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WHY YOU SHOULDN’T TRUST SAUL BENNETT By absman420 “I’m home!!!!” “Tino!’ called the bigger man, opening his arms and smiling wide. The little bodybuilder jumped into his embrace.. “Daddy!” he called his husband, lovingly. They kissed -- and the bigger man could already feel the little bodybuilder’s erection pressing into him. “I’ve missed you so much!” “You’ve only been gone a week, boy.” They kissed anyway. “I know,” little Tino said. “I wanna fuck so bad.” The bigger man smiled coyly. “Horny little Tino,” he said, rubbing the back of his husband’s head while he squeezed his ass. “You wanna fuck first, or get settled?” Tino pulled away from the kissing, looking his man in the face. “Fuck,” he said, smiling. “I want to fuck. But I want to give you your present first.” The bigger man flicked his eyebrows. “Something kinky, I hope?” he asked. “You got another hot boy stashed in your bag?” “Ha!” the little bodybuilder said. “I’m sharing you with no one today. I need that big porn-star cock all to myself!” He broke their hug after a quick peck on the lips and turned to his bags. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” For New York, for the Upper West Side, it was a spacious apartment, but Tino missed LA -- he missed the weather and his friends -- and he secretly wondered how long his hubby would keep them secluded here? They hadn’t had to move to the other side of the country because his husband didn’t want to be a porn star anymore. No matter where they went, his man was always gonna be Big Mick Masterman, whose dick was legend. Nearly eleven inches when completely hard -- Big Mick would joke about feeling light-headed when it was at its max -- his dick was so large, it would’ve looked out-of-proportion if Mick hadn’t been so big himself. Not a bodybuilder like Tino -- all cuts and aesthetics and shiny hardness -- Mick was a beast of a man, thick and strong and exuding the cocky power of the well-hung Alpha. Was he past his prime? Probably by just a hair, depending on what you considered “prime”. He’d done hundreds of movies, thousands of scenes, countless guest appearances, but no matter how good it’s been, biology is biology -- once your dick stops working, you don’t work in porn. Nobody wants a limp-dicked daddy. And Big Mick Masterman was no bottom. Since turning 50, his dick stopped behaving for him the way it did twenty years ago, when even testosterone on the breeze would get him hard. In truth, it wasn’t just his dick, his whole body was betraying him, turning into an old man right in front of him -- sagging, softening -- but for a man who’d built a whole career out of his amazing dong, Big Mick’s focus was always his cock. Once Tino dug out the little box he’d buried in his suitcase, he found Big Mick prepping the Tri-Mix vial he’d gotten out of the fridge. Tino smiled -- he’d be glad when Mick got rid of that shit. Injecting your cock to get hard….? Tino thought. Yuck! “So tell me about LA,” Mick said, pulling an insulin syringe from the drawer, using it to point to Tino’s box. “Is that my present?” “Hold your horses,” Tino said, putting the small cardboard box on the opposite counter. “I have a story.” Mick smiled slightly. “Of course you do.” Tino pursed his lips at the bigger man. He took a big breath and said, as if confessing, “So… while I was out there, I ran into Saul Bennett...” “Oh, Jesus,” Mick groaned, dropping the insulin syringe on the counter. “You wanna kill ANY chance of me getting hard, right?” “Stop it,” Tino chided. “It was a nice conversation. It wasn’t an easy decision for him…” But Big Mick was already annoyed. “Oh, come on, Tino!” he said, a touch of anger. “He cancelled my contract. I was one of the biggest names in the fucking business and he cancelled my contract because I had ED. I mean, what the fuck? He fuckin’ ruined my career, Tino!” Tino was still calm. “He feels really bad, Mick.” “Yeah, I bet! Do you know how much money he fucking lost when he cut me? Let me tell you something: Saul doesn’t feel bad because of what he did to my self-esteem, or my reputation, or my fucking life! He feels bad because he lost revenue. Saul Bennett gives a shit about nothing but money, Tino. I thought you knew that.” Tino sighed. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I should’ve just given this to you without explanation.” He handed the small, cardboard box to Big Mick, who took it humorlessly. “This is from Saul?” Mick asked. “He feels really bad, Mick.” There was a moment when Tino was unsure if Mick would throw it, crush it, or open it -- frankly, there was a moment when Mick was unsure, too -- ultimately, Mick tore the little sticker keeping the lid closed and opened it up. Two little vials held by styrofoam cushioning, one contained pink liquid, the other blue. “What is it?” Mick asked. Tino had a devious smile. “It’s a little something-something so you won’t need THAT,” he said, pointing to the Tri-Mix and the syringe. “Mixed by one of Saul’s little… alchemist friends. Apparently, it’s the latest thing to keep porn-stars on the working roster.” Mick looked at him suspiciously. “Really?” he asked, softening. Tino shrugged. “No harm in trying.” Mick looked at the box and considered it for all of five seconds -- even his anger at Saul paled next to his desire for a good erection. “So what do I do?” Smiling, Tino stepped over to him and pulled the vials from the box. He handed the blue one to Mick. “One for you,” he said, keeping the pink one, “and one for me.” “Really?” Mick chuckled. “Blue and pink?” Tino smiled, pursing his lips at Mick. “Wanna trade?” he asked. “Why? Will the pink one turn me into a girl?” “Haha,” Tino said. “No, the pink one is gonna make me able to take what the blue one is gonna do to you!” He unscrewed the cap and quickly drank his down, making a face at the taste. “He said it takes about twenty minutes to hit -- i’m gonna clean up real quick. Cum join me when you’re ready.” And with that, Tino slunk to the bathroom. Big Mick couldn’t help but look at Tino’s muscular ass as the boy exited, He was lucky Tino’d stayed with him through the whole ED thing -- a hot number like him could have anybody. The least Mick could do was indulge a trial solution -- no matter that it had been provided by fucking Saul Bennett. With that, he unscrewed the cap and drank the contents of the vial -- no taste, maybe it was a placebo. Following Tino to the bedroom, he kept the Tri-Mix handy, He was already horny -- Tino had been gone a whole week, after all, and Big Mick wasn’t a big masturbator. It took a lot of work to get an eleven-inch cock hard -- it took even more lately -- he didn’t like to waste it on nothing. Stripping his shirt off, he could hear Tino in the shower, so he knew he had enough time to get his cockring and jockstrap on. Looking at his bulky self in the mirror, he flexed a most-muscular and pinched the barbells in his pierced nipples. Whoa! -- okay, THAT was electric -- a freaking WAVE of horny washing over him. Damn, even his dick was coming to life. He stripped off his jeans and his boxer briefs and stretched a hard rubber cockring around his juicy balls -- it was difficult enough to get his huge dick through the ring when it was soft, but it was thickening up fast, further delighting Mick, though he clumsily succeeded. His dick hung there at a slight angle, looking untroubled and confident. Maybe he wasn’t in the best shape anymore, but damn if his dick didn’t make up for it. He slipped on his NASTY PIG quilted leather jock, which made him look even bigger. Flopping in the big leather recliner across from the bed, he continued playing with his nipples as he waited for Tino. It wasn’t long before he heard the shower turn off. Just in time, as far as Mick was concerned -- he was getting damn horny -- frankly, he was starting not to care if the boy was clean at all. Mick was ready for some action. And he was starting to feel confident that his dick was ready, too. Tino slipped into the room, shiny and smooth, a tiny towel wrapped around his tiny hips. Usually short bodybuilders had thick waists, but Tino’s was so small and lean that it made his ass look gigantic by comparison -- when he was in a playful mood, he joked that he should become an underwear model or a professional stripper. Slyly smiling, he stood before Big Mick’s chair and posed for him, flexing his beautiful body. “Daddy want a lap dance?” he asked, hips swaying. Tino stepped up into the leather recliner, feet on either side of Mick’s hips -- the chair was sturdy enough, they’d proved it before -- the little towel he wore around his waist fell away, revealing the soft white thong he wore beneath, his cute little balls bouncing with each thrust. “Very nice, boy,” Big Mick mumbled, stroking the boy’s rock hard quads. “Lemme see that ass.” The boy turned to imaginary music, dancing like his hips were doing the seduction. For such massive legs, his ass was still round and tight, like he was still the college wrestler he’d been when the two had met, so many years ago. Tino squatted slightly and twerked in Mick’s face, shaking his muscular glutes, the strap of his thong visible as it ran down the crack of his ass. It was beautiful. Mick reached between Tino’s legs and grabbed the boy’s package, like his hand was a cockring -- he shoved his face between the halves of Tino’s ass, immediately tasting the boy’s hot hole -- clean, but with a slight hint of soap. Tino moaned immediately. “Yeah, big daddy,” he growled as Mick shoved his tongue in. God damn that man loved ass. His rough facial hair teased Tino’s hole. Mick didn’t realize how horny he was. Fuck, he wanted this boy -- wanted to dominate him and own him. He felt like a fucking teenager who’d never tasted a man before. The strap from the thong was getting in his way, but he could feel Tino’s cock getting hard in the pouch -- why couldn’t the boy like jockstraps, like normal people? So much easier to eat his ass. He looked good in anything -- or out of anything. Big Mick’s big dick thickened in his own pouch. He took his free hand off his nipple and reached down to help himself along. His cock filled his hand and was growing fast. He would’ve commented about it if his mouth hadn’t been full -- and if he hadn’t been so damn horny. “Fuck, boy,” he said, licking Tino’s hole, “suck my cock. I need your hot mouth.” “Oh yeah, Daddy,” he moaned, stepping down from the chair, kneeling his big bod between Mick’s outstretched legs. When the little bodybuilder saw Mick’s half-hard cock, growing there in Mick’s grip, he happily replaced Mick’s hand with his, and smiled slyly as he took the bigger man’s cock in his mouth. Warm and wet -- what a mouth -- Mick could feel himself hardening. He rolled his head back and shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation of his growing erection -- his hard-on was delighting him almost as much as the blow job. Was this the effects of Saul Bennett’s little potion? He couldn’t even get mad at Saul, the mother-fucker, that’s how good he felt -- like a man. Like a fucking man. Like a fucking man who hadn’t shot his fucking load in a week. His balls felt as full as his cock. He felt Tino’s hands holding them and tickling the back of his sac -- even his balls felt bigger. Huge fucking load. Suddenly, he realized his cock was rock hard -- a teen-aged erection -- a throbbing, needful, helpless kind of erection. Familiar and nearly forgotten -- an old friend found alive -- and with it came confidence, a confidence Mick had almost forgotten, as if it were even bigger -- if that were possible for a nearly-eleven-inch cock -- or had it been that long that it had BEEN this hard? He had to fuck. God damn, he had to fuck. He had to take this rock-hard cock and fuck with it. So fucking horny. He stood then, causing Tino to lose his balance and fall back on his butt. Mick grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed the little bodybuilder toward the bed. Tino allowed himself to be taken, loving the confidence his husband exuded -- it was like the old days. On his back, his legs open, he could feel Mick’s cock press against his hole -- throbbing, alive, it wasn’t the product of injectable tri-mix, it was a genuine, sexually-stimulated erection, and it was eager to make up for lost time. The cock may have even felt bigger as it entered Tino’s ass, or maybe it had been so long that Tino had forgotten the full extent of Big Mick Masterman -- he was glad for the reminder. Mick didn’t waste any time. Standing beside the bed, he sank balls-deep in Tino’s hole, putting the entirety of his eleven-inch cock into the little bodybuilder in a single thrust.. Tino gasped. “Holy shit, a little warm up…” But Mick ignored him. He was muttering, “Need this so bad, fuck,” as he slowly withdrew his meat, then slammed it home again. “Fuck…” “Damn, honey....” But if Mick was listening, Tino couldn’t tell -- his eyes were kind of far-away, his mouth slightly open, a corner turned up in pleasure. Mick was lost in that pleasure, the resurgence of his alpha station. It was like the old days, back in his twenties, when the world was one big hole and Mick ached to fuck it hard -- not like it had been for the last year when life was fucking him. He fucked Tino like he’d suddenly remembered how to -- he was a battering ram. He was a porn star again. It didn’t surprise either of them that he’d orgasmed as quickly as he did -- not that that really slowed him down. He barely missed a beat and kept on pounding toward number two, using his cum as lube -- it leaked out of Tino’s hole. Tino would pass out around the fifth, so he wasn’t sure where it ended -- all he knew was that hours later when he lost consciousness (from exhaustion), Big Mick was still fucking him. What the hell had Saul Bennett given him? ******************************************************* Tino woke to the light of dawn, a beam of sunshine across his face. He was on his side, spooned by Mick -- and the first thing he realized was that Mick was still inside him, that huge cock still hard, filling him past the point of comfort. Even in his sleep, Mick gently thrust in and out, like he was dreaming of a fuck. Tino was afraid to wake him. The relentless, non-stop pounding Mick had given his ass last night was enough -- he couldn’t imagine it starting again. Slowly, gently, Tino slid off Mick’s cock, his hole so defeated that there wasn’t even a “pop” when the gargantuan head came out. Mick’s cock had felt huge inside him -- bigger than Tino had remembered it, even when last it had been fully hard, years ago before last night. As Tino quietly sat up on the edge of the bed, the movement seemed to disturb Mick -- his breathing changed slightly. They’d been together long enough that Tino knew even the most subtle change in Mick when asleep. He waited a moment until he heard Mick sink back deeply, then he stood, waiting to see if that changed anything, then he took a step and turned around, just enough to glance at his man. The first thing to catch his eye was Mick’s cock -- how could it not? -- it was gigantic! Truly gigantic, as the head of it slapped the very bottom of his abs with every dreamy thrust Mick took, leaving a little trail of cum between the slit and his core. Mick’s cock had never been THIS big -- not even in his prime! Mick’s cock measured out at just over 11-inches when fully hard, formidable on its own -- the cock he had now was well over a foot long, possibly as long as fourteen inches… and substantially thicker. How on earth could Tino have taken that? It wasn’t just the cock, though the cock held his attention -- that cock would hold ANY man’s attention, gay or straight -- it was beyond possible. The stuff of fantasy. But it wasn’t just his cock -- no, it was his balls, too. Tino had never seen balls so big on any man, except maybe those guys who have injections, or implants or whatever. Because of his heavy steroid cycles, Mick’s gonads had all but atrophied, shrunken well smaller than average -- he joked that it made his cock look bigger by comparison. The balls he had now were easily in proportion with his over-sized cock, easily as big as lemons, maybe avocados. The weight of them gently pulled on the base of that big dick, causing it to pulse even more. And then Tino widened his focus and saw Mick in his entirety. It wasn’t just his cock and his balls -- it was all of him! Mick was… Mick was… Mick was massive. Diesel. Tino had been the bodybuilder -- Tino had been the competitor -- Mick was the proud daddy who watched from the side, proud of his boy, but not looking for the attention himself. He had his own audience, and he didn’t think the two should mix. Mick had loved being a porn-star -- and he joked that he had a better build for that, anyway. (Imagine Mick’s dick in posers!) Mick had always had a bulky, muscular thing going on, big and thick, but not ripped -- no perfect abs for Big Mick Masterman. No need. Though to Tino’s disappointment, Mick had been going soft lately. THIS Mick, the Mick in their bed, was a very different man. This Mick was a bodybuilder -- this Mick could’ve just stepped off the competition stage -- this Mick was muscular and ripped, heavily-veined and pumped. The only thing ruining the illusion was the body hair -- Mick had always been hirsute (his back alone kept his waxer employed full-time) -- but this morning, Mick was covered with a layer of rough, short hair -- his shoulders, his arms, everything. The stubble on his face was heavy, like he could grow a beard in a day. Was his brow a little thicker, as well? He looked like he’d overdosed on testosterone, like he was tripping on some crazy hormone sauce… Saul! THAT SHIT SAUL HAD GIVEN THEM! Is that what had done this? It HAD to have been! Horrified, Tino quickly waddled his way to the bathroom, grabbing his phone off the dresser on the way past. The first thing he did was examine himself in the mirror -- if Saul’s formula had done that to Mick, what had the stuff he’d taken done to HIM? And the answer was… nothing that he could see. What had Saul said? He’d said the pink vial would make Tino able to take what the blue vial would do to Mick. The horror of that sunk in, which caused him to relax just enough that the cum that had been inside him started to leak down his muscular thigh. Fuck... Sitting on the toilet, easily a gallon of Mick’s cum rushed out of him, wetly filling the bowl with its salty scent. Why wasn’t he sore? Exhausted, yes, but not sore. What had that shit done? He said, “Call Saul Bennett” into his phone, quietly, though he was pretty sure Mick couldn’t hear him with the bathroom door closed. It took the phone a few seconds to connect -- longer for Saul to pick up. “It’s five o’clock in the morning, Tino,” Bennett mumbled from his end. “Why the fuck you calling me at five o’clock in the fucking morning?” “What was in that stuff, Saul?” Tino said, angrily. “What the fuck did you give him?” A sleepy laugh over the line, an evil chuckle. “I guess you guys used my gift,” he said. “What’d you think, Tino? Bet you haven’t got nailed like that in a while.” “Fuck you, Saul.” Saul laughed. “I think you got all the fucking, Tino. How’d you get away from him long enough to call me? He’s not fucking anybody else right now, is he?” “No!” Tino said in a whisper louder than he’d wanted. “He passed out sometime during the night and I’m sitting here in the bathroom emptying myself out! What the fuck, Saul?” “Okay. You definitely don’t want him fucking anybody else.” “Yeah, I’ll try to stop him. You should see him, Saul! He’s fucking HUGE! Did you know that would happen, Saul? Did you know? