle bulls I regularly blasted loads to. I did once tell him that I liked really huge guys, but I still think he'd be surprised if he saw just the kind of superhuman sized monsters that made my boxers sticky. And I have absolutely NO idea what Ste would think if he knew that for my last three wanks I’d had a pair of posing trunks sitting on my face! In fairness, he'd probably just laugh and call me a kinky little fucker. When I arrived at home, I poured myself another cheeky drink, and fired up my muscle ridden PC. I was in the mood for something new, so I went to straight to my subscriptions in YouTube. There had been a huge amateur bodybuilding show somewhere in Europe last weekend. One of my favourite channels had been slowly uploading videos from the competition all week and there'd been a ton posted in the last few hours. You wouldn't find any of the big named pro bodybuilders, or any American muscle monsters competing in this sort of show. It was mostly shredded to death East Europeans, with a couple of good old fashioned British muscle bulls thrown in for good measure. After watching videos of an arrogant as fuck, Austrian bull wearing outrageous golden posers and some nasty, gritty, British muscle daddy who really should no better than to be stomping around bodybuilding stages at his age, I came to a video of a twenty something British lad called Andy. Sporting a physique packed with some seriously gorgeous beef, carved and shredded in the most shocking condition, Andy hit his poses with more energy than the bodybuilders in the first two videos put together. When Andy spun around to hit a rear pose, revealing the most obscenely sized arse spilling either side of his tiny purple posers, I suddenly had a flashback to the enormous sized and perfectly round arse belonging to the sexy as hell muscle bull from the laundrette last Wednesday. The owner of the shiny blue posing trunks I had now paused the video to fetch from my drawer. For some reason, the trunks looked even hornier and shinier than ever. As I held them in my hands, I knew the time I had been waiting for had come. This was it. Horny as fuck from watching a bunch of jacked up muscle freaks flexing and ripping up a bodybuilding stage, and slightly less inhibited with the alcohol running through my system from my night out with Ste, I knew this was the perfect time to try on the posers of the gorgeous, local bodybuilder I'd found sitting amongst my washing four nights before. My heart was thumping as I took my jeans and boxers off. Even just feeling the poser material brushing against my legs as I put them on felt insanely horny. And then I nestled my hard throbbing dick in the shiny blue pouch. With the lining of the trunks against the head of my cock, I put my right hand to my trunk covered hard on and squeezed. Fuuuuuuuckkk! It was some kind of miracle, diary, that it didn't explode with a huge load of spunk right there and then. I had always feared that if I ever did purchase, or manage to try on some posing trunks, I would look a little silly in them. But as I admired my reflection in the mirror and saw myself wearing the insanely hot posers of an actual bodybuilder, I realised I didn’t look silly in the slightest. It didn't matter that I didn't have huge slabs of shredded beef hanging off my bones. Or that my skin wasn’t painted with bronzed competition tan. The posing trunks just looked hot as fucking fuck, even against my pale, none freakishly muscular legs. With my hard on stretching out the pouch of the shiny posers, and the back of the trunks hugging my regular sized arse, I went back to my laptop to continue watching the video I’d found of Andy, the gorgeous, shredded British muscle pup, flexing on stage. Within seconds of pressing play, Andy has spun around, shuffled to the front of the stage and was cranking out most muscular after most muscular, each one accompanied with his mouth wide open in the most brilliantly arrogant fashion. As I stroked my hard cock through the soft posing trunk material, rock hard, horny as fuck and fearful that I was about to cum at any given moment, I looked at Andy and realised that it wasn't just his oversized bottom that reminded me of the bodybuilder from the launderette. It was also his face. He had the same masculine but boyish quality. A little rough around the edges. Very laddish. Undeniably British. And oh-so-bloody-gorgeous! And then I had a thought. What if, somewhere on the Internet, there was a video of the bodybuilder from the launderette, flexing on stage in the very trunks I was wearing? I doubted he'd be at the level of the bodybuilders from the show I was watching videos from, but there could easily be a video of a Mr South East contest somewhere. He had posing trunks that he felt were in need of a wash, so he most likely would have competed recently, or was due to compete soon. Unless there was something else he did in his posing trunks which required them to be asked afterwards? A thought which made my dick furiously jolt under the shiny poser material. I tried my luck and did a quick search but no such videos materialised. At least not ones from the last five years. In sheer desperation, I put “Brighton bodybuilder” into Google and one of the top five results bought up the website for the infamous Deano’s Gym. From there, I reached the gym’s Facebook page, and that's where I struck gold! I was immediately drawn to the very latest post at the top of the page which read; “Good luck to Liam