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” “I’m telling you now, don’t let him fuck anybody else.” Tino sighed (and the final bit of cum dripped out of him). “Why don’t you want him fucking anybody else? Why do you keep saying that, Saul? What aren’t you telling me?” There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone that Tino was about ready to interrupt when Saul spoke. “Let’s just say… the stuff I gave him? Well… it’s communicable.” “What?” “It means other people can catch it…” “I know what ‘communicable’ means, Saul,” Tino sighed again, his patience nearly gone. “What did you fucking give him?” Saul chuckled again -- the bastard. He said, “I’m giving him his career back, Tino.” A beat of silence where Tino didn’t respond, so Saul continued. “Tino, what the fuck good is a total top who can’t get hard -- can’t even get hard with an injectable, you know? I mean, he totally fucked his own head! I had to give him some time off.” “‘Time off’,” Tino mocked. “You know that ‘time off’ fucking destroyed him, right? You act like it was some kind of sabbatical and you were going to welcome him back! He was done -- except for a few guest appearances, his career was all but over! Once word got out that he was given some ‘time off’ because of ED, nobody would even ‘like’ his social-media posts!” Saul Bennett sighed. “Look… I’m sorry for that. It took my guys at the lab longer to come up with a solution that I thought. But here we are, Tino! And if I understand you correctly, the problem’s solved, right? Big Mick Masterman gets a triumphant return AND a major series! It’s gonna be awesome! I got HUGE plans for Mick, Tino -- we’re gonna make a fucking fortune!” Tino sighed again, more impatiently than before. “What did you fucking do to him, Saul?” “Turned him back into a top,” Saul said, matter-of-factly. “Cranked up the hormones and turned him into a hyper-masculine super-stud. How big is he, Tino? I bet he’s fucking huge!” “This is crazy,” Tino said to himself. As he stood, he realized he hadn’t cleaned himself up completely -- Big Mick’s cum still ran down his leg. He grabbed a hand-towel and started wiping himself. He wanted to hop in the shower, but he didn’t dare wake Mick -- not until he knew what was going on. “And what did you mean when you said he was communicable?” There was a pause, again long enough that Tino almost repeated himself, when Saul confessed, “So there’s a… side effect of the compound. If he fucks somebody who hasn’t had the antidote, they… also transform into a hyper-masculine super-top, just like him. Think of it, Tino,” Saul continued, and Tino swore he was drooling, “It’s a series. Big Mick fucks some fem little twink and transforms him into another out-of-control, unstoppable muscle-top -- then we follow the fun as they transform all the major bottom boys from all the other major studios. I’m calling it ‘Fuck Zombies -- The Series!’ It’s gonna be huge, Tino -- HUGE!” Tino was nearly speechless. “But he fucked ME,” he whispered. “Why didn’t that happen to me?” A small snort. “Cause you took the antidote, Tino. I told you, the pink vial made you able to take anything the blue vial did to your husband. It’s not just that you can’t catch the virus,” Saul explained, “but physically, it made you able to take the pounding one of these guys can give you and not get your ass torn apart. You’re my Ace in the Hole, Tino -- so to speak.” “You’re crazy…” Saul Bennett’s chuckle was nothing short of evil -- super-villain evil -- he was fucking PROUD of what he’d done! “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Tino,” he said, in a patronizing tone he hadn’t had before, “I need you to get him to me here in LA -- that’s your job. Well, your job is REALLY to get him here without him fucking anybody along the way. We wouldn’t want a pandemic to start, would we? You get him to me, we film this series -- ten films, twelve on the outside -- and then I’ll release him to you, good as new!” Tino was horrified. He stood, shouting, “You monster!” into the phone. “You fucking MONSTER!” And then he heard a sound from the bedroom -- fuck, he’d been too loud! He’d woken Mick. “Oh, fuck!” he whispered. “What’s going on, Tino?” “I woke him up.” A sound then, from the bedroom. “Fu-u-u-u-uck…” -- a moan -- “Fuck YEAH!” “Oh, fuck,” Tino said, panicking. “What do I do? What do I do?” Saul said, “Turn the camera on, for fuck’s sake. I wanna see this!” Tino could hear Mick in the bedroom, trudging around, his breathing heavy, his voice rough. “Fuck yes! Oh… oh, fuck… Fuck YEAH!!!!” And then the unmistakable sounds of Mick having an orgasm -- it went on and on, as Tino’s panic-level rose. And then he was pounding on the bathroom door, a dull, repetitive thud. Tino got the camera on just as Mick broke the door down, so he and Saul saw the same thing. Big Mick stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning light behind him, his new mass making him even bigger than Tino expected -- he was truly a monster, a diesel freak. Muscular, hairy, radiating power -- and then the unbelievable cock that stood there, rock hard, dripping freely, throbbing along with Mick’s heartbeat. A muscle-morph made real. Tino’s first thought upon seeing Mick’s cock? “I’m able to TAKE that?” Saul’s first thought upon seeing Mick’s cock? Very different -- he saw dollar signs. He began to record the call. Mick made eye-contact with Tino and growled -- he grabbed his dick -- slowly, a predator, he advanced. “Fuck,” he muttered, crazed, incapable of rational thought. “Gotta fuck…” Tino held his hands in front of him (giving Saul a front row seat). “Mick,” Tino pleaded. “Mick, please... listen to me…” And then Mick charged, causing Tino to drop the phone as he protected himself. The phone clattered to the floor and flipped -- and Saul ended up with an up-shot of the action, seeing the whole scene from below. It wasn’t the worst porn-angle in the world. Mick threw Tino over the counter and just started fucking him -- using his own cum as lube, he somehow managed to push his freakish thing into Tino’s over-worked hole. Flexing for himself in the mirror above the sink while he fucked, turned-on by his own incredible physique, he drooled like an animal. Tino had little choice but to take it -- even with Tino’s impressive size, he was no match for the monster his husband had become. All he could do was take it -- fortunately, Saul Bennett had made him able to take it. Mick’s cock was SO big… he hated that he liked it so much. “Saul?” Tino called as Mick ravaged him, between Mick’s powerful thrusts. “Saul, are you still there?” Mick suddenly fucked him harder, angrily. “Fuck Saul…” the beast muttered. From the floor, he could hear Saul’s voice. “I’m here, Tino -- he’s spectacular! You gotta get him to me, Tino. That’s’ all you gotta do. Get him to me. Now, lift your leg a little, you’re blocking my view of his cock.” How the fuck was Tino supposed to get Mick all the way across country to LA? It was impossible. Mick began long-dicking his hole, pulling his fourteen-inch shaft nearly all the way out before slamming it all the way back in to the root. Over and over again -- Tino was nearly delirious, ecstacy and horror mixed together. Fuck. Fuck you, Saul Bennett, he thought, while being fucked. How the fuck am I gonna do this? Between orgasms, Tino started to plot. AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD: Hey, all -- absman420 here again! Feels like a cliff-hanger, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s easily a chapter (maybe two) in Tino getting Big Mick to LA -- plane? Train? Auto? -- and then, there’s as many chapters as one could imagine as Mick turns industry twink bottoms to Fuck Zombie Super-Tops before Tino does (or doesn’t) get Saul to keep his deal and release Mick from his “contract” (haha) Could be quite a series. One I don’t want to write. That said, if anybody DOES want to contribute a chapter, please feel free to add one on! I’m very cool with the IDEA of this being a series, I just don’t have the time to do it justice myself. I only ask that you reference this story -- and me -- when you submit something. Otherwise, go to town! Tattcub has already written a story thread and posted it on this forum ("Priapus Pictures") and he inspired me to write a chapter myself (the upcoming "Twink Number Twelve").

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a repost from the old forum to help christen this new site. I hope you enjoy a second read. The Commando I feel my big pecs as I stare in the mirror. My fingers tracing the thick shelves of muscle and casually teasing one of my tough nipples until it is hard enough to etch diamonds. Even as I take a casual breath the fibres flex without conscious effort, bunching and rolling beneath my skin. The muscle underneath is harder than granite. Harder than steel. Perhaps harder than any other substance on the planet. Beads of sweat are still running down the naked skin of my chest and through the deep valleys of my abs as I admire the pump from my first workout of the day. After that session I know I need a new way to train. I think of the yard outside, strewn with pieces of tanks and machinery left scattered after the orgy of devastation I just wrought with these hands. Big hands. Powerful. Each fist the size of a prize turkey. In the mirror I am swollen like a massive god. Fuck I’m so huge. So thick. So strong. Has any being walked the earth who possesses the power I have in one arm? Reaching across the table I grab a container of my special protein drink. It is about the size of four litres. I chug it back feeling the liquid hit my stomach like a lead weight. My muscles absorbing the fluid immediately and I feel the fibres knitting themselves back together, bigger and stronger than they were before. Casting aside the empty container from my hand, I pick up another container and start drinking it down. One container after another. Until all five containers from the table lie strewn about the floor. Feeding my needs and fuelling my growth. BANG I ignore it. BANG I tip back the last container onto my lips. Each milky thick drop pouring down my hungry throat. Only now am I starting to feel satiated. BANG As the liquid finishes pouring down my throat I finally turn my attention to the noise and I toss the empty container so hard that it hits the wall, shattering the plastic. “COME!” I rumble. In the big, empty room the echo is amplifying my already deep voice. It’s not as easy a command as it would be in any other “office”. The door is so heavy that the average man could never open it. The Ministry of Defence has rigged it up for me, thick steel plates, wider than the doors of a bank vault and just as impossible for the average man to move. But as I watch the door open, metal heaved and moved as it is wrestled out of the way by a man very determined to see me. The door takes him less time than it would any of the others. And it isn’t long before Royal Marine Commando Corporal Roger Clarke struts inside. He never walks. He struts. He is one jacked wanker, and he thinks he’s the dog’s bollocks. I suppose in every way he is. Of all the recruits to the program he is the biggest and the best. And like all the other recruits the program has amplified his alpha male instincts. You already have to be a cocky lad to join one of the most elite special forces in the world, but these recruits were the best of the best. And showing excellent progress. Corporal Clarke is top drawer. He smirks at me. He just can’t help himself. “Reporting for my weekly jab sir,” he reminds me. He stands straight, rigid. His green beret framing his square jawed face. So very handsome. A shadow of stubble is present even this early in the morning, and I know as well as anyone on base how fastidious the commandos are about personal hygiene. But with so much testosterone flowing in your system what can you do? Personally I’ve given up shaving and just trim my beard instead. It’s just fucking easier that way, even if I have to do it several times a day. Like the other program recruits he wears only his regulation trousers, and even these days the trousers aren’t quite adequate to contain him. I inspect his physique as I watch him walk towards me. The corporal has grown bigger. But I knew that already. I’ve been watching. He’s growing into a strong son of a bitch. And his vast strength has established him at the top of the pecking order of his fellow volunteers. I lick my lips involuntarily and the gesture isn’t missed by the corporal. He stands tall. His shoulders are wide as an ox. Probably wider, as I’ve never seen an ox in my life and can’t imagine one as big. Every muscle is impossibly etched. Thick and full. I regard him with respect, his full 200cm height already makes him imposing. But less than four percent of his 150kg weight is fat. And what fucking muscle. The corporal’s neck is a thick column, wider even than his head. Those thick shoulders, and delts, massive and round, framing lats that are so wide they press against his horseshoe triceps and force his arms to hang out from his body. All of which make his waist appear even narrower. But fuck! Those pecs! So massive, so overdeveloped. Delicious. His arms, the pride of any man, are simply huge. Biceps that are pumped looking even when stone cold, meaty with veins that run across them just under his skin. Row after row of bricks form lines on his torso, hard and deep and just dragging the eye downwards to the mammoth quads and jutting calves. Assets barely hidden under the tight fabric of his trousers. And of course the mighty bulge of his cock that marks the man as the stud he is. A cock which is always half hard, like a thick sausage. I take a breath to control my raging hormones. My own monster is also always half hard and threatening to spring into action, so I know what it must be like for the corporal to maintain his iron discipline. I disregard the sweat dripping off my thick body. I’d been about to take a shower, but now there is clearly no point. We’re going to have a tussle, the corporal and I. I turn my back on him and walked further into the open space of the room. My office is actually a massive warehouse where I conduct my experiments. My life started as a civilian contractor when I’d stumbled on the initial formulas for enhanced strength and muscularity. Formulas that I’d designed originally for myself. Her Majesty’s Government had found out though, as they always do, when they discovered I was acquiring some unusual combinations of materials over the internet from Eastern Europe. After a midnight visit to my flat by the elite SAS, some of whom I’m sorry to say got hurt in the process of trying to bring me in, the Government wisely decided that were willing to let me continue my secret research as long I shared some of the bounty of my results with Her Majesty’s Forces. A loyal patriot, I was only too happy to oblige. And in return I’ve been given access to facilities, materials, and research that have greatly improved my formulas and my own strength and musculature. When I’d turned my back on him, I’d expected the corporal to take advantage. But even I was surprised as to how quickly he could move. He springs onto my massive back, and I feel his arms wrap around me and under my own arms. Feel his hands come together behind my neck as he attempts a full nelson hold, exerting a granite crushing amount of pressure. He leans back, lifting me into the air, and I can feel his hard, needy cock rubbing against my glutes. The corporal is very aroused. But so am I. “If I win,” he growls into my ear, “I get two jabs this week.” That was the deal I always gave them. If they could beat me I’d give them the key to rise above and eclipse their fellows. But no one has beaten me yet. I’ve seen him use this move on his fellow recruits. One of his signature moves, and he’s always boasted that his hold was unbreakable. I grin to myself, as I feel him try and increase the incredible pressure to my neck. But he hasn’t reckoned on the power and thickness of the corded muscle running from my traps up to head. Thicker even than his. I am impenetrable, so I casually bring my arms down. He fights me, but can’t stop my thick arms from pushing into his. And he has to let go. I feel myself touching the ground as he releases my neck. Just as soon as I felt the pressure break fully, my feet now solidly off the ground, I reach around with one hand and pull his weight off the ground and into the air, flinging him over me and throwing the corporal across the room and against the cinder block wall with enough force to crack the wall. He slams into the wall, dust rising around him as he stands up. Momentarily unsteady. He’s never tried the full nelson on me before and I believe he genuinely thought he’d be able to hold me at his mercy. Maybe even fuck me. Still believing he can take me the corporal charges with his full might. I am ready for this frontal assault. He slams into my torso, grabbing it around the only part narrow enough for him to encircle: my waist. But I am braced and I don’t step backwards. Even though the force of his impact actually pushes my body across the concrete floor several centimetres, enough that my heels score the concrete and leave grooves. Not to be daunted he twists, lifting my 200kgs into the air, over his head, and slamming me back against the ground. The concrete cannot withstand his assault and the muscle of my body and breaks as if a jack hammer has been taken to it. He leaps on top of me and I feel his big fists connect, first the left, then the right, with my hard jaw. He’s strong enough to turn my face and his quads wrap around my waist, inner thighs contracting, strong enough that even I grunt at the pressure. I slam my fist into his chest, and he is pushed backwards by the impact. His hold on my waist doesn’t break though and he reaches forward to attempt to pin me to the ground. I growl and snarl as I flex my arms and pecs underneath him, muscling his whole body upwards until my arms are fully extended, pressing his solid muscle mass up and down over me as his back is forced to arch, then lowering him to my pecs again. I feel his power fight against me, trying to force my arms back down, but I don’t give in, holding him at bay. With a final heave I toss him up in the air until he comes down on his arse ten feet away. We both stand. I massage my jaw, and I can tell