Watson, who is competing at the Tiger Bodybuilding Classic in London next weekend.” And then I looked at the picture of the huge, shredded muscle bull in the picture, hitting a front lat spread in a pair of very familiar looking shiny blue posing trunks and my heart lurched into my throat. Looking at the gorgeous face of the flexing muscle beast, lips pursed in arrogant fashion, I was suddenly transporting back to Wednesday night, watching that very face walking through the laundrette with a holdall full of washing in his hand, not knowing that he'd accidentally left a certain garment of clothing in the machine. The very garment of clothing he was wearing in the picture I was looking at, and the very garment I was wearing at that precise moment! And then I read the rest of the text which accompanied the picture. “Check out more of Liam on his Instagram page here” which was followed by a link, which I excitedly clicked and HOLY SHIT, I was now on the Instagram page of the bodybuilder whose trunks I'd been wanking off with the past three days! A mini digital glimpse into the world of Liam Watson, the huge, gorgeous Brightonian bodybuilder who was competing in a show next weekend. My eyes went straight to the very first post. A close up picture of an outrageously huge, flexed bicep, with a freaky, thick vein running right down the middle. FUCK! And that's when I noticed something in the bio of the profile. Liam had written his name, but there was something sandwiched in between his first name and surname. Liam had a nickname. A nickname which became even more appropriate as I scoured the many pictures on his page and landed on one of him blowing up his seriously enormous biceps while flexing a front double. I wasn't just wearing Liam Watson's shiny blue posers. I was wearing Liam “The Guns” Watson's shiny blue posers! As I scanned the pictures on Liam's profile, I was reminded of my “five things about muscle which drive me completely and utterly bonkers” list from earlier in the week. Beyond human biceps? Check! Mammoth sized tits? Check! Outrageously cocky posing? Fucking check! An enormous sized bottom? Big fat CHECK! Brightly coloured, shiny as shit posing trunks? To which I took my eyes off the screen and looked in my lap. THE BIGGEST FUCKING CHECK! In addition to the close up bicep shot, I quickly adopted a number of favourite pictures from Liam’s Instagram. Amongst them, a rear shot of Liam completely naked with his gigantic sized ass on full display (FUCK!) with the cheeky caption, “Sorry if my naked bum offends anyone. I just really wanted an excuse to use the peach emoji!” and a contest photo of him from a few years earlier, tanned to shit, with a little less size but shredded to buggery, cranking out a crab most muscular with his eyes closed, face scrunched and teeth gritted in the cheekiest (and horniest) fashion (fuck yeah Liam)! But my absolute favourite picture was the second most recent one posted on his profile. A shot taken that very morning, of Liam standing in a room with a huge black and white poster of the classic documentary film “Pumping Iron” hanging behind him on the wall. Wearing nothing but a pair of beautiful, bright red posers, just as shiny as the ones I was wearing, packed and filled out by his indecently big bulge, Liam was hitting a front double bicep pose. His insane biceps peaking to an obscene degree. Huge, round, and perfect. The right one with that freakish, thick vein running right down the middle. God I love that vein. His face contorted into the most outrageous expression. Manic, crazy, and cocky as fuck. His mouth wide open in an almost animalistic fashion. A huge, freaky, gorgeous muscle bull flexing his enormous, nickname earning guns, displaying extreme masculinity, unapologetic attitude and pure power in the horniest way conceivable. That was it. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I furiously tugged on my throbbing hard on through the fabric of Liam's posers and, staring at his gigantic biceps and sexy, ‘tude packed face, the head of my dick exploded and a huge load of cum blew into the lining of the posing trunks. I looked down and saw the spunk seeping through the shiny material. What an image. What a feeling! The orgasm was even more intense than the one I had Wednesday night with the trunks placed over my face. Intense, immeasurable pleasure consuming my whole body. I felt like I'd been transported to the ceiling and someone needed to come and scrape me off. And God did I scream. Uninhibited shouts of orgasmic pleasure. God knows what the neighbours thought. Fuck ‘em! If they'd been shooting loads into their undies over monstrous bodybuilders in tiny sized posing trunks since their teenage years and had amazingly managed to be in possession of a pair of such very trunks and were blasting a massive load into them for the first very time, they'd be screaming the place down too. Basking in a post orgasmic high, I looked at Liam flexing on my laptop and I suddenly felt a twinge of something. Not so much guilt, more a slight feeling of wrongness. What would this man think if he knew I'd just shot a load in one of his pairs of posing trunks? I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. There was no point dwelling on it. After all, Liam will never ever know. His posing trunks are long gone. Never to be seen again. And now they're mine. To wear and cream in. Over and over again. Yours, Oscar Grimes (wearer and new, proud owner of tiny, shiny posing trunks!)

Thursday July 13th Dear Muscle Diary, What a day! I don't think I've ever survived a work day before being so pre-occupied, or feeling so damn fucking tired. And the reason for both of those things? The bright blue posing trunks I'm now so brilliantly and crazily in possession of. I literally have not stopped thinking about them, diary. It's like I've been possessed. Those teenie weenie, super shiny garments have taken over my whole mind. And it wasn't just today either. It was last night too. It sounds completely and utterly bonkers, but I didn't fall asleep until two a.m. My mind just would not shut off. Just knowing what was sitting in my drawers mere metres away from my bed. Those beautifully shiny, brilliantly coloured posers. I finally managed to get to sleep, only to wake up an hour later, hard as fuck and with the trunks still occupying my mind. There was only one thing for it. I got out of bed, opened my drawer and held the posing trunks in my hands. I took them back to bed with me. I didn't really know what my intention was, but I needed to blow badly and I wanted the trunks to be there. I thought, again, about putting them on. It felt a little less wrong than it did before. But it still didn't feel completely right. Not now. Not like this. My cock was throbbing furiously and I started to tug on it through my boxers underneath the duvet. With the posers in my free hand, once again, I bought the material to my face and placed the trunks flat over it. Shiny, shiny fabric over my mouth, nose, forehead and covering my eyes. I rubbed the posers in my face with my hand while wanking off. The smell of the trunks filling my nostrils, the shiny, slippery fabric consuming my face, as I breathed in the posing trunk material. I kept imagining where they'd been. In a pump room. On a bodybuilding stage. In the audience of a show during a crazy posedown as their beefed up, tan plastered roid monster of an owner flexed and posed in them. As I continued to wank and breathe in the posers, I thought about that very roid monster who I’d seen earlier that evening. The "DEANO’S GYM" hoodie. That ridiculous back. His enormous, perfectly round arse. Those huge calves on display. That pec cleavage. The bull neck. His gorgeous, tanned face. That super hot hairdo. And the way he strutted through that launderette. A genuine muscle bull amongst mere mortals. And then I imagined him wearing the trunks. Pulling the straps up as he hit a lat spread pose on stage to wild applause from the audience. Turning around and outrageously tucking the back of the posers into the crack separating those two gigantic orbs of ass meat. I grew closer to cumming and groaned into the poser fabric as I imagined these very trunks buried deep in his arse crack. The pouch filled out and stretched by his dick. His bronzed competition tan rubbing off on to the trunks as his bulge rubs against his inner quads. Trunks getting mucked with tan. Sweat dripping down his abs and reaching the shiny fabric. Pre-cum dripping into the crotch as he squeezes a monster most muscular on stage. And then I imagined him rushing home after the show. Still drenched in tan. Still wearing his posers. His bright, shiny, teenie tiny posers, now drenched in the tan, oil, and sweat of its muscle monster owner; full of adrenaline and testosterone and horny as hell from flexing and showing off what a fuck off huge muscle freak he is to a room full of ordinary, non bodybuilders, all of whom were dying to touch and worship his muscle, making him feel like the God that he is. And then I imagined him flexing in the mirror. Cranking out pose after pose. Grunting, groaning, huffing and puffing with every squeeze and flex. His hard throbbing cock stretching out his mucky pup posing trunks to an outrageous degree, ready to explode at any given moment. And as I imagined the muscle bull squeezing out a trap exploding crab most muscular while growling like an animal and filling up his posing trunks with spunk, I pushed those very posers into my face and unleashed a muffled groan as thick wads of cum exploded from my cock and filled up my boxer shorts in what was probably one of the most intense and pleasurable orgasms I’ve ever had. FUUUUUUCKKKK!! Yours, Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed lover of the tiny, shiny posing trunks I now sort of own!)