he’s starting to doubt and reassess. I slowly eye him as we circle each other, bodies thick and pumped, looking very big, our pecs heaving with the exertion. It’s my turn to smirk, noting the hard on raging under his trousers. This big lad is turned on when he faces someone as strong as me. My own torn trousers feel the pressure as my cock all but tears through the damages material. I flex my biceps at him. “Come and get it started little fella!” He brings his arms behind his head, big guns swelling, thick veins pumping blood, he flexes his quads and I watch as the trousers tear up the sides. Watch his cock fight against the material, as he flexes his abs, muscle etched, and the material tears away. His cock rips out thick and wet I circle around him, taking in that perfect form, those quads swollen and yet still showing every cut and vein on them, almost impossible thickness on those wheels. And that arse, the flawless resting place for my massively thick and long cock. Something inside me snaps a little. The testosterone is coursing in my veins. Unable to resist, I can't help but quickly and decisively force my engorged guns up under his pits from behind. I force march him forward the few metres to the table and force him over. I feel his resistance, but feel my own guns thicken as I hold him down, locked tightly underneath me. He grunts, but I reach for the syringe waiting on the table. I stab it into his arse, as he grunts. Pausing only as he feels the serum enter his bloodstream. Then I force him upright, pulling him up, and then off the ground. My cock tears through the material that’s holding it as I hold his massive weight in the air. Needy I wedge myself deep in those thick glutes and feel his resistance tear away as he is unable to stop me. He kicks out, as my pecs dig into his lats, but for all his energy he cannot stop himself sliding down my shaft. Cannot stop the cock that forces open his thick hole, not for the first time, and roars his frustration. I let him back down as his thrashing lessens, resigned to his fate. Pushing him forward onto the table I begin slamming into him. He isn’t tight enough to stop me, but as the formula takes hold within him I feel the inevitable power coursing through his glutes as he squeezes them against my cock. Making for the most amazing ride. Then I surprise him. He sees me reach for another syringe. It was hidden under some papers, but I’m prepared. I want to see how he does. I inject it deep in his glute as I toss it away. “Aaaaaahhhhhh fuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk yeeeaaaahh!” he groans as he feels it start to take hold. His whole body shudders as the twice the normal amount of serum floods through him. With monumental effort I pull my cock out of the corporal’s ass and take a step back to watch the changes in his body as he swells with the pump of the formula. His cock is massive and hard and hung in front of him like a battering ram. I come close, our cocks slapping each other loudly. The corporal stands his ground, and I feel my pecs push into his, but feel resistance as he pushes back. The corporal flexes his arms. Big massive peaks forming. “Yeeesssss!” He breaths. I reach to squeeze his guns. They’re beautiful, inhuman peaks, slowly I apply pressure as he flexes, but I am surprised to meet such resistance. I expect my own muscles to cope, and to fight back. I do feel my arms tighten, feel the cords in my biceps and forearms explode and power up as they fight to overcome the resistance in their way. But yet my fingers do not dent the corporal’s muscle. Instead I feel it expand and push my fingers away. The corporal grabs my other arm. I try to pull away. But I cannot free my hand. The corporal holds me fast, his thick muscles becoming unstoppable, his strength phenomenal. Fuck! The corporal is getting bigger. He twists me around and pushes me toward the bank of mirrors. "FLEX!" he orders me. And I cannot disobey. I bring my arm up and flex my powerful gun. I feel the powerful contraction getting harder and I look at the corporal’s own arm behind me. Mine is vascular and huge. Like a rugby ball if not bigger. But behind me the corporal’s own arms rises high, even higher, cords of muscle thickening. And I can’t take my eyes off that arm as it eclipses my own. Everything about the corporal is bigger, thicker and harder than it was mere moments ago as the formula passes through his system. “Ohhhh fuuuuuucckkkkkkk….” He moans in ecstasy. I know the feeling. That hit of power and the intense feeling of pleasure as your body responds to the changes being demanded of it. A mix of pleasure and pain that burns through you. “Now it’s my turn,” he says in a low, husky voice. Pushing me forward until my face is planted in the mirror. I feel him thick and heavy behind me, his strong hand against my thick lats as he pins me to the glass surface. It cracks with the pressure, and I sigh as his body comes even closer to mine. Muscle forcing me to move as I feel his other hand tearing away what’s left of my shorts and underwear so he can massage the firm muscle of my rounded glutes. His swelling cock is straining, pulsing and as rigid a steel pole in the valley between my glutes. I grin though as I feel him seeking entry to my untouched hole. He is powerful, but I am not helpless either and I tighten my glutes together forcing his cock away. At the same time I brace myself against the concrete wall and push against him. He groans as he feels my lats in contact with his pecs. Our muscle fighting for dominance, and I can feel him winning. Being pushed closer the wall. Even as I exert more effort the corporal flexes back, still seeking my hole, determined to pin my under him. The concrete begins to crack as it is not strong enough to support the force I am exerting against it. The corporal wraps his arms around me, pinning my arms, and holding me tight. I feel myself naturally struggling against him. My unmatchable strength and power being contained in the grip of this cocky soldier. My body surges as I feel my power tested. Muscles that have destroyed a fleet of tanks and torn apart ships, but not strong enough. The corporals grip tightens and I can feel the wetness on my glutes as the corporal’s cock leaks precum. He’s getting off on this and he rubs against me as he does. I can feel his muscles growing as he struggles to contain me, even as I fight back. Two hulks, fighting each other for room. Fighting for size. The corporals thick pecs digging into my back, denting and overpowering my lats. Feeling helpless as I’m overwhelmed. But at the most hopeless moment, even as I feel his cock start to tear into my glutes I feel the effects of the three jabs of growth serum I had taken a few minutes before the corporal arrived. My hulking body is so oversaturated with that it takes longer and requires more concentrated doses to have effect. At least until the new formula is ready. I can now exert my own power again. Roger’s body is coursing with formula but not enough. My body grows even in his struggling hold. Biceps thickening as his arms are forced apart. Lats expanding as I feel him pushed backwards I flex my quads, forcing myself to full height, and my cock is achingly hard. Pressed so hard against the wall, I flex and feel the glass and concrete give way as my thick dick digs into the wall. Even so the strength of the man holding me is amazing. His genetics adapting and improving the formula. Equalling mine even now. But even so his strength is feeding my own growth, my power. Oh yeah, I can feel him weakening, struggling to hold me down. The delirium of my growth is intoxicating. “Fight me!” I command, as I break free of his hold. The corporal is not prepared for a turn of events such as this. He responds with his training, punching me repeatedly. But even as he does I can feel my abs thicken. Growing larger, harder. Like impenetrable armour. I grab his fist in mid-swing. He is stunned. All the power in his punch being summarily stopped. And I don’t just do that, but instead muscle his arm down until I know he is in pain. My growth is now coming on in waves as the early litres of protein drink kick in. I wrap my arms around the corporal and hug him tightly to my chest. His pecs are now no match for mine. Feeling him struggle as I contain him, I encircle him in my much bigger arms. At that moment I can crush him, destroy a rival and the finest commando of the Royal Marines. But just now I have other needs. Roger struggles every moment of it, but it just feds my own strength and size. I easily lift his now much more massive body off the ground and force him down onto my cock. Using him like a toy to fuck. I’ve never felt such a pump. Maybe the key really is to exert my strength against someone else. This could be my new form of training. By the time I erupt into him and pull his exhausted body off my cock I already know that the corporal is going to get a few extra jabs. Anything that it takes to keep me growing.

Chapter 3: The competition It was a packed auditorium for the Leeward Islands classic bodybuilding competition. Fans were eagerly awaiting the Men’s heavyweight class to take the stage. Among the close to 500 spectators sat my girlfriend Katie. She giddily looked from side to side taking in the faces of all the people seated around her, sure that their minds were about to be all blown. I was the most muscular human any of them had ever seen, and I would soon step onto the stage. Katie had dropped me off backstage only 40 minutes prior, mere minutes before the judges were due to finish the weigh-ins. We had wanted to make my presence a secret until the last minute, and so we timed our arrival to be as late as possible. I was ushered to the scale and told to strip down to only my posing suit. I could already feel a dozen sets of eyes looking at me, other heavyweight guys in my class, some of the figure women who’d just come off stage, and some judges. They saw me walk in wearing my loose fitting sweat suit and likely thought I was some strong man competitor, wanting to make a go of bodybuilding. Some fat, overfed and out of shape guy who didn’t belong here. After all, it looked like I must have weighed 400 pounds! Keen to prove them all wrong, I pulled off my sweatshirt. I think one of the figure girls and at least 2 of my fellow heavyweight competitors gasped. I stepped onto the scale, and my weight was recorded: 408 pounds. I’d put on a few more pounds of muscle just since I’d gotten to the Island. When my class was announced, I was at the back of the line walking on stage. Finally after the other 8 competitors had strode under the lights, I made my appearance from behind the curtain. The buzz in the auditorium rose to a bit of a roar and people began to stand up and jockey around to get a better view of me. At least a couple hundred people ignored the ban on cell phone photography and started to snap furious pictures and videos of me. I honestly felt like my muscles could sense all the attention and they literally seemed like they were swelling right then and there as I was walking. That made me strut just a little bit prouder until I took my place at Stage right. At 6’4” tall I already stood above the rest of the guys in my field, and I must have outweighed the next heaviest competitor by 150 pounds. This was an amateur competition after all. All the other guys stepped back a few steps to give me a spot at the centre of the stage right under all the bright lights. The judges started to call the mandatory poses: “Front double biceps.” I bring my colossal arms up to the side, then flex them intensely. Mounds of muscle form a perfect bicep peak. My arms are bigger than the next biggest guys quads. “Side Chest.” From the side, my Pecs jut out from my body by 6 inches, and I simultaneously flex my glutes so the side of my ass in also on display. “Back lat spread.” Turning my back to the crowd, my flexed back is so developed that the different muscle groups look like they were chiselled out of granite. My tiny posing suit can barely contain my enormous tight glutes, and even my hamstrings and calf muscles are bulging at this point. The judges narrowed the field down to 3 of us, and we performed some more off the cuff poses for the crowd. The audience really roared when I gave a “most muscular” for them. And after what must have been the shortest deliberation in the history of bodybuilding, I was announced the winner. Second place wasn’t even close. After the post competition fervor died down, and I’d finished giving interviews and getting my photo taken by the various media outlets who were there, it was time for Katie and I to head back to the resort. We met up backstage where she literally ran and jumped onto me, putting her legs around my waist. She jammed her tongue into my mouth and kissed me like never before. We kissed like this for a while, then Katie whispered into my ear. “You are unlike any other man on this planet. You’ve left mankind in the dust. Humanity is all in awe of you and your muscles. I AM IN AWE OF YOU AND YOUR MUSCLES. You’re a conqueror, so take me, like I’m your prize. I want you to go medieval with me tonight, you’re the king and I’m your subject. I am here to serve you and your muscles.” I wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that! I didn’t even bother going to look for my sweat suit that I’d changed out of when I arrived at the auditorium. Fuck that, I looked so good, I didn’t care about modesty. So still oiled up from the show, and still only wearing my Red spandex posing suit, I took Katie, threw her over my shoulder and out we went from the auditorium. When we got outside, a black Masserati was waiting there. A driver and the manager from our resort were standing there and waived us down. “Excusez-moi monsieur. In honour of your victory, we would like to chauffeur you back to the resort, where your room has been upgraded to the presidential suite. Perhaps tomorrow you can perform a posing session for the rest of our guests on the beach?” “Yes, tomorrow. Certainly” I answered. “But right now, please take us back to the resort.” I gently placed Katie into the car’s back seat. On the short drive we made out furiously. Katie was normally quite an active sexual partner, but I could tell she had a different attitude tonight. She was being submissive, and almost begging for me to touch her, kiss her, run her hand over my abs. I had thought the whole “conqueror/master” thing she had whispered was just a ruse to get me turned on, but maybe she was actually as hypnotized by my muscles as everyone else had seemed to be at the show. When we got to the front of the resort, I got out of the car and threw Katie back over my shoulder. My posing suit was now bulging a little obscenely in the front from my dick which was now at half mast from making out with Katie on the drive. But I didn’t care. And neither did the couple hundred people all watching us arrive from the lobby. The Hotel manager led us to our new suite, and I swiftly closed the door. Our new room was 2200 square feet, with a loft, and huge sitting area. Along one wall, there was a 8’x8’ mirror. “What do you want from me? Ask anything and it’s yours.” Katie pleaded to me as soon as the door was shut. “Show these muscles some love. Starting with my biceps” I stated. Katie jumped up on the bed so she was standing level with my arms and immediately started devouring my bicep with her tongue. She was making out with the indent between the two heads of my bicep, flicking her tongue in and out. Simultaneously her right hand was groping my rock hard glute, and her left was going over and over my abs. I was getting pretty turned on, but there was something else I wanted to try that I figured would drive Katie nuts. I lowered down on to my knees. “Katie, get that dress and those panties off and come here.” I extended my right arm and flexed my bicep. “Now come grind your pussy on this.” Katie took the hint and dropped her dripping wet pussy onto my 26” bicep. Her vagina couldn’t even come close to taking something that massive, but she got her clit involved in the motion and within a minute had an orgasm, leaking pussy juice all over my arm. After her gasping and panting died down a few moments later, Katie got an idea. “Steven, your muscles turn me on so much, but I think we need to let you enjoy them as much as I do. Come over here.” Katie led me to the wall with the 8 foot mirror. “Now, flex as hard as you can.” I performed my front double bicep pose and the sight was my fantasy come true. I was the biggest, bulgiest, most obscenely muscled human to have ever lived. My biceps were enormous, my Pecs were gigantic, my abs were so perfectly chiselled they looked fake, my shoulders and traps were so huge and freaky they almost went up to my ears. Not an inch of my body was undeveloped. I was so turned on by the sight of my muscles that I immediately felt my posing suit being stretched by my growing hard on. Katie got down to her knees, and put her mouth up against my crotch. Sensually putting her mouth against the outside of the tightly stretched lycra of my posing trunks, she began to kiss my erect dick through the fabric. In between kisses, she started talking dirty to me and my muscles. “Steven, look at yourself. You’re huge.” And then back to work on my crotch. She removes her mouth to take a breath “That bicep of yours is perfection. If you were any bigger you wouldn’t fit in that 8x8’ foot mirror.” More kisses on my dick which is now so hard that it is sticking up out of my posing suit. “Everyone who sees your massive size must fantasize about getting to feel up your muscles. I know I would if I didn’t have them all to myself.” She takes my posing suit off, then starts sucking my shaft in earnest. But every few strokes she comes off and continues to talk me up: “Come on baby, come for me. Explode with pleasure at the sight of your perfect muscles. They are a wonder of the world.” I’m close to orgasming now, Katie is giving me the best blow job of my life. And Katie’s comments are the exact thing I want to hear. This is all I’ve ever wanted, to be the biggest, most muscular person on the planet. Not just so other people would stare at me, but so I could stare at MYSELF. Because there is nothing hotter than muscle. And I have the most muscle in the world! With those thoughts, and my reflection in the mirror running through my head I come like I’ve never come before. I shoot an enormous load into Katie’s mouth and she swallows the whole thing like a champ. She then stands up, places her arms around me (well actually her arms won’t wrap all the way around me because my back is too big) and we embrace. The two of us are as happy as we’ve ever been. Thankful that I’ve been blessed with this gift of muscle, and thankful that we’ve found each other. The two of us then go to bed, Katie’s head resting on my massive Pecs. Right before we fall asleep, Katie whispers “and to think, you’re only just getting started…” I fall asleep with a hard on.

Hi All, This is a story that was inspired and given permission to play in by one of my fave authors Absman420 Anyway I hope you enjoy it Parts 1 to 5 Have fun TC I work for a guy named Saul Bennett. He’s sort of a modern-day porn maven. Lots of money, loads of girls and guys. No morals. I work for him because I have no choice. (more on this later) I don’t think anyone here does except maybe the guy who does all his hocus pocus for him. He’s one scary bastard. Here’s a story about one of the guys who got in his way. It wasn’t long after Saul had fired Mick Masterson, he had been a real top dollar star for Bennett till like all things Mick’s body had started to go south on him. Nothing major as the guy still had fans and his bod was still great just his age. That was Saul’s excuse anyway. I heard him say it was because he’d fallen in love with some guy, pretty bodybuilder type and Saul didn’t like split loyalties. Anyway, on with the story… James Fraser is or should I was an entertainment lawyer working out of west Hollywood. He was the guy who did contracts for studios big and small tying their actors up in red tape, so the studios got their monies worth. Except James was a rare type. He actually cared about his clients, so he had a specialisation that was more about helping the actors get out of their deals with the big sharks who own these studios. For example, his most recent case was against one Saul Bennett and his studio Priapus Pictures. This guy came to James about a contract he had signed some time back with Priapus and wanted out. His partner had just died and he just didn’t have the heart to carry on in the industry any more. Bennett refused to cancel his contract even though the guy was happy to pay any penalty fee for doing so. So, the client came to James and asked for representation “James, your 2-o clock is here.” Said his assistant Diane as James re-entered his office after his lunch with another client. “Thanks Di. “said the 33-year lawyer smiling as he took his jacket off and threw it over the chair in the outer room. He was a good-looking man standing about 5 ft 9 tall. He had dark hair cut short on the back and side and had twinkling green eyes that always seemed ready to smile. His taut athletic body was a good swimmers build from many hours in the pool at his apartment building and light gym three times a week. He was well liked by the entire company, always willing to help out and fight for any underdog cause that took his mind. He was a good man. He opened the door to his office and went in to greet his client Manuel Cortez. Manny to his friends. Manny stood and shook hands with him. “Hi James or is it Jim?” Said Manny smiling nervously as he stood to greet the lawyer. “Please, please sit and it’s James.” Said the lawyer smiling. “My dad was Jim or Big Jim as everyone called him.” Said James as he made himself comfortable at his desk and reached for the clients file. Manny nodded in acknowledgement and said ” So, any news on my case?” James looked at the last page on the file which contained a vitriolic letter from Bennett’s team about what Manny and James could do with their suit. It was pretty much a good luck and see you in court letter. James explained this to Manny and the he just sat there and hung his head. When he raised it again to look at James he had tears in his eyes. “I can’t do this James, not any more. The things that he gets us to do.” Said the crying man. “It’s not that I think they’re disgusting, it’s not that at all. I’m a gay man and gay sex and experimentation is fine. I’m even fine with gay does straight. It all pays the bills doesn’t it and I like the sex. It’s none of that. It’s the fact we have no choice about what scenes we do. I’m pretty easy going and my partner used to just say go with the flow as we were both earning well out of it. Now he’s gone I just don’t feel it any more. “Manny wiped a tear from his eye as he talked. “When I said he gives us no choice I meant it.” He paused for moment to catch his breath. “When we’re on set something seems to come over the cast. No of us ever seem to argue with the directors on set. Ever. Something’s going on and it’s scaring the shit out of me. I don’t want to be there. Since Rico died It’s like veil was lifted from me. We were a great duo, did loads of pics together and we loved doing them. We never questioned Saul’s methods because times were good and if I’m honest we were pretty high most of the time too. Saul provided all those sweeties too. Said he had his own alchemist as he called his dealer I think. I think there was more than dope and china in that mix because we all just toed the line you know ?” Finally stopping and taking a drink from his water glass. He looked over at James to see how he was reacting from his total honesty about this situation. James sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Are you saying that Bennett actually forced you all into sexual acts and drug taking ?” he said “No, it’s not like that it’s more that he gave this stuff away for free and we didn’t even think to object to any of it.” Said Manny. “It’s only now that I haven’t been on set in a couple of months that I am finally clear headed. There worst thing was I didn’t touch any of that shit to start with. I was so nervous in the beginning I could only drink water on set.” He finished. “Look, Manny this could be a criminal case too if Bennett can be proven to be a dealer or that he is somehow forcing you all to work against your wills.” He Stood up from his desk and closed the file. “I think I should meet Mr Saul Bennett for myself and see what’s going on at Priapus Pictures.” Manny stood too. “Look man, please be careful. This man is dangerous and has a lot of power in this town. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you for getting involved.” “Don’t worry about me Manny.” Said the lawyer reassuringly. “I’ve dealt with guys like this before. I have my own contacts in this town too.” They shook hands and Manuel left the office. Turning and nodding his thanks before he closed the door. James picked up his mobile and dialled his wife “Hi Hun, really sorry I think I’m going to be late home tonight. Yeah…. A new case…..Don’t worry I’ll send out for something. Okay…bye…Love you too. So James had a plan, of sorts. He needed to rattle this guy, to get him out in the open and to make a mistake somewhere. A mistake that he, James could capture and exploit. He picked up his phone again. He had just the guy he could use for this job. “Hey Max.” He said smiling. “I’ve got a job for you bro are you up for it?” He asked. “Ever heard of a guy called Saul Bennett? His company Priapus Pictures?” “Yeah, that’s him.” He said to his long-time friend Maxwell Calder. Max was a private detective and old friend of James’ from way back in their college days. “I need you to do me a favour. Do you still do undercover shit ? I know you still love that James Bond stuff.” Said James smiling as he remembered his friends first forays into the field as an eager much younger man. “Well, we should meet up and talk. Lunch tomorrow? At Deano’s ? Yeah..Haha…” He laughed at his friends “Where else?” Comment . “Okay buddy. Yup, about 1.30 ?” He hung up. James looked back at the file on his desk. He had a few other calls to make. Insurance was always a great idea in this town. L.A. was not forgiving on the careless or the over eager. He had a long night ahead. He picked up his phone once more and dialled. It took a moment or two to answer. “Mz D.” He said to the feminine voice that answered. “Good to speak to you.” “Why James. “Said the throaty voice at the other end of the line. “It has been a while. It could be said that you have been remiss in your attentions.” She chided gently. “Awww Mz D. You know you truly are the only woman for me.” Said James smiling as he reacquainted himself with the accent and manners of the lady on the line. One who also had very, singular talents. One’s that he, James felt were going to be needed sometime very soon. James sat back in his chair and turned to look out at the skyline onto L.A. and its sunset of promises, promises that all to often turned out to be smoke and mirrors. Well, maybe not this time. With any luck. “I need a favour sweet lady.” Said the lawyer. MAX. Maxwell Calder was a a private detective in Lala land. He looked at his file on Priapus and Bennett and wasn’t surprised by what he read there. He’d been through several of these joints in his years investigating Los Angeles seedier side. He was still young enough at 35 to still be open minded and old enough to not be surprised any more. He’d done his background checks with his various contacts and knew for damn sure that Bennett was dirty and had his fingers in many, many pies. Porn, mainstream and “other.” Every form of fornication and filth was bread and butter to this guy and he’d made a fortune from it. James and by extension Manny James’ client had warned him to be careful as Bennett was well known to be resourceful and unforgiving of betrayal. Max had decided to go in undercover on a low-level crew type security or roady type, etc. You know the drill, the polite escorting of over eager fans from sets etc or the occasional diverting of a loved one/ partner away from the stars dressing rooms when they were “resting” or otherwise engaged. Purgatory were big enough that they recruited regularly, and this industry was full of people trying to “break into the biz.” He managed to get himself on a crew doing general security for a new movie that had the working title of New Fish. This was a prison scene in a mock up studio version of a prison block. It was going to be one of those gang bang movies. Max wasn’t gay himself but the thought of seeing a room full of guys wasn’t totally his thing. However he was professional and had no issues with gay guys at all so it wasn’t a problem. He was due to start at the studio at 7am the next day in a studio lot in some warehouse district somewhere. Knowing what this Bennett was like meant Max wasn’t going to go in wired or carrying a camera. He just had a mobile phone that took good pics and also recorded sound a lot longer than most of the other phones of it’s type. He picked up the phone and called James. “Hey buddy, it’s me.” Said the detective. “Yeah, all sorted. Job starts tomorrow. Aha…Yeah low level security/go-fer sort of thing.” “Ha ha…Very funny. I did it for you in college didn’t I why wouldn’t I run around for others for the job ?” he said smiling at his friends comments on the line. “Listen, if we start this we have to see it through. This guy has power and contacts. You know how much that’s worth in L.A. don’t you?” warned Max. “Yeah, I will. You too James. Don’t expect to hear from me for a few days. Speak soon as I can.” He hung up the phone. He looked at himself in the mirror. In looks he had that almost faded Cali surfer look going on. Slightly longer than normal naturally blond hair and clear blue eyes. Gave the impression of blankness which was handy in his business as many people underestimated him. He could turn on the dumb if he wanted to but in this instance, he decided to be a man of few words. He got his gear packed and decided to hit the shower before his job started tomorrow. James had waited about 4 days before picking up the phone and calling Max’s number. As he had expected he got the answer phone. Max always used burner phones when he worked so his real one would be stashed elsewhere for now “Hey, buddy. Just checking in with you. I know you don’t like to break your cover but give me a call when you can. Just looking for a prog rep.” He put the phone back on the desk and started to work on the papers laid out in front of him. He just had a niggling feeling about this gig with Bennett, that it was going to be a lot bigger than he wanted. He leaned to the intercom. “Di could you bring in todays mail and a bottle of water please?” he asked his assistant. She came through the door moments later with a bundle in a tray and a bottle of cool water. “Here you go chief.” She said smiling. James smiled at her. Laughing and shaking his head. “Let me guess, you’re auditioning for a part later ?” he asked. “How did you guess? “ She smiled sassily as she handed him the mail. The top of which was crowned with a brown padded envelope. He took the bundle and the water. “Haha…I dunno, calling me chief was the clue. Reporter maybe?” he said looking up at her with raised eyebrows. “Wow you should have been the P.I. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours but will come back to finish off later if that’s okay ?” she said as she turned to the door. “No, no don’t worry about coming back. “ He told her. “It’s Friday you may as get your weekend on early.” She smiled as she turned. “Thanks chief.” And gave him a mock salute as she went back into the outer office. James looked down at the pile of mail. Looks like his weekend was not going to start early at all. His eyes were drawn to the envelope. It was hand written, badly by the look of it but it was familiar. It was also unstamped which meant it had been hand delivered too. He opened up the packet and found it contained two things. One was a cell phone and the other was a micro SD card. On the phone was stuck a note. PLAY US BOTH TOGETHER. He paused for a moment and looked out into the main office. Diane had gone so he couldn’t ask who had dropped this off. He looked at the phone and switched it on. It didn’t seem to have any service but could still be opened up. He put the SD card into his laptop and scanned it first, just in case. It came up clear. He clicked on the icon for the card when it came up and it came up with one file that read. PLAY ME. He did so and the screen blanked out for a moment and started up a slide show. PRESS PLAY ON THE PHONES SOUND RECORDER NOW. James did so. The voice that came through was disguised. “Mr Fraser, good afternoon. If my calculations are correct you should be receiving this package at sometime around 2 pm on Friday afternoon.” There was a pause and the sound of someone making noise in the background. They sounded angry and sounded if they might be gagged or being stopped from talking. “I believe we have a friend of yours with us. He was found snooping about and before you stop this and call the police I can assure you that by the time the end of this recording has finished you will be aware that your friend Mr Calder is more than happy to be with us.” “In fact you will be the first to witness our latest movie. It’s a prison gang scene about a guy who’s caught undercover by his fellow inmates. “ The screen lit up on the laptop as the slideshow continued. On the screen was a man tied to a chair with his hands behind his back. His face was covered with a towel or something like it. His clothes were rumpled and the sleeve on his shirt was torn and bloody. Two very large muscular men stood either side. One of them was a very well presented man in a prison guards uniform. His hair was very short on the back and side and brushed back 1950’s style. He was very athletic having the look of sportsman or coach in a uniform. He was good looking in a sexy daddy sort of way. Tached and salt and pepper colouring. The guy on the left-hand side was huge and dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit that hand the sleeves cut off. There was no way they would ever have been able to hold the arms that the man had. He looked like he had be hewn rather than born. Grown out of the stone floor he was standing on. His shaved head gleamed in the light of the room, accented with a heavy black goatee beard and pale grey eyes. His arms were folded around his chest and he seemed to unconsciously be flexing them. He was about 6ft and seemed to be staring like his guard companion blankly out of the picture and at James himself. “Mmmmmf….mmm…mmesss.” Said the panicked voice of the person under the towel. “Yes, yes. “ said the dark voice. “Warn him all you like.” It said nonchalantly. “It won’t make any difference.” It paused for a moment. “ Mr Fraser, please be aware if you attempt to contact the police or even stop this recording before we have shown you our work please know that they will find nothing and you will not be seeing your friend Max again.” With that the next picture came up and it was of the guy in the chair and it confirmed James’ suspicion as Max was revealed. His hair was a mess and he has a wild look in his eyes. He looked genuinely afraid. He had a bloodied nose and what seemed to be a black eye. His mouth was gagged with what looked like a rubber ball gag, a standard BDSM toy on a set for a porn film. Max looked out at the camera from the still photo as his voice was heard in the background. “We’re just getting Mr Calder ready for his close up James.” Said the sinister voice as the next picture was of the two large men ripping Max’s shirt off. “First a little, preparation. Hold him.” The next picture flashed up and was of the prison guard injecting Max with something just into his neck while the prisoner bull held him steady. “Mmmmmmm!....Ngghhh…!” James heard Max’s muffled cries…Ove the next few drawn out minutes they got weaker and weaker until he heard a subdued groaning coming from his friends mouth. “Ahh that’s better. Now to work. Max, Max can you hear me ?” Said the man. “Mfff.” Said Max. The next picture flashed up and was of Max staring into the light of the camera with a hooded expression to his eyes. They seemed a little dull, even in the bright light. James rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This bastard had his friend prisoner and was torturing him. “Now, James. Don’t do anything rash.” Said the voice again. “Take a sip of water and calm down. I’ll give you some instructions after this is all over and we’ll try and resolve this situation.” “Now.” Said the stranger. “Where were we? Oh yes. Take the gag off. He shouldn’t be much trouble now.” “Max,MAX…Can you hear me ?” “Huh ?...” said the slurred voice of his friend. “Look at me Max. That’s good. You’re a good boy well done.” “Good booooy…” said his friends voice. It sounded deep and slow. Probably a result of the drug the bastards had given him thought James as he listened horrified and dreaded the next picture. The dark man’s voice continued to talk to Max. “Now Max, in a moment we’ll untie you from the chair and you will continue to sit there. Calm and still, calm and still. Do you understand?” “aarrrm and stiiilll…” came the reply as a new pic appeared. This was of Max. He had been untied and was sat in the chair and was looking up into the camera lens. James saw a little drool dribbling from his bottom lip. “That’s good Max, very good. Now these two men are your friends and you want to help your friends don’t you ?” “Aha..friends.” Max’s voice sounded thick and heavy, almost childish. “Stand up Max and let them help you undress. You’ll be far more comfortable like that trust me.” Max had obviously obeyed as the next picture came up. This time he was just standing there in the room, which did seem like a prison cell. He was stood there naked. The blank expression on his face, the drool and what seemed to be a raging hard on. “Well now, someone’s happy to see his two friends isn’t he?” said the monster on the phone. “They’re happy to see you too. Can you see how happy they are Max ?” he said. James could feel the smirk in the bastards voice. He was enjoying this. James’ mouth was dry. He took another sip of water from the bottle. He didn’t want to continue but had no choice but to listen and watch as his friend was manipulated. “Max, in a moment you will start to feel a little warm and tingly. It’ll feel a bit like when you go to the gym and have a good workout.” “Mmmhhmm.” Said his friend. “You understand ? Good.” Said the man. “You’re going to start to change and I want you to feel and see that it is all normal. This is a good change. You have nothing to fear.” Said the man “Do you understand Max.” he questioned. “No fear.” Said Max’s slow voice. It seemed more sure now but was also somehow deeper than James remembered. “Now I want you to kneel down and show your friends Adam and Rico your appreciation.” Said the man. “You know what to do.” He instructed. “I know…” The next picture flashed up and was off James’ friend of many years. His college buddy was knelt there naked on the floor of this prison cell and had the cocks of the two big muscle men in his mouth. His eyes were wide and staring up at the two men. Slobber and drool from his efforts and the men’s actions were dribbling off his chin. The screen blanked out and there were the sounds of someone giving and being given a blow job. This seemed to go on for a long time and the sounds of passion were punctuated with grunts, the sounds of animal passion. James tried to get the picture out of his head, he didn’t know what to do but couldn’t take his eyes off the screen and couldn’t get the will to switch of the recording either. The sounds of the men’s passions exploding brought James out of his reverie. “Ah…fuck…fuck…fuuuuuck…yeah…Give it to me.” Said Max’s voice. The two mens voices were just grunts. The sound of them cumming, hard was unmistakable. The screen lit up again with Max’s face taking up most of the screen. His sweaty hair was plastered onto his face and his blank eyes stared at the camera in gratitude. On his face was what look like a gallon of cum. It looked like the poor man had been glazed. The screen went dark again. SWITCH OF THE LAPTOP. CONTINIUE TO LISTEN. Instructed the screen. “Do I truly have your attention James ?” Said the creepy man’s smug voice. “Good. If you want to see your friend again and resolve this situation without further, action. Here are your instructions.” James sat in horror and listened to the words. PART 3 “James?” said a faraway voice. “James, are you okay?” It asked. Louder this time. “JAMES!” shouted Diane his assistant. Bringing the lawyer out of his reverie. What had he been….? “Shit” he shouted loudly making Diane’s concerned even more apparent as she touched his shoulder. “Are you okay boss?” She said worriedly, She’d come back to the office after her audition to grab some bits when she saw her boss just staring at the screen on his laptop. Which was weird in itself as the machine had gone into screen saver mode. James seem to be dazed. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. Trying to bring himself out of his daze. “Sorry Di. Dunno what happened to me there.” He apologised to his worried assistant. “Must have dozed off or something.” He said, not sounding entirely convinced by his own excuse. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She said, making sure. “Yeah, yeah. “ He assured her taking a swig from the now warm water bottle on his desk. “I’m fine. Must be tired or maybe coming down with something.” He stood and straightened his tie. Looking at her with his beautiful green eyes. “Look, you head off home. I’m gonna head that way myself. “he said.” Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine.” He grabbed his jacket and popped his laptop into his bag then opened the office door and wave her out. Diane grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. “As long as you’re sure you’re okay. She said heading out the door. “See you Monday.” He said smiling at her concern re-assuring her he was okay. “Monday.” She said and was gone. James lent against the office door for a moment. His head was clearing. He remembered everything that had happened but had been unable to say a word of it to his friend and assistant. What had Bennett done to him ? How much power did the guy have that he could just get him with some pictures and a recorded voice ? The voice on the line had given him some instructions which he felt compelled to obey but they were vague, almost dreamlike in the exact memory of them. He knew he’d remember only when Bennetts voice wanted him to. He knew his first port of call was the gym where he went every day and often worked out with his old friend Max. Max… “Shit Max!” said James and ran out of the door. 25 minutes later he pulled his car up to the lot behind his gym. This wasn’t an exclusive club or true iron gym it was a mid range place you could find in many towns and cities. It was busy enough not to be isolating to the customer and quiet enough that you could usually get on the machines you wanted to. It was about 4.30 and was beginning to fill with the pre-weekend crowd. The gym was called X-WORKS. He tapped his card as he went in and went into the changing rooms and got changed into his gear. Loose light blue vest and dark blue gym shorts just to above the knee and pale green trainers and sports socks. He wasn’t worried about the whole gym fashion thing. He was looking over the gym floor and trying to decide where to start He went to the stretch mats carrying only his gym towel and a bottle of water. He started to warm up on the mat, slowly stretching his long swimmers muscles. He did a good fifteen minutes warm up and then got up ready to go and went to the cycles for some warm up cardio. As he did his eyes scanned the crowd of Friday nighters that were in the gym. After work dads and moms having their one free hour before the weekend with the kids. Older people walking quickly on the treadmills showing they still got. High schoolers trying to show how much they could lift. A whole mix of people including the pre-club workout crowd trying to get a pump before showing off their glistening bodies to anyone who wanted to gape at them. His eye was caught by one guy. Tall, blond type with blue eyes. This guy could have been a surfer if not for the muscle he carried. This guy was stacked. Must’ve weighed 265 if not at least 270 pounds. This was hard earned muscle, this guy was shredded to perfection, striations and veins cut across all of his major muscle groups his chest, shoulders and arms were covered in thick rope-like veins. His forearms were so thick that James realised he’d been staring at the guy. He looked away before the big man noticed. He went back to cycling and tried to concentrate on the tv screen ahead of him and started pedalling faster and faster. He was in the zone about 10 mins later when he heard a voice close to him over the gym’s loud music. “Hey buddy.” The voice said. “Any chance of helping me with a spot?” The deep voice asked James turned his and slowed his pedalling and there, next to him was the big guy he’d spotted earlier. Closer up he was a magnificent specimen of manehood. James wasn’t gay but given his industry he was open and could still appreciate a male form. This guy was hotness personified. “Can I get a spot?” said the guy in a slow measured tone that seemed to be coming from somewhere deep below the ground. It was that type of voice that when heard managed to get most gay guys and straight woment right in the private parts. You know what I mean ? James stopped pedalling and took the guy in with his eyes. “Yeah, sure thing.” He said. The big guy slapped him on the shoulder and James swore it went all the way through him the the floor. “Thanks buddy, the name’s Mack.” Said the behemoth. “Well Mack.” Said James dismounting from the cycle. “It’s good to meet you. “ He said extended his hand to shake, The big guy stood there a moment and looked at James’ hand as if confused and unsure what to do with it. Then it was as if he was receiving instructions from someone else he laughed. “Aha aha aha!” It was loud and forceful and lacking in any real intelligence. A true Jocks laugh. James groaned inwardly but he’d already agreed so followed the big man to a weight bench lined with free weights. “You can jump in too if you like.” Said Mack “You’ve already done your warmups from what I could see.” “Yeah, sure thing . “ said James. What’re we doing?” he asked the big bodybuilder. “Chest.” Said the huge man. Getting his barbell ready with a warmup weight. As he settled on the bench and set it flat he lay down and looked up at James. “You okay with this weight to start?” “Yup. It’s fine by me.” Said the lawyer. It was a warm-up so he wasn’t worried. The big guy pounded and James pounded out the warmup sets. Slightly increasing the weight each time. James or Mack counting out the others reps and helping at the end as required. Which wasn’t often. James was surprised how much he was enjoying this. He hadn’t worked out with anyone for a while expect with his pal Max…Max…He paused a moment.. Something started to niggle him. “Hey Jimmy you in there?” He felt a light tap on his head as the big guy got up from his last set and pretended to knock on his skull. James came back to himself.”Oh…hi..sorry was miles away.” He said. Where was he again? Oh yeah the gym. “Aha aha aha.” That laugh again. James thought to himself. It was quite appealing rather than annoying. Quite sexy really. He sneaked a glance at the big guy as he turned to alter the weights again. His back was massive. He wore an old school, faded gold, World gym top that had seen a lot of use and what seemed at first glance to be compression shorts. On closer inspection they turned out to be jersey shorts stretched so tight James could see the veins on the man’s thighs and his ass was spectacular. “Good view from back there buddy? “ said Mack. “Oh err..”James would normally be flustered and rather than deny he had just been scoping out the mans ass he said. “Hell yeah.” He blushed and felt awkward in the same way a teenager on their first date feels at kissing time. What was wrong with him? He could feel the small voice in his head saying that this wasn’t him but he also wasn’t really listening. “You’re up Jimmy A bit more weight this time.” Said the beast James meant to tell the guy it was James and not Jimmy but didn’t want to spoil the moment by criticising the guy. He lay on the bench. Mack moved close the head of the bench where James’ head was and lifted the barbell and lowered it to James’ waiting hands. “Don’t forget to breathe Jimmy.” Said Mack smiling as he looked down and stepped closer to the bench and James head. James could just see the guys crotch at the top of his vision and his mouth went dry.” “1-2-3..” counted the big man towering above him. James was enthralled by the play of his own muscles even as he watched the big guy stretch and lift above him. Time seemed to blur. James wasn’t sure whether it had been a minute or an eternity when the set had finished. He felt dizzy for a moment and sat up slowly. “Take it easy buddy.” Said the slow deep voice of his training partner. “Here, take this. You gotta be thirsty.” Said Mack handing him a bottle of unopened water. James looked down to his and realised it was empty. When did he finish…? His chest felt like it was on fire as did his shoulders and arms. He’d only been working chest with this guy hadn’t he ? “Well we’re done for the day.” Said Mack. “Huh…?” said Ji-j-James dully. He was stilled dazed from the workout obviously. “We’ve only just started..” James said. “Dude, we’ve been at it for nearly 3 hours. You said you weren’t into heavy weights as a swimmer or sumthin’ I knew you were a kidder.” Said the behemoth who was now pumped to the Max… Max…Macks.. MAX! For a moment Jimmy looked at the big monster of a man in front of him and thought he knew him from somewhere else. “Max?” He question dully as they walked to the changing room. The big guy turned around and smiled at him. Big, toothy vacuous grin. “I was.” Said Mack. The room was empty apart from the two of them. Mack was ripped and now pumped. He looked like a god stood there in the white light of the changing room. “Until you sent me to meet Saul Bennett.” Said the big, muscular beast of a man. He took off the vest. As he did so all the muscle in his arms and shoulders bunched and flexed and he struggled for a moment to take the shirt off over his huge wing like lats. He laughed at that. That laugh again. For some reason the laugh made James/ Jimmy hard. He felt it in his groin the moment he heard that sound. He could feel his cock begin to stiffen in his shorts…? He looked down and realised he was wearing different clothes from when he’d entered the gym. His gym shorts were now tight under armour compression shorts and his t-shirt had gone replaced by a cut off tank. He couldn’t make out the logo or words on the bright red cutoff for some reason. On his feet were a pair of Nike hi-tops. Bright red to match the shirt. He didn’t notice this difference as he was to enthralled by the man in front of him who had just fished out the biggest cock Ja---Jimmy had ever seen. As he knelt in front of the big man with his mouth salivating he noticed a mirror to the side that showed the both of them. The big muscular man towering above him, Vast shoulder and lats, shoulders more like a range of mountains that held the must unfeasible set of arms Jimmy had ever seen. Massive ledgelike pecks and a thick waist with a slight roid belly look that supported all above. The legs, thigh and calves looked like they’d been hewn rather than grown. Topped off that all over the beautiful tanned body were veins that seemed to show every contour and contrast. Then there was the cock. Mack’s cock was a beast to behold. Thick, almost two hander to hold, about 11 inches long. Mack had pulled back the foreskin and the thick, bloated, purple head of the monster was already leaking with precious juices. Jimmy caught sight of himself. Kneeling there in front of his god, salivating. In his gym gear and wearing a red baseball cap backwards on his head. His blank blue eyes staring at the mirror. Drool starting to drip from the corner of his mouth. His muscles were ridiculous. These were not the beautiful muscle of a cut body builder. Jimmy had the muscle of a laborious beast. He was more massive than the man above him. Crouched as he was he looked more Neanderthal than man. His dark eyes looked dim and his hair was shaggy where it peaked under the cap. His brow was thicker somehow and his eyebrow seemed to almost meet in the middle. His neck was so thick that it and his monstrous traps almost seemed to devour his skull. They were so high at the back. His shoulders and arms were almost grotesque in their massiveness. Veins didn’t just cross his arms they ravaged them. His chest was beyond human and dusted with dark hair. They were almost pendulous in the way they hung there. The big brown nipples pointing to the ground because the pecks were so huge. He couldn’t really see what his legs were like because he was kneeling but could feel the size and thickness of them. It was like they were made from steel. He turned back to the man in front of him and had only one thought in his mind. “JAMES!” said the voice. “JAMES ARE YOU OKAY.” It said again. “FOR FUCKS SAKE JAMES. WAKE UP!” it said again. Jimmy no James looked up. “Diane?” He said confused…. Part 4 James shook his head as his vison cleared. “Phheww!” he sighed and shook his head again. “Are you okay,” said Diane as she leaned over him, still sat in his desk chair. He was at the office. But he’d just been at the gym hadn’t he? His thoughts were so muddled it was taking him a while just to get his mouth working again.” “I’m fine Di.” He said. Reassuring her in a way that he himself didn’t feel. The attractive brunette got a bottle of water from the fridge in the outer office and ran a cloth under the tap in the kitchenette. “Here.” She said in a matronly fashion as she handed him the water and put the cool, damp cloth on his neck where it sat on his hot skin soothingly. “I…I must’ve nodded off.” He said look up at her blearily. His head felt thick, muddy and unclear. He just couldn’t focus properly. “Do you want me to call the doctor?” She asked worried about her friend and boss. “No, no…I’ll be alright. I must be coming down with something.” He said. He did feel sore come to think of it. All over. It was a deep ache, almost gnawing ache. Like hunger but different, darker. He couldn’t think of the words to describe it. “You sure?” she said. “I can cancel my plans and take you home, it’s no biggie. Or I can call your wife to come get you?” “No, it’s fine Di. I’m fine. Feeling much better now.” He said and it was true. AS his senses returned to him he was feeling better, energised in fact. He stood up and removed the towel from his neck handing it back to her. “Thanks.” He said as he started to gather his stuff and pack his bag. Again. Or at least that’s what it felt like, déjà vu. “You go and get on with your weekend.” He said as he all but shooed the woman out of the door smiling at her. “I’ll be fine.” He told her again. “As long as you’re sure. “ She said. She stopped at the door and turned around and put a light hand on his cheek. “You work too hard boss, please take it easy this weekend.” Then she was off out the door and shouted as she went down the corridor. “Call me if you need anything.” And the she was gone. James sat back in the chair heavily for a moment. He could still remember the gym. He could remember everything that happened in vivid detail. He remember Mack and his beautiful face and godlike body looming over him. He could remember how his gym gear pressed up against the thick, thight muscle of his hard steellike body. Veins running over the muscle just under the skin. Thick, rope like and full of pulsing life. Just like Mack’s cock. Oh god the cock. James leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His breathing started to catch as he remembered the beast between Mack’s legs. Thick and shining. Two hands to hold and dripping with pre-cum. The smell was beyond anything. It was like smelling joy to him. James wanted to run his tongue up and down the monster, he had to. He had to find Mack again. He opened his eyes and realised he was still in the office and he’d just closed his eyes for a second. That was enough for him to re-live that memory and then ejaculate. He’d cum in his trouser. Like a teenager,he thought, now horrified. What the hell was wrong with him ? He’d just had a fantasy about one of his work collegues. No, wait Mack wasn’t a colleguege. Max was. Where was Max ? God he was so confused. He needed to go home and rest. He gathered his gear together, realising his gym bag was still there. He grabbed his laptop and stuffed it on top of the used and sweaty top and shorts. He hadn’t actually been to the gym. Had he? Not trusting himself to drive he went down the stairs after closing the office and hailed a cab. He got in and gave the driver his address and heard a beep from his Wife. Apparently her sister had gone into labour early so she was heading off to the airport so she could be with her family and support her sister. He called her and wish her luck and told her to send his love to his sister in law. He also told he was feeling under the weather so it was just as well that she went as he would be no fun. She gave him her love and told him where he could get some good chicken soup near their home. He smiled and told her he loved her.He put the phone back in his pocket and lay back on the seat of the cab. He closed his eyes for a second just to still his senses. In his mind’s eye all he could see were the massive tree trunk legs of Mack and that monster cock with it’s pendulous balls. “Hey Buddy!” said the driver’s voice. “Whha..” said James opening his eyes and looked around realising he was home. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He apologised as he got out of the cab, he still felt sore and disorientated as he gave the driver the fare telling him to keep the change. He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard the guy say “dumbass” as the cab pulled away at speed. He walked up to the house. There was a light burning in the front room and he heard music playing. His wife had probably left them on so he didn’t feel so lonely coming home to an empty house. They did things like that. He smiled at the kind thought. He opened the door and dumped his bag on the floor just by the coat rack. There was a light classical music playing and room was lit by warm, mellow lights from the various lamps around it. The person standing in the room wasn’t his wife. It was Saul Bennett. He was holding a glass half full of what appeared to be James’ own 25 year scotch. As he walked into the room Bennett raised the glass in a salute and took a sip. “What the hell?” Said James. “Not bad.” Said Bennett savouring the flavour of the alcohol and totally ignoring James indignation. “What are you doing in my house Bennett.” Shouted James. “Get out now before I call the police.” He said angrily. “Now, now James. Don’t lose your pretty head.” Said the monster with a smile. “I just wanted to take a few moments of your time to have a little chat, then I’ll be gone.” James crossed his arms and walked over to the bottle of his whisky and poured himself a good measure. He took a swig. “Then, talk.” He said glaring at the man who had invaded his home. Bennett took another swig of his drink and smiled in much the same way as a crocodile would smile at a fox who’d just ask for a lift across the swamp on it’s back. “Okay then.Talk.” He demanded turning to keep the stare of this man with a confidence he really didn’t feel. “Okay, then.” Said Bennett. “We have a problem.” He said. That smile again. “You are looking into things that really don’t concern you and I’d like you to stop.” Said the businessman. “If you do then I will pay you a fee, call it compensation for having to quit Manny’s case.” Offered Bennett. “No deal.” Said James immediately. “Don’t be so hasty James.” Said Bennett sipping his drink again. “There will be a price to pay if you chose not to take this offer.” He said looking over at the lawyer with something akin to pity. James next instinct was to curl his hands into fist with the intention of punching the sanctimonious pricks teeth down his throat. Fisted clenched at his sides in anger he took two steps forward towards the asshole. “STOP!” The words rang out, not just in his ears but inside his head. It was like a chorus of voices said it at once to him and he could only obey. There was no question of any other type of behaviour. So, he stood there. In silence while this man / monster just looked at him, looked at him as if weighing up what to do with a naughty puppy who has mess the kitchen up while his master’s been at work. “One word James, that’s all that was needed there.” Said Bennett. “That’s just pre-conditioning. You’re in a highly suggestible state right now.” “You have been for some time.” He said. Pretty much since before lunch time when you ask Diane for a bottle of water. James’ eyes widened as he thought back. Then’ he looked to the whisky bottle in alarm. “Yes, that too.” Bennett confirmed. “I have a certain flair with the dramatic don’t you think?” he asked his audience of one. “I’ve actually had my eyes on you for a while.” He sneered at James “You’ve been of little hindrance until recently, until Manny. “He said. “I really don’t like people snooping into my affairs. There tends to be consequences for that.” “Oh, you may speak, don’t strain a blood vessel.” Bennett gave his permission to James. “You fucking freak, how are you doing this ?What have you done with my wife and Diane ?” he shouted. “Do not, above all things, raise your voice to me James.” Said Bennett, dangerously quietly. “I cannot abide rudeness”. He said. “The ladies are fine and will remain that way. If you hear me out. I have some business to discuss with you first.” “Talk, then.” Demanded James still trying to move. “What did I say about rudeness Jim?” asked Bennett “kneel!” demanded the dark, smooth velvet of Bennetts voice. James Obeyed. Without a fight. He had no choice. He had to. Worse, he wanted to. It was a primordial urge, one that he could not even think of fighting. He knelt in front of his captor, head bowed in supplication almost. “What do you want from me?” He said, so quietly it was just a whisper. “That’s easy Jim, Jimmy even.” Said the face that loomed above him. “I want you.” Bennett confirmed what James / Jimmy already knew “As I said we do have business to discuss.” Bennett pressed some button on his phone. “Yes, you may come in now.” James heard the front door opening and senses a large presence behind him. “I believe you’ve met Mack ?” said Saul Bennett. The figure that came in the door and into the light of the living room was huge. It was Jimmy’s friend Max, although not the Max he remembered, apart from in his Laptop fantasy (That cock). This was Max 5.0 This was Mack the monster. Every bit as shredded and packed with muscle as he pictured him from his fevered dream back in the office. “Max ?” he said, not quite believing what he was seeing. The behemoth was dressed in gym gear. A raggedy Golds gym top in faded blue. Straps stretched so thin over the monstrous traps, shoulders and pecks that it just seemed unfeasible a person would be able to move if at all with all that bulk. The pecks themselves were so large that the thick nipples pointed down to the floor because of the sheer mass of the slabs of beef they were attached too. All of this bulk seemed to cinch itself inwards with the shape of the monstrous lats at the back and the ridiculous arms, that Jimmy was sure wouldn’t serve any practical purpose other than to lift weight. Biceps, thick hanging triceps and forearms that were from the fevered dreams of the most dedicated muscle fetishists. All of this growth and mass was on top of a pair of legs, that were themselves encased in white full leg compression leggings. The legs so powerful and filled with strength Jimmy could see the veins almost pulsing under the tight white fabric. The monsters’ huge feet encased in a pair of white Hi-top adidas trainers. Right at Jimmy’s eye levels was a bulge that was doing very little to hide itself. “Jimmy” said a voice that Jim heard as if it was drawn from the bottom of a well. Although he was sure he felt it start in his balls. It was that deep and that hot. Jimmy looked up in to the face of the beast and it was Max, not the nice gentle man he had known for years. This was a creature of stone, hewn, rather than grown. His brow was markedly thicker. His beautiful blue eyes were still intense and held an almost blank animal cunning a lust even. The thick black hair on his head was tousled and rough and longer than he remembered. Mack put a rough calloused hand on Jimmy’s shoulder briefly and he nearly shot his load where he knelt. “What the fuck?” He breathed. Realising that it wasn’t a question it was more a statement of awe. “Well” said the ringmaster, still holding the remains of his whisky glass. “To business.” He sat on the arm of the chair and leaned forward to Jimmy in a friendly manner. “You have a choice here Jimmy.” He offered. “You can walk out of here now, tomorrow you will pack up your business and within a month you and your lovely wife will have a new set up in a part of the country you choose. You will forget about any of this and all will be well.” Jimmy couldn’t keep his eyes off the man beast in front of him. He was that close he could feel the heat radiating from him. “Or?” Jimmy asked weakly. “Or….” Said Bennett drawing out the word. “Or, you will end up working for me as part of my stable. A new and exciting partner for Mack here. Our latest attractions if you will while I’m waiting for another to arrive from another part of the country.” “Fuck you.” Spat Jimmy (no James) suddenly finding the strength from somewhere to resist the devil in a suit before him. He tried to stand and almost did before a ton of stone seemed to crash onto his shoulders in the form of Mack’s monstrous hands. James turned to Bennett and spat at him, caught him clean in the left eye. The air seemed to crackle and turn heavy for a moment as if lightening was about to strike. Then it cleared as Saul Bennett started laughing as he grabbed a pocket square and wiped he face. He shook his head as he looked down on his prey. “Well, I must say I didn’t see that one coming. I certainly didn’t think you’d have had the strength to even turn your head.” He smiled and dropped the square on the coffee table. “So you’ve made your choice then ? No Job? Can’t see us working well together ?” He taunted “Oh well, I did try. I gave you a choice, an out if you will.” Said Bennett. “Mack, he’s all yours.” Said Bennett as he got up and brushed himself down. He headed to the door. “James it’s been interesting. Jimmy, I will be seeing you very soon.” Then he was gone. James felt the strong hands of Mack again. His attention was again drawn to the huge bulge in front of him. Mack put his hands into the front of the leggings and brought out the monstrous cock that was oh so vivid in Jimmy’s mind (JAMES not Jimmy please…) James could smell the odour of sweat and pheromones. Male sweat was emanation from the beast in Mack’s hands. He caught the smell of cock and he knew that he had started to drool. He couldn’t help himself. He dove on the cock, now released from the hold that Bennett had placed on him. He was now entranced by another master. He gave himself to it completely, he couldn’t help it. He took the beast in his mouth as if born to it. Mack put both his thick muscular hands on either side of Jimmy’s head (Definitely Jimmy now) and wouldn’t let him pull away. He could feel the thick piece of meat grow in his mouth but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if it choked him he felt he would die happy. Jimmy worked his mouth up and down the huge member, slathered it in his own spit and worked it with both of his hands. Mack started to fuck his face, groaning slightly, in and out. In and out. Slowly at first. Jimmy was moaning in lust. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t get enough of it. In and out. In and out. The huge man started to build up speed and his breath started to come in more urgent, ragged breaths. For about 15 minutes they were like this. Jimmy working the monstrous tool while the big bodybuilder alternated between slow and deep and out and out face fucking. Deep throating almost every stroke. Jimmy took it all and loved it. What Jimmy didn’t notice was that during this process he appeared to be wearing the gym gear that had been in his bag earlier. It still smelled of the gym. His body had started to slowly grow and change too. Mack reached behind himself as he was getting towards his final strokes and took a bright red snapback out of nowhere and placed if on Jimmy’s head. Jimmy had started to wank his own splendid cock now, but was really still riveted on the one that was still invading his face. All thoughts of his wife, Diane, Max and even Saul Bennett were about to be washed away. Mack drew himself up to his full height as he knew he was close. His think veined muscle seemed to jostle on his massive frame as he started to tremble. He clenched all of his power into a huge pose. Most muscular for the gods and with a roar he shot his wad into the mouth of the waiting cock slut beneath him. It felt like hours as he continued to pump the man’s mouth until he’d been sucked dry by the dumbass jock on his knees in front of him. Jimmy looked up at his lover with nothing less than vacuous wonder. He drew his hand across his mouth and wiped away some of the drool. He felt clear if not empty headed. His own thoughts now were limited to the needs of the beast in front of him and his master Saul Bennett. Part V The lady sat under a large sun umbrella and sipped at a cup of tea that had been served in a delicate powder blue china cup and saucer. It had the delicate bergamot perfume of Earl Grey and was served, quite properly with a slice of lemon. She was dressed in pale blue herself. Knitted pale blue suit and hat to match. She had a small set of pinz nez on a silver chain around her neck and would occasionally lift them to her eyes and gaze at the world or the people around her. Not that she needed them when she looked at you it pretty much felt like she already knew everything about you and what you were going to say. Her amethyst eyes were laser-like in their luminosity. She sat very properly, as ladies should, with her knees close together and her feet crossed at the ankles. I asked her about the incident with James Fraser and Maxwell Calder. She took a slow, delicate sip of her tea and looked into me for a moment. Then she dabbed her lips gently with her napkin and set it and her cup on the table beside her. When she spoke it was the voice of everyone’s Grandma. Gentle, warm and easy. It had a southern drawl to it that said this lady was a Georgia woman somewhere down the line. “Well, my dear you found me to talk to me about it. I wass wondering when we would get to it.” She said. “How did you first get involved? I didn’t think this would be something you would have got involved in.” I asked. “Okay, this was unusual.” She said. “ I have a lot of friends and contacts around the world. Especially in my field I am a very valued expert. I have a magic touch if you will.” “Usually I rely on wish fulfilment or revenge events but every now and then someone will call me and ask for specific help. If it, or they are worthy I help. On this occasion they really needed my help. “ She took another sip of her tea. “A week or so ago I had a call from a friend of mine called James, he works in L.A. (A cesspool of scum and iniquity but in the end money is money to some.) He had come across a situation that wasn’t really in his purview and asked for my help. “We’d worked together previously, and I’d taught him the basics in how to recognise manipulation, alchemy and magic. “She said and look at me intensely. “Anyway, the call went like this… Oh and yes dear I did say magic… “It does exist as you will find out if you bother to read all of the story rather than trying to skip through to the horny bits that you always do (Yes dear. You. )” she seemed to say to no-one in particular.” “I taped the call.” she said as she drew out a small recording device and placed it on the table. She looked at it testily when it wouldn’t start and then just glared at it for a second. I swear I think the thing started out of embarrassment… Anyway. The call went like this : Ms D “Hello James.” James: “Ms D.Good to speak to you.” Ms D “Why James it has been a while. It could be said that you have been remiss in your attentions.” James “Aww Ms D. You know you truly are the only woman for me.” Said James Ms D “What can this old southern gal do for a big city lawyer like yourself?” James “I think I have one of those problems that only you can deal with.” Ms D “Intriguing, it has been a while since we crossed paths and I know that I taught you well enough to recognise meddling when it’s around.” James “That’s why I called. I think there’s someone who is definitely at it here in L.A.” He pauses for a moment on the phone. James “It’s a bit out of my league and to be honest I’m a little worried about it. It might be good to have a little back-up.” Ms D “I sense that there’s something more about this one James. What’s the issue my dear?” James “This guy changes people. Actually transforms them. I know it’s possible to hypnotise and entrance people but this ? It’s high level and way out of my experience. I’m worried. Max Calder is going in tomorrow and I want to make sure he’s protected. Look I know you’re busy but if you can help in any way…” Ms D “I’ll help dear boy, of course I will. What’s the name of the reprobate we’re dealing with so I can have a little look see?” James “His name is Saul Bennett.” Ms D “Saul B.E.N.N.E.T.T ?” James “Yup that’s him. He’s a big time porn producer with a rep for really owning his guys and girls if you know what I mean?” Ms D “I do indded, go on.” James “Well I have heard stories over the last 6 months or so about guys either disappearing or changing enough that their own families and friends hardly recognise them. It’s scary. I’ve met one of the guys whose partner has changed. It’s scary.” Ms D Pauses a moment Ms D “I can only imagine what the poor souls are going through. James, does this man have two different coloured eyes ?” James “Why yes, he does. How’d you know?” Ms D “Years of experience and a quick search of my database while we were chatting. I may be an old maid dear but I’m far from decrepit yet.” James (Laughing) “No-one who’s ever met you would call you that dear, lady.” Ms D “I’ve got a couple of good likenesses here now, give me a few hours and then call me back. Also contact Max and tell him to call me before he goes in to. Tell him not to make any contact there unless he’s spoken to me first.” James “I will, thanks for this. I really do appreciate it. I’ll have to pay you back one day.” Ms D (Gentle laughter) “You can do so by visiting a little more than you have and maybe taking an old lady out to dinner.” James “You’ll outlive me I’m certain of that. Dinner’s a date. Speak to you soon.” Ms D “You shall indeed. Be safe James. This person is dangerous I can sense it. This isn’t a stage magician you’re dealing with. Bye for now.” The Line goes dead The Lady picks up her device and pops it back into her bag and closes it with a snap. She takes a final sip of her tea and looks at me over the rim of the cup. She finishes it and pops it back on it’s saucer and on the table. “Well?” she asks “Did that answer all of your questions?” I pause for a minute to gather my thoughts and then soldier on under this woman’s intense stare. “To be honest for each one it answer I think I have about 20 more.” I admit honestly. I cannot be anything but honest in this lady’s presence. It would feel wrong. I look at her as she sits primly and properly in her wicker chair and cannot understand for the life of me where she seems to get this aura of calm, authority from. It’s as if someone took every grandmotherly emotion and condensed it into some sort of protective cloak about her. I know that I would do anything for her. It’s that sort of feeling. “Why, what a lovely compliment young man.” She says brightly and fans herself with her hand. “I find myself quite, quite flattered.” She smiles. “I-I, err.. “ I stammer slightly. “How did I know? “ she asked smiling still. “Come on dear boy.” She chided gently “You heard the recording and you’ve seen the two boys.” She said. “It’s true?” I asked already knowing the answer I had already, in truth known all along. “All of it, every word.” She affirmed. “Wow.” I said. “The big question here Michael my dear.” She said pausing and leaning forward out of her chair and lightly gripping my chin so she raises my eyes to her blue lasers. “Is what are we going to do about Saul Bennett?”

I would love that!

Part Five After half an hour of what James could only pant as "heaven" Larry stepped back and moaned "Oh, James, I've never felt this strong, this powerful, this manly" and with that he grabbed his student by the waist and taking a deep breath grunted "And here's the payback" but despite all the strength coursing through him, Larry still couldn't pick James up due to them being both the same height. As he panted his failure, James had an idea that made his semi flaccid eleven inch cock harden. He sat down in the chair, asked Larry to strap him in and then announced "Switch it on, this time flip the switch up" As soon as Larry did so, James screamed in ecstasy moaning "Just as I took some mass from that parallel dimension to make you the man of both our dreams, I can also reverse the process. Already I am less than six foot six and still shrinking. Shall I tell you why? This is why I invented this device, so that you could finally pick me up. Pick me up, carry me, even use me as a back pack. Yeah, six foot and shrinking. Imagine it Larry, our dreams are about to become reality. Five foot six, nearly there, five foot four, now, switch it off!" As Larry moved the switch to the neutral position, he gasped in amazement as James stood up and only came up to the bottom of his pecs, a sight that made James even more aroused and as he worshipped the mounds of muscle he moaned "Yeah, that's right, coach. I'm the same height as you were before we started, and yet the same proportions. I weigh just 163lbs, my chest is a measly 34 inches, my biceps 10 inches, my waist 33½ inches, 17 inch quads, 11 inch calves and therefore easy fodder for you" and with that he unstrapped himself and reached into his backpack that he always carried with him and produced a stethoscope saying "I want you to test yourself, coach, test yourself by taking a deep breath once I have clambered onto your shoulders, then holding your breath do as any squats as you can. As you do I will be listening to your powerful pounding heart and urging you on. Come on, coach, show me what a 253lb, 71 inch chested, 39 inch quads and over fifty years of training can do. I want you to show me the power of your might!"

Well I feel bad. I was coming to comment to "encourage" another chapter and noticed I never commented on this one when I read it. My apologies to dredlifter, because this chapter was fantastic. It sounds cliche to say it, but the story really does get better with each chapter, not just because Tom keeps getting bigger and better, but the characters and plot continue to get better and more interesting as well. The descriptions of the growth and the ever tightening clothes are some of the best on the site. So, while I know it's summer and people have better things to do (including comment on good work apparently ?), I hope to see this fantastic story continued sometime soon!