(deleted by the author)

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/

The door swung open and my jaw almost hit the bloody floor. I was so busy battling my nerves, apprehension, and excitement as to how to my encounter with The Transformer (his official superpower name), and the preceding twenty-four hours would play out, that I didn’t give the slightest thought as to what this rather famous individual would look like. Standing before me was, quite possibly, the most devastatingly beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. With his piercing blue eyes, a ridiculously square lantern jaw, perfectly preened chestnut coloured hair, and strong, masculine features, The Transformer was the absolute embodiment of male perfection. And the body. Holy fuck the body. Six foot something and built like a fucking tank. The line separating his pectoral muscles teasingly peeked above the V neck of his dark grey t-shirt (clearly chosen for that very bloody reason), while the rest of his exceptionally broad chest deliciously strained underneath the material. Both of his impressively thick arms bulged below the sleeves of the grey material, and his waist was impressively small, helping to give his torso the most gorgeous V shape. I made a good bet with myself that six perfectly shaped blocks of nicely separated abdominal muscle were lurking underneath his t-shirt. He certainly wouldn’t be entering any bodybuilding competitions any time soon, but it wasn't hard to imagine The Transformer standing on stage in nothing but a pair of board shorts, competing in a physique, or fitness model class. “Are you Tobey”? Oh God that accent. Thick, Northern and completely adorable. I suddenly started to panic. How the actual buggering fuck was I supposed to have a conversation with a man that beautiful? “Ummm, yeah. Hi there”, I nervously replied. Technically I was lying, but he probably knew that. It’s never good practice to give out your real name when you’re involved in these kind of dodgy superpower dealings. He didn’t even bother offering up an alias for himself. He just flashed me a reassuringly friendly and heart melting smile and before I knew it, I was entering into the outrageously handsome stranger’s flat and following him into his living room, whilst also admiring the immensely beautiful rear of his V shaped physique, and unashamedly checking out the modestly plump and completely edible arse stretching out the material of his jeans. Woof times three. "Can I get you a drink Tobey"? "Can I just get some water?", I nervously replied. "Sure", The Transformer said. "Take a seat. Make yourself at home", he added as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in his rather compact but modern flat. I took a seat on the three seater couch of the most beautiful man I'd ever met and I suddenly spotted an object which cried out for my attention. Casually lying on the coffee table in front of me was a magazine with a very familiar man on the front cover. "Still or sparking"? The Transformer's absurdly sexy voice called from the kitchen. "Still please", I replied, as I leant forward to inspect the insanely gorgeous man on the front of the magazine cover. The same man who is mere meters away from me getting me a beverage. The same man whose coach I was currently sitting on. Under the magazine title of "Ultimate Male Fitness" was the most stunning black and white shot of The Transformer in a tight t-shirt. His impressively muscular and thick arms wrapped behind his head in an effortlessly sexy manner. For the first time since meeting The Transformer and entering his house my mind drifted to the magazine hiding in my backpack. I was nervous about what The Transformer would think of the men gracing the pages of said magazine, as anyone would be. But discovering that he was not only an impressively muscular man himself, but also a model gracing the pages of a men's fitness magazine, my apprehension started to ease considerably. I suddenly noticed a yellow post it note peaking out of the top of the magazine. Mysteriously written on it were the numbers "10/07". The day's date. I nervously peeled back the corner of the magazine to try and get a sneaky peak at what was on the marked page. The words "MEET THE REAL LIFE G.I JOE" were revealed and I just got a glimpse of the tight, modestly meaty pecs and lovely, peeled, six pack abs of The Transformer, when the real life version took me surprise and unexpectedly walked back into the room. I quickly retreated from the magazine, but it was too late. I'd been busted. A mischievous smirk was suddenly rested on The Transformers devastatingly sexy, male fitness model worthy face. "It's OK mate", he said with a warm tone. "I don't mind you checking out that magazine". I couldn't help but blush at the situation. "Did you...enjoy doing the shoot?", I asked. It was the only thing I could think to ask him to show my interest in the subject. "Ummm....yeah. Of course". He looked a little flustered at the question, and curiously, not entirely convincing in his answer. He handed me a glass of water, sat down on the sofa chair next to the one I was resting on and quickly changed the subject. "So did you come from far today Tobey"? "No, just North London. Twenty minute tube journey", I replied. The Transformer took a seat on the sofa chair next to mine. "Ahhhh, that's handy for you. I have people coming to see me from all over the world you know. Canada, the States, Australia"! "Wow", I said, genuinely impressed, though not necessarily surprised given his superpower. "I even had a guy come over from Singapore the other week. Singapore! Imagine that"! The Transformer then surprised me with an unexpected question. "So Tobey", he begun conspicuously. "Don't feel pressure to tell me but...do you have one of these superpowers yourself"? I immediately felt my cheeks burning up and my mouth curling into an ominous smirk. "I do", I said in a non committing manner. "Hmmmm. Something tells me you're not one for sharing your power?”, The Transformer playfully asked. "Sorry", I replied, but only out of politeness. My reasonably harmless but utterly fantastic superpower isn't exactly embarrassing. It's just not the most appropriate power to discuss with a complete stranger. Or most people really. "Is it a fun superpower at least"? "Oh yeah", I replied. And it most definitely is. Granted, it had a few teething problems at first, and lead me into to some rather sticky (no pun intended) and embarrassing situations. But, like most powers, once I'd learned to control it and only use it when I wanted to, boy oh boy did I start to have fun with it. "Awesome", The Transformer replied. "Those are the best kinds of powers". "One last question, then I'll drop the subject", he continued. Man he was curious about my superpower. "Would I have....heard of you"? I told him most likely and blushed even harder at the thought of my rather cool and very fitting superpower name (not self given I might add). I've lost count of how many times someone has said to me, "Have you heard about the guy who can...". Yeah, I guess I'm fairly well known in superpower circles. I've heard quite a few people say they'd like to meet me, some of which I definitely would NOT use my power on (yuck), and others who I definitely would (woof). The absurdly beautiful man whose coach I’d found myself sitting on that day was definitely in the latter camp. "So I'm guessing you know this works, but I'll run through it anyway", The Transformer began. It was apparently time to get down to business. "For twenty-four hours I can transform you into any living person you like. They have to be living though. I can't do dead people. You have no idea how many requests I get from people wanting to transform into Michael Jackson. Or Judy Garland. That last request mostly comes from men. Men walking around out there in the body of Judy Garland. Imagine that". All of this I knew already, but The Transformer continued to explain his services anyway. "What you do in that twenty-four hours is totally on you. I don't take responsibility for anything. Also a friendly word of advice. You might wanna make sure you're alone when you transform back into your normal self. Unless it's with someone who knows it’s really you, obviously". Hearing The Transformer explain what I was about to go through, I suddenly felt a little apprehensive about the whole thing. What if I didn’t like being in somebody else's body? What if I regretted my choice? What if something went disastrously wrong? "All OK so far? It's not too late to back out", he reassured me. I impulsively and quickly responded. "No! I mean, I don't want to back out. I guess I'm just a little nervous"? He flashed me one of his gorgeous, warm smiles. "That's normal. Lots of people feel like that. It’s just the fear of the unknown". The Transformer then raised the issue of payment and I fumbled into my wallet to retrieve almost a month’s worth of wages in cash to hand to the stunning specimen of man before me. There was, of course, many who thought that using one’s superpower for financial gains was unethical. The Transformer, however, didn't seem to have any hang ups with regards to this. "One last thing Tobey. Whoever you want to transform into, I need to see a picture of them". I gulped and felt a pang of nerves in my stomach as I pictured the men who featured in the magazine tucked up in my backpack. This was the part of the process I had been dreading. The part that almost talked me out of embarking on the whole experience. "Even if they're super duper famous I still need a picture", he explained. My stomach tightened in knots once more. What would The Transformer think when he saw the pictures of the kind of men I wanted to spend the next day in the body of? I had to