After his encounter with Andre, Joe Rollins easily ran the 7 miles back to campus, his powerful legs helping him glide. The football jock had surged from 160lbs to 315lbs thanks to Andre, was determined to become the team quarterback. He finally had the muscle and power he had long craved for, and the coach wasn’t going to ignore him anymore. Joe headed right to the coach’s office. Coach Hadley was 32 years old, a former defensive lineman for Notre Dame, and at 6’3” and 225lbs, was known as a stern disciplinarian, and even a bit abusive to some of the team members. “You know the rules. Knock first,” said Coach Hadley, without even turning to face his visitor. “I’m already here, so let’s talk,” said Joe very directly. Coach Hadley was startled by the deep booming voice, but insisted on enforcing the rules. “Knock first….” He said as he turned around, his voice drifting off as he saw the young muscle god standing in front of him. Joe stood before him in just a pair of skin-tight jeans that hung very low on his waist. He didn’t even consider wearing a shirt, instead flaunting his new 54-inch chest, which was now covered with thick, jet-black hair. Before the Coach could even gasp an utterance, Joe took charge of the situation. “I want to be quarterback, Hadley,” he said, dispensing with the respectful title of “Coach.” “The lineup is already agreed, Joe,” the Coach stammered. “We’ve run the routines. Steve Landon is the quarterback.” The Coach blinked, and then continued, “You look amazing. I can see about switching you to the defense. Would that work for you?” “Nah,” said Joe nonchalantly. “Quarterback.” Joe, now standing 6’5”, towered over the Coach. His eyes narrowed, and he said, “I’m bigger. I’m stronger. I’m faster. Than everyone, he said for emphasis.” To prove his point, he picked up one of the Coach’s trophies, wrapped his huge hand around it. “I’m stronger Coach.” Joe eyed the stunned man, and before he could even protest, flexed his massive forearms and crushed the huge trophy with ease. “That was too easy,” said Joe. They stood facing each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Without removing his gaze from the Coach, Joe barked out in a deep, booming voice: “STEVE LANDON, INTO THE COACH’S OFFICE NOW.” Steve showed up in a few seconds. He was a solid athlete, about 6’3” and a solid 235lbs. “What is it Coach,” he asked, not seeing Joe in the corner. “We are reshuffling the lineup, Steve,” said Joe, taking control from the Coach. “I should be the quarterback now, don’t you agree?” Steve looked in stunned amazement at Joe. “No fucking way, man. I worked too hard for this,” said Steve. Joe just laughed and shook his head. He backed Steve into a corner, and then with one hand, lifted him up off the floor. Joe pressed against his throat with his forearm, slowly cutting off his breath. He noticed Steve had an instant hard-on. “Hey Coach, see that,” he said, laughing. “PULL DOWN YOUR JEANS LANDON.” Steve complied immediately, revealing a thick boner. He started to stroke himself at Joe’s command. Between gasping for breath, and being subject to Joe’s awesome display of power, he was immensely turned on. Joe turned to the Coach and said, “Make the call. NOW.” Coach Hadley looked at Steve helplessly and then back to Joe. “Okay, Joe. You are the quarterback now. Sorry Steve, I don’t have much choice..” With that, Steve exploded a huge load all over Joe’s furry, solid abs. Joe looked down in amusement, clenched his 8-pack and said “Well, someone will have to clean that up.” And then, like butter on a sizzling frying pan, the load of cum dissolved and was absorbed by Joe. He felt a small surge going through his body, and felt his back and chest start to widen even more. With that, he dropped the ex-quarterback on the floor. “Holy shit Landon… did you see that? I can absorb your cum and convert it into even more muscle.” Joe laughed in a loud, booming voice. “You guys are now forbidden from cumming unless I’m in the room. THAT MEANS YOU TOO, HADLEY,” he said to the now quivering Coach. “Oh, and by the way, Coach”, he said derisively, “I have some buddies who will now be in charge of strength and conditioning. Understood?” “Yes, Joe… of course.” “Good. Now I see a boner in your jeans Coach. Take out your dick and jerk off to me and on me. I need more muscle.” And with that, Joe had taken over the football team. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Over the next few weeks, Evan’s business plans started to come together. Todd opened the CrossFit gym, and Andre was now running the smoothie shop. New members to the gym were given three months of unlimited smoothies. Between Todd’s intense coaching, and Andre’s nutrient-dense smoothies, the gym members stared to see impressive gains. Records for bench press, dead lift and back squats were set, and then quickly broken. Evan was keeping meticulous training records, and the average weight of the gym membership soared from 175lbs to 235lbs in just three months. His vision of an Army of Gods was becoming true. Word started to spread around town about the “beast machine” and membership soared. Todd was at Evan’s side 24/7, and still swallowing every drop of cum that the Amerasian god produced. Todd had dark, violent tendencies, but Evan was able to keep him subdued. Andrew was well aware of the relationship between Evan and Todd, and he made a critical mistake when he confronted Todd about it. Todd now outmuscled his old college friend by 115lbs, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. They were closing up the gym one night when Andrew finally spoke up. “Todd, I have a good idea of what is going on between you and Evan. It needs to stop.” Todd didn’t say a word. He walked over to Andrew and gave him a slight chest bump, easily pushing him back. Andrew, who used to have a four-inch height advantage over Todd, was now looking up at him. Todd gave him another chest bump, this time even harder. “No,” was all he said. “No Andrew, it doesn’t stop. Do you feel that power in me now? You see everyone around here, including you, is bigger and stronger, and we all owe it to Evan. Am I right?” Andrew wasn’t used to backing down to Todd, and he stood firmly. Todd leaned down and whispered into Andrew’s ear: “You are growing because Evan jerks off into your shakes, Andrew. And that’s a load that I’m not swallowing. So just back off, okay?” Andrew reeled, at the stunning revelation, even though he suspected all along. He was somehow able to convert his own son’s DNA into muscle. Andrew quietly avoided Todd the next few days. They ran into each other in the gym again, and Andrew was shirtless, proudly showing off his muscled chest to the younger athletes. “Todd, you were right. I fucking love having this muscle more than anything,” said Andrew. “I’d do anything to get more…. To get as big as you,” he said, his eyes drifting down to Todd’s huge bulge. Todd just chuckled. “I’ve already discussed it with Evan. My cum is quite potent now, well, due to my diet…. So yeah, I think we can get you a bit bigger.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX A few months later, Evan gathered the staff in the smoothie shop. “I have a personal announcement to make. Dad, you will want to listen up.” Andrew looked over at his son. “Dad, you were never told this. When you left me and Mom in Korea 18 years ago, she was pregnant at the time.” Andrew looked up, speechless. “Yes Dad, you have another son. I haven’t seen him in 2 years, but he just arrived here today on a rugby scholarship.” JIHUN, boomed Evan, calling to his younger brother. They all turned to look at Jihun entered the room, standing at 6’3” tall, and with a solid rugger build of 225lbs. The amazed crowd watched as the two brothers clasped. Andre and Todd exchanged a silent, knowing look. But they could read each other’s minds: “Only 18… and already quite huge.” And he hasn’t even had a smoothie yet. A titanic struggle was about to ensue.

This was hot!

- Chapter 3 - Meet The Devil in Me I'm looking forward to seeing Charles coming back every day. He would pull his shirt off his now-wider shoulders, almost immediately – like he couldn't bear the idea of wearing a shirt anymore. His beautiful back tapers down to his 25-inch waist, learnt the hard way, trying to borrow his jeans one day. He's lean, to begin with, so the definition of muscles are definitely more apparent. You can almost see every muscle bulges and moves under his skin, especially when he's removing his shirt. He turns to reveal a complete 360 view of his torso - he has pecs now! Followed closely with luscious symmetrical six-pack abs that are finer than all the other fitness models out there. Words were beyond me at that point. Day after day, I was fixated with the idea of jocking up my roommate more and more. It felt like there’s this craving inside of me, wanting to manipulate my perfect subject here. But, I felt equally bad as well, to actually subjecting my roommate to this, without his consent, let alone – awareness. One night, when he was at work, I was sitting in front of my computer and went through the subliminal script I hooked up in his room. I remember seeing exhibitionistic tendencies, extrovert, relax and ease at home on the initial portion of the script, then I realise I included muscle growth and adoption of new hobby like going to the gym. But, I can’t get myself to turn off the script. When I hear the keys clanking, which signals the return of my roommate. I took a deep breath and minimise everything on my desktop. It isn’t anything he would be able to make sense to, anyway. But, I guess I’m doing it out of subconsciously feeling bad about this. Like every other day, he plopped his bag on the side of the sofa and took his shirt off in a swift movement. I used to really enjoy this, but not today – not after this moral dilemma. It has definitely wears me down a little. He told me that he signed up for the local gym down the road. I smiled back at him, and excused myself to the washroom. Through the mirror, I barely even recognise myself anymore. I was so caught up in the process of jocking up my roommate and didn’t pay much attention to myself for a good two weeks or so. I would begin researching more into the hypnosis subject on the computer and resign to bed day after day. I would anticipate for my roommate’s return from work. And the morning after. I lost track of time, and most importantly myself. When I really look at myself in the mirror, a scream accidentally left my mouth – I was shocked at my own reflection. I was not wearing a shirt, so I could have a good look on my body. My body is looking great – like I’ve been working out for a year or so – despite the lack of exercise at home. But, something is definitely not right. This couldn’t be happening to me, as well. Did the sound system has some form of leakage? Charles must have heard me, and came over to check on me. I yelled back from behind the door, telling him I just saw a cockroach under the blinds. “Okay then, I thought something happened to you,” he replied and then went into his room. I fumbled towards my computer. I need to rectify this, immediately.

I hope you continue this series!

Hey, guys. It's been a long while, but I'm finally making good on my promise and rebooting my story from the previous site, "Charlie". Things have slowed down in my life, I've got a new creative fire, and I'm ready to jump back into this story. You might notice some differences from the original and you'd be right; I'm re-editing as I go. Changing some things around plot-wise, etc. Boring writer stuff. Just enjoy! * * * Friday night and my only company was the cold beer sweating beside my open laptop and a stack of my students’ essays, ripe for grading. Such was the life of the English major who had decided to return to his hometown to teach high school instead of moving on to bigger and better things. If you think that reading the half-assed efforts of students trying to argue that Holden Caulfield was anything more than an egocentric little shit was my preferred way of entering the weekend, you’re wrong. Yes, even I, Andrew Donovan, Senior English teacher of West Cape High, wished his life different. I would never have guessed that that little wish would begin to be fulfilled in the form of an email, but as I slashed across yet another essay with my trusty red marker, I heard the gentle ping on my laptop signaling that a new message had just dropped into my inbox. Sighing, I capped the marker and tossed it aside. Another late assignment, I thought. Number three of the night. Can you say ten points off? Which wasn’t exactly fair, considering I’d promised to return them two days before, but that was one of the small joys of being a teacher: minor omnipotence. It was the subject heading that caught my attention first: “Long Time, No See!” When I’d begun teaching, I had gone into it envisioning that I would be one of those few educational greats who ends up getting a Lifetime movie made about them. As part of that image, I had taken to giving out my personal email address to my students because it made me “seem more relatable”. In the end that proved fruitless because they used it only to turn in late assignments or ask for the reading they had been too lazy to copy down. I clicked open the email and, well…have you ever had your stomach plummet and your heart skip a beat at the same time? It’s not a pleasant feeling, let me tell you, but such was the sensation that gripped me as I read the first sentence of that fateful email. So I must have started this email about thirty times in thirty different ways and I can’t think of what to say, so I’ll just say—hey, its Charlie Greene! I’m in town for business. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I’d love to catch up. Let me know! I stared flabbergasted at the screen. When I finally realized that my mouth was literally hanging open, I reached for my beer and downed the rest of it. And then I went for a second. When I finally began to feel the alcohol permeate, I flexed my fingers and let them drop to the keyboard. I must have tried a dozen variations of the same reply before I settled on the briefest. Before I could stop myself I hit the return key, irrevocably sending my reply out into the digital abyss. I sighed and sat back in my chair…and realized I was rock hard. All eight inches of my cock throbbed in my boxers, begging for attention. I swiftly reached for my pulsing shaft and gasped at the sensation. It was incredibly sensitive to the touch and twitched eagerly as I wrapped my around it. I haven’t been this hard in years, I thought. Slowly, I eased my hand down my rigid dick and instantly felt my balls tighten and draw close to my body. It’s like I’m teenager again or something. This isn’t going to last long. And it didn’t. As the first shot of cum splattered across my chest, I lost my breath and jerked in my chair, my toes curling into the carpet as the second, third, and fourth spurts followed. “Holy shit,” I panted when I’d finally finished. “Holy shit…” I couldn’t remember that last time I had had such a fulfilling jerkoff session. At thirty-five, I usually only gave my cock a quick jerk and tug, rolled over, and fell asleep. But as I sat there panting, I stared down at my cock: it was still half-hard and it instantly responded to a second round of my coaxing, lengthening to its full potential. Every rigid vein pulsated as I jerked my cock and I could feel my balls swelling for a second load. A minute later three three long ropes of cum splattering onto my already covered chest. “Oh, fuck…” I groaned, collapsing backwards in my chair. Dazed, I plucked some Kleenex from the box beside my printer and started cleaning cum off my chest. I haven’t shot back-to-back like this since I can’t remember when. I wonder if I could go for a third time? “I don’t think so,” I answered to no one in particular. As fantastic as the orgasms had been, the usual exhaustion that followed them was already settling in. I had just wiped off the last of jizz from my right nipple when my laptop pinged again. I hurriedly tossed the cum-soaked tissue into the garbage and opened my inbox. His simple reply read: Awesome. See you Saturday! * * * For you to understand the whole wonderful chaos of what would end up happening, you have to understand the complicated history that Charlie and I shared. The obligatory backstory, if you will. The short version sounds something like: we were nineteen when we met in the latter half of our freshmen year at college. I was an English major from California, he was a business/communications double-major from Indiana. We met when we were assigned as partners in a shared Bio lab and such was the not-so-glamorous joining of our two lives. By sophomore year we were roommates. That’s the short, clean, “boy meets boy” part of the story. The “boy loses boy” part comes later. The morning I was supposed to meet Charlie—the man who would become a veritable legend and forever change my life along the way—I went up to my attic and rifled through some boxes. “Here it is,” I grumbled as I heaved a marked COLLEGE SHIT from a dusty corner. Carrying it into the middle of the floor, I began pulling out its contents: old essays and portfolios, a foam finger from some long-forgotten sporting event, my diploma, and an assortment of other once-valued memorabilia that I could just as easily do without. Beneath it all, however, was a stack of photographs held together by a rubber band. From the top photograph, Charlie’s beaming face stared back at me. The same disarming grin that had sent butterflies frantically buzzing through my stomach nearly sixteen years ago had not lost its effect. If anything, it was more potent and infectious. I felt a grin of my own spread across my lips as I plucked the photograph from the pile and examined it closer: his clear green eyes, and short, sun-kissed blond hair...and that beautiful fucking smile. It was a politician’s smile, fake as all hell, but undeniably handsome. It would throw you on your metaphorical ass if you weren’t prepared for it and I hardly ever was. I flicked through the rest of the photographs. Charlie and I (looking pathetically sub-par beside him in my oversized leather jacket that I had once inexplicably thought made me look suave) standing in front of our dorm. Charlie in his soccer uniform, sweaty and grass-stained. Charlie with his arm around me at one of the countless house parties he had dragged me to some weekend. Nearly every photograph was either of Charlie or Charlie and myself somewhere on campus. Surely there are photos of other things? Other people, right? As I reached for the box again, I glanced out the dusty window. The sun was already high in the sky, easily nearing noon. Nearing lunchtime. “Shit!” I hissed. Only an hour until I was supposed to meet Charlie and I still needed to shower. Mentally kicking myself, I scrambled downstairs and hurried into the bathroom for a shower. Suds still not entirely rinsed from my hair, I reached for a towel and began drying off when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Where in the hell did that guy come from? Sure, I hadn’t actively worked out in a few months (okay, at least a year), but the slight paunch of fat around my middle seemed a little unfair. And my chest, when had that happened? I’d never sported an enormous chest, but it had at least been defined. But now…now my pecs were just downright sad. Starting to droop even. “Real impressive, Andrew,” I said flatly. Despite the fact that it was easily eighty degrees outside, I donned a jacket in hopes of hiding my softening torso and tried to at least find comfort in the fact that I was not yet balding. In my reply, I had suggested Applebees, an old favorite of mine, but as I stepped through the door that fateful day, I began to regret it. In a town like West Cape, there aren’t many places to socialize and Applebees was one of the most common amongst my students. I fretted at the thought of seeing them there and did a quick scan. With no familiar faces in sight, I followed the hostess to a table and quickly dropped into a seat. The table wouldn’t hide much in the way of my inescapably middle-aged body, but it would tuck my enormous erection out of sight. The anticipation of seeing Charlie again after so long had made me hard again. I desperately wanted to duck into the bathroom and jerk off until I couldn’t move, but that didn’t exactly seem a feasible option. “I’ll have a Coke,” I told the hostess nervously. “And the second party? Do you know what they’d like?” she asked. “Water, I guess,” I said, perhaps a little too pathetically. The hostess’ grin faltered as she slipped away to fetch out drinks. I trained my eyes on the door. I wonder what he looks like now. Why the hell don’t I have a Facebook? I could have just looked him up. Idiot. He’s probably even more handsome. Better with age. Like a fine wine. God, I should’ve ordered something stronger… Every time the door opened, I straightened in my seat, but each time it was an elderly couple, some housewife and her friend, or a pair of students that I vaguely recognized. It isn’t like wasn’t common knowledge throughout West Cape that I was gay (news like that travels fast in a small town), but it was nonetheless awkward to see them out and about when I was on a date. This isn’t a date though, Romeo. It’s a lunch. Keep that line of thinking at bay. It got you into major trouble last time, remember? Last time. How could I forget? The door opened again, but I was hardly paying attention. I had slipped lost into one of the most mortifying memories of my life. A cool spring night my senior year of college, standing in front of a frat house, some 90’s indie rock song blasting from a stereo through an open window, empty beer cans and Solo cups littering the front lawn… “Andy?” “Hmm?” I said, expecting the waitress. I turned...and my mouth fell open. To say my heart skipped a beat would be an understatement. Leaped would be a more accurate description. Jumped. Dove. Take your pick. They’re all relatively inadequate. I believe my heart may have altogether stopped, if only for the briefest second, which technically means I died for a second. “Charlie,” I breathed. The first thing I noticed was that grin. That impossibly fucking brilliant grin. Dazzlingly white and wide, his smile was perfectly blinding. It was spread across the face that time had ostensibly forgotten. Whereas the first of middle age’s wrinkles had already begun to form at the corner of my eyes, there wasn’t the slightest hint of one on that flawless face. Not that anyone would have cared if there were. The rest of him absolutely demanded further examination. Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, my eyes were torn from that grin and drawn to the rest of him…starting with his shoulders. Where had the slim, wiry soccer star that I known gone? The shoulders of the man standing before me were wider than I had ever seen them. They weren’t massive, but they were large and sculpted enough to force his red polo shirt to fit him snugly as a glove. They firmly capped a pair of arms that were easily doubly thick around as my calves and which strained the sleeves of his shirt in a way that made my already hard cock impossibly harder. I could not help but note the veins that snaked their way around his forearms, feint though they might have been. “It is you,” he said, dropping into his chair. “I thought so. I couldn’t tell at first. You look different!” “You…you too,” I said breathlessly. “H-How you been?” He grinned. “I’m great! Sorry I’m late. I got a little lost. Did you already order?” I must have answered, but I don’t remember. I watched in a daze as he scanned the menu, his thick arms swelling larger and straining his sleeves further as he bent them to pick up the menu. They had to have been at least eighteen inches, probably larger. I wouldn’t know; I had only ever dreamt of arms that large. I kept envisioning how they’d feel beneath my fingers. “I think I’ll get the steak. What’re you getting?” he wondered aloud. “I, uh, steak, yeah,” I stammered. “Great!” he said, folding up the menu, and flashing that grin again. My cock grew painfully stiffer. I was visibly stunned by him and kept glancing out the window so as not to appear too obviously awed, but our waitress was less coy. I heard a soft gasp escape her lips at the sight of Charlie as she approached. “So that’ll be two steaks, medium?” she said after he had ordered, never taking her eyes off him. “Sounds right to me,” he said and winked at her. Girl, I feel sorry for your ovaries. They must be on fire, I thought instantly. I know I am. I reached for my water and began sipping it ferociously. “So you’re probably wondering what’s up with me, right?” he said, placing his hands on the table. They were so much thicker than the last time I had seen them, the hands of a man who had labored long hours in the gym. Cords of muscle stood out in his forearms. Not at all the hands a soccer player. I wondered what sort of strength such hands possessed and wanted to know, good or bad, for myself. “Yes,” I said. Drop the monosyllabics, you sound like a cave man. “Yes, I am wondering what you are up to, yes.” “Well,” he started to say, and paused dramatically. It was nice to see that not quite everything had changed about him, though the obvious transformations certainly weren’t unwelcome. “I’m moving to West Cape! Well, West Cape-adjacent. I got a transferred last month and now I have to relocate, man. Can you believe that?” I reminded myself not to give a one word answer. “I can’t, no. W-What do you do?” I couldn’t have cared less what he did, honestly. I just wanted to hear him speak. In addition to the underwear model’s physique he had developed since we had graduated, his voice had dropped half an octave. It probably wasn’t obvious to everyone, but I could still vividly remember the long nights we had stayed up talking about everything under the sun and, to me, it was definitely deeper. Did that come with the territory of packing on forty or fifty pounds of muscle? Did the weight of those clearly ample pecs beneath his shirt weigh on his ribcage? Even as I watched, one of them twitched, sending a tiny ripple of movement across his shirt. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Client relations, mostly. I won’t bother you with the gory details. So you’re an English teacher now?” I wondered fleetingly for a moment how he knew. I didn’t realize it then, but that necessarily meant that he had done some digital digging for my contact information. My being listed on West Cape High’s faculty page wasn’t the sort of thing that popped up on the first page of Google results, if you catch my drift. Nevertheless, I blathered on for a while about my teaching duties, before asking, “So where’re you living? The east side of town?” The smile dropped from his face and the light behind those green eyes dimmed. He turned and stared out the window, biting his lip. It would have been sexy as hell (okay, it was sexy as hell) if anxiety didn’t look so unnatural on his face. He turned back to me. “I actually don’t have a place yet,” he said. “I’m still looking, you know?” And before I could stop myself, before I could fully formulate the thought in my mind and factor in the countless possibilities and repercussions that could and ultimately would result from such a simple, stupid and unguarded statement, I said, “You could stay with me.”