warn him, surely. Another curiosity suddenly entered my head. "I have a question", I cautiously began. "Go ahead - ask me anything", he replied. "Will I...transform in front of you"? "Yep", he said. "Right here in this flat. It's the only way to do it I'm afraid". Oh shit. I definitely had to warn him. "So, If you're ready - let’s get to it. So whose body do you fancy inhibiting for the next twenty-four hours Tobey"? My heart started beating faster. "OK, so I don’t yet have a specific guy in mind, but I know the kind of person I want to be transformed to. There’s a few candidates shall we say”. “OK”, he curiously said. “That’s no problem’, “They’re all in a magazine I have. But before I show you a picture", I nervously continued, "I feel like I should probably warn you". The Transformer smirked to himself in amusement. "Oh-kay", he sceptically said, giving me the benefit of the doubt. "The guys in this magazine. Well, they're a little...extreme". He gave me a reassuring smile. "Tobey. I've done a LOT of transformations and I've had a lot of....unique requests. I'm sure it's nothing I haven't seen before". "OK", I said, a little more relaxed but still weary of how The Transformer would react when he saw an image of the kind of person I was requesting to be transformed into. I picked up and unzipped my backpack, before reaching in to take out the kind of magazine I used to be terrified to buy as a teenager, and nervously handed it to the almost sickeningly handsome man sitting across from me. The second The Transformer saw the image of the outrageously huge and frighteningly muscular mass monster on the cover of one of the most hardcore bodybuilding magazines on the market, his expression changed. As The Transformer stared in complete shock, amazement and ever so sight fear at one of the biggest, nastiest and freakiest professional bodybuilders on the planet in all his monstrous, shredded, barely human glory, I took a deep breath and nervously revealed my intention. "I want to be transformed into a bodybuilder".

I haven't posted anything on here for a while but here goes. A very short story. Think it's classed as flash fiction? ZAP! As far as super powers go, I'll admit mine is a pretty poor one. The ability to transform into any inanimate object of my choice? Whoop-de-fucking-doo! Of course when I want to make a quick getaway or simply just disappear it comes in handy. Two seconds and ZAP, I've transformed myself into a lamppost, or a park bench or a coffee mug (just keep me well away from a freshly boiled kettle)! And then there are occasions which sometimes unexpectedly present themselves where I can very much use my power to my advantage. But for more, shall we say, mischievous reasons. One very such occasion arose on my last holiday. There I was lying on my sun lounger, propped up by my elbows, taking in the view of my fellow sun adoring holidaymakers hanging around the hotel pool, when who should come strolling (actually make that waddling!) in my direction, in nothing but a pair of shorts and sandals with a towel thrown around one of his absurdly broad shoulders? The ridiculously huge (and rather bloody gorgeous) half-man, half-monster I’d spotted in the hotel lobby on the first day of my holiday, and hadn't been able to stop thinking about since. Only this time; he was minus a t-shirt, allowing me to witness this superior male specimen in all of his abnormally muscular glory. The guy was a fucking TANK and a half. Obscenely thick thighs, phenomenally huge arms, big blocks of freaky ab muscle bursting through his slightly distended (woof) stomach, and the biggest pair of insatiably developed muscle tits hanging off his chest like nobody's fucking business. There was no doubt in my mind that those shorts had been swapped for a pair of most likely insanely shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks at some point, probably in the not-too-distant past. The dude had to be a competitor bodybuilder. No one gets THAT big just for the fun of it. But here he was on his holidays, no doubt secretly enjoying the fact that his freak show-worthy body had instantly turned the heads of everyone around him as he perused the side of the pool looking for a spare sun lounger to park his mountain of bordering on godly muscle mass. A spare sun lounger just like the one next to mine. Fuck! But there's no mattress on it. Fuckety fucking fuck! No one could lie on these things without a mattress. Uncomfortable wouldn't even close to describing how that would feel. The gorgeous muscle monster was walking closer. He was coming in my direction. He needed a sun lounger. One with a mattress. If only I could conjure up a mattress. If only I had a super power which allowed me to transform into any inanimate object, including a sun lounger mattress so a huge, mammoth monster of a muscle man could lie down and park his huge, freaky mass on my - ZAP!