Next installment. This time around, you'll get to see Charlie at work. Also, a little recap: it has been less than twenty-four hours since Charlie gave Andy his first dose of NPH-01 and later the same day that he and Rick went head-to-head in a bench press contest at the gym. Enjoy! Charlie had slept exceptionally well. He surfaced from this deepest of slumbers leisurely, stretching and basking in the warm light pouring through the window. Everything was bathed in a soft, orange glow, including the half-empty bottle of Glacier Freeze Gatorade on the coffee table. He glanced out the window again. Evening already? How long had he slept? He sat upright, groaning mightily, and stretched, savoring the pleasant tension that his muscles had developed as he slept. His pecs felt particularly tight, but not uncomfortably so, and he massaged them with one of his large, flat hands, half-wincing and half-smirking at the sensation that bloomed across the pillows of muscle in his palms. Releasing the residual stiffness of a brutal workout was a sort of pleasure unlike any other and he fucking loved it. He flexed, an influx of blood rushing into his chest, and felt his pecs swell. His flat, rippled stomach growled vociferously and he lumbered into the kitchen. “Andy?” he called. “You here?” He popped two chicken breasts into the oven and mixed up a protein shake, sipping on it while he strode through the house. Finding it deserted, he returned to the living room, plucked his gym bag off the floor beside the front door, and dug his cell phone out. Three missed texts. Shit. The first: “High tipper 314 Regal Hilton @ 8:30pm.” The second: “Cheers!” Cheers? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why’d Tony always have to be so fucking cryptic? He flexed his jaw irritably. The bitch. The last text was from Andy: “Met a friend for dinner. Be back late. You feeling okay sleepyhead?” A friend? Who? Andy hadn’t said anything about a going out with anyone. Charlie searched his mind for a name, but none came to mind. A sound like a growl stirred in his throat. He shot off a quick reply and checked the time. He’d have to rush to make it to the appointment, fucking Tony had given such short notice, but he calculated he could squeeze in a shower and still make it to the Hilton on time. The shower was an absolute must, even if it made him late; while most clients seemed to delight in his natural funk, it would be stupid to presume all would. Rule number one: always cater to the client. He swept into the bathroom, kicked on the hot water, and stripped off his shirt. But as he turned toward the shower, he caught a glimpse of his profile in the mirror and cocked an eyebrow. His pecs, impressively developed as they were, did not typically jut and hang off his chest in their completely relaxed state. At least not as prodigiously as they were now. He turned to face the mirror full on. "Damn," he said. His workout had ended nearly twelve hours ago, but judging by how hugely inflated his pecs were, someone could easily assume he had just finished. Each heavy slab of muscle was puffy and flushed, so much so that when he poked one of them—his finger barely making an indentation before it encountered unyielding, rock-hard bulk—a white negative of his probing digit lingered there, as if he were sunburned. Curious and cocky, he abandoned a delicate touch and quickly grabbed a handful of pec meat. He squeezed his bulging pec until he gasped and released. The white handprint swiftly faded as more blood poured into his chest. He chuckled darkly. Damn he looked good. What guy wouldn't kill for a chest like this? He popped his pecs a few times for his own amusement and hopped in the shower. Thoroughly cleaned, he spritzed his thick neck with his best cologne, and slipped into the freshly pressed suit and tie hanging in his closet. He filled it out easily, making it appear as if it were perfectly tailored to his muscled physique. Maybe even a little too snug in some places. He slipped one finger beneath his collar and loosened his tie, considered a moment, then ripped it off altogether. His hand drifted toward the top button of his shirt…and stopped an inch away. He thought for a moment, dropped his hand back to his side, and rolled his shoulders back. The button strained against his pecs. Charlie furrowed his brow disappointedly and he inhaled solidly, gathering a mighty breath, and at once his chest expanded, pushing pushing pushing those two heaping slabs of pec meat outward. His shirt never stood a chance. He heard a short groan as the material struggled against him and a second later the top button popped audibly, instantly revealing the deep cleft between his pecs in all its glory. He grinned darkly. David Beckham, eat your heart out. He ate as he drove, angrily shoveling in mouthfuls of chicken and rice between red lights. At this rate, he'd almost certainly be late. That fucking shrew Tony had given him hardly any notice whatsoever. Business in Chicago had operated so much more smoothly. Brett had never given less than twenty-four hours notice and still circulated nearly double the number of clients. Charlie shoveled in another mouthful of his long overdue post-workout meal and floored the gas pedal as the light switched to green. Five minutes later, he swung into the parking lot of the Regal Hilton, emptied the last of the Tupperware into his gullet, and hurried inside. The key for Suite 314 was waiting for him at the front desk and he snatched it up hurriedly, but not before giving the clerk a flirtatious view of his chest. “A little warm in here, isn't it?” he said, and spread his shirt to fan himself. The clerk’s eyes went wide as Charlie turned and strode toward the elevator. Thirty seconds later he stood outside of Suite 314, looking at his warped reflection in the brass numbers nailed to the door. He prayed the client hadn't beaten him. Making a mental note to have a particularly stern talk with Tony, he stepped into the room…and found it deserted. Sighing in relief, he peered around the room. At least Tony had provided the usual bottle of champagne on ice. He spotted it on the end table by the window and crossed to it. It really was hot, he thought. Why didn’t this fucking hotel have better air conditioning? Halfway to the ice, he spotted an envelope on the bed and froze. Shit. The client had come and gone and had been so pissed they’d left a note. Cursing, he snatched the note off the bed…and spotted two vials of NPH-01 underneath. He tore open the envelope, still cursing Tony beneath his breath, and read the handwritten note within: “Drink up!” He rolled his eyes. Oh yeah. Cheers. Snatching up the vials, Charlie pocketed them, and dropped onto the bed. Too fucking close, he thought. A single dissatisfied client could ruin his reputation for weeks at a time. Not to mention the fact that, if they had beaten him there, they could have easily assumed the vials were for them. That stupid bitch. She was too lax and it was going to get them both fucked over. Not for the first time, he debated cutting ties with pimps altogether and going at it alone. Look at me, he thought. I could pull them in like flies to honey. Who wouldn't go for all of this? He flexed, beaming at the sensation of the material struggling against him on all sides, and remembered the feeling of the top button of shirt popping wide. He flexed again and imagined what it would be like to send not just one, but two, or even three buttons sailing across the room with a simple flex of his pecs. His cock, already stirring, lengthened even more considerably in his pants. Reaching into his pocket, Charlie withdrew the first vial and uncapped it. He was still not certain he felt entirely comfortable consuming whatever this mysterious elixir was, but his workouts had been brutal as hell lately and, if his super-pumped pecs were any indication, effective. He supposed he had this juice to thank for it. He shrugged, tossed back the first vial, and recapped it. As he replaced in his pocket, he touched the second vial. One for Andy, he thought. Though he could not be certain the NPH-01 was going to effect Andy similarly (hell, it had been less than twenty fours hours ago he had given them to the little guy), something in the back of his mind told him a second dose wouldn't hurt. At the very least, it had made Andy ravenous at breakfast that morning. And if he hadn't been so preoccupied one-upping that fat brute Rick at the gym this morning, he might have been able to see how it affected Andy’s workout, too. He made a mental note to pay closer attention at their next gym session. Andy was coming along nicely—heck, the guy had lost a few pounds already—but it was time to swing him in the other direction. It was time to introduce Andy to the wonderful world of muscle. The little guy could thank him later. His mind drifted back to Rick. What had that all been about anyway? It had been immediately clear to him that there was some sort of tension between Rick and Andy, but he couldn’t place his finger on it precisely. He bristled at the thought of the fat lug giving Andy a hard time. He’d have to ask Andy about it and, if need be, resolve the issue. A soft knock rose at the door. Charlie stood, stowing the vials under the mattress, and crossed to the door. He peered out the peephole. Outside in the hall, a silver-haired man nervously looked up and down the hall. Charlie swung the door wide, flashed a blinding grin, and gestured for the man enter. The man smelled vaguely of tobacco and diesel, despite the fact that he had “dressed up” in a pair of wrinkled khakis and green golf polo that was swallowed in a sports coat two sizes too large. “My n-names Kevin,” he stuttered immediately as Charlie shut the door behind him. “Patrick,” Charlie lied. “How’re you tonight, Kevin?” “F-Fine, I'm fine,” he said, clearing his throat. He looked nervously around the room, as if expecting to find cameras trained on him. “This…this ain't a sting operation is it? You ain't a cop?” Shaking his head, Charlie chuckled and inched closer, closing the gap between them in a single stride. He was a full head taller than this man, as he was most men, and he wielded his height to his advantage. Gazing up at his tall, broad form, this anxious whelp of a client could just as easily been staring up at cliff-face he was instructed to climb: he appeared at once thrilled, but terrified at the prospect. He swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy, and tentatively reached out a hand, placing it on one of Charlie’s broad pecs. Charlie bounced his chest and the man quickly snatched his hand away, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “How about you take a seat over on the bed. Relax,” Charlie suggested. “Take your jacket off.” Automatically, the man removed his hand and strode to the bed. He peeled off his jacket and folded it in his lap, then stared up at Charlie, waiting further instruction. Charlie grinned. The man's open-faced expression was a mixture of desperate attention and complete surrender. It was one Charlie had seen countless times before, one that made him instantly hard. Damn, it was good being big. Charlie slowly began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. “Do you like muscle, Kevin?” The man nodded slowly, enraptured by the slow unveiling of Charlie’s heaving pecs and the brick wall of abs beneath them. It was time to kick things off, he thought. Charlie began by sensually grinding his hips, tantalizingly slow at first, but in deliberately wider circles as he unbuttoned his cuffs. The pre-show had officially begun. Next came his belt. His large fingers nimbly unfastened the buckle and in one swift gesture, he yanked off the leather belt, a sharp crack cutting through the silence of the room. On the bed, the client squirmed. One of his hands slipped beneath his jacket and began vigorously undoing his own belt. “What do you think about my abs?” Charlie said. He was gyrating his hips in earnest now, his abs stretching and flexing, deep cuts flushing between his obliques as he danced to silent music. “Do you want to touch them?” The man just continued staring, enthralled by the incredible muscle on display before him. His silence was answer enough. Charlie crossed to the bed and took the man’s free hand, placing it against his wall of abs. The man’s cold fingers quivered anxiously. Beneath the jacket, his other hand continued to furiously beat him off. “What about these big ol’ pecs? You like these?” The man's tongue lolled out of his mouth hungrily. Charlie snickered and, gathering his breath, brought his hands together, fiercely flexing his pecs. “Touch these muscle titties, Kevin. Give them a good squeeze.” The man abandoned his cock and slammed both his hands onto the heaving pillows of muscle before him. Charlie growled as the man's eager fingers attempted to dent the muscle. He flexed harder and the man suddenly launched forward, plastering his face between his pecs, slobbering and licking wildly. Effortlessly, Charlie pushed him back onto the bed and wagged a chiding finger. “Not so fast, little man. They'll be plenty of that later.” The introduction complete, Charlie moved onto Act One. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair in the corner. At once, his dark and spicy musk filled the room. He placed one finger on his lips in don’t-make-a-peep-during-the-peepshow sort of way and sensually turned about-face so that his round ass was on full display. His hands dropped to his waist and ever so slowly he shimmied out of his pants, dropping them to his ankles, the material revealing inch by inch his tree trunk thighs and shapely calves. He kicked the pants across the room to join his shirt on the chair and turned back around. “How about a little flexing show?” he said. “Uh-huh,” the man breathed. “Arms. Arms first!” “Oh, you wanna see these guns?” Charlie said, looking from one arm to the other. “I don’t know. They’re pretty tired from lifting heavy ass weights all day. Maybe if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” For the first time, the spell seemed to break over the man. He paused, seemingly perplexed, but his rigid cock quickly pulled him back under. Tentatively, he raised his arms and executed a poor excuse of a double bicep pose, barely negligible peaks forming beneath his sleeves. “Oh, you can do better than that, can’t ya Kevin? Like this!” With an obvious practiced grace, Charlie swung his arms high above his head, aimed his fists at the sky, and studiously lowered them into a perfect double bicep pose. As he did, his biceps gathered and gathered, piling on size and forming rounded peaks the size of softballs. Thick veins snaked their way around his forearms. He smirked and glanced at his bicep—and did a double take. He had spent many an hour before the mirror admiring at his impressive arms and was intimately familiar with their nineteen inch circumference. But they looked bigger than ever now. Had he finally broken twenty inches? He caressed his left bicep and bit his lip. “Oh yeah,” he said, more to himself than to the man feverishly jacking himself on the bed. “Look how big these babies are.” “Tri-triceps!” the man stammered. “Flex your triceps!” Gladly, Charlie thought. He turned to the side and jammed his fist at the floor. At once, his horseshoe tricep formed and when he looked at it, it too seemed bigger. Those workouts really were paying off. He had most definitely broken twenty inches. Finally. He brought his other deftly arm around is back, clenched his opposing wrist, and further accentuated his magnificent tricep. “I bet you wish you hard guns like this, huh?” Charlie said. “Look how big they are. How strong.” “Oh…oh yes…” the man continued. “So strong…” You have no idea, Charlie thought. Strength simmered in his arms unlike any he had ever felt. He clenched and unclenched his fists in excitement, reveling in the power that ran through his veins. He felt like he could punch his way right through a brick wall. Fuck, he needed to unleash it. Before he could stop himself, he sprang on the man, lifting him off the bed with an ease that surprised and impressed him. “Yes, daddy, yes!” the man cried. “Show me how strong you are!” Grunting, Charlie lifted him higher still, so that the pathetically light man’s head was inches from the ceiling. He practically weighed nothing. Hungry for a real challenge, Charlie dropped him onto the bed and scanned the room for something of considerable weight. Where was an iron-laden barbell when you needed one? A second, more intoxicatingly potent need was creeping into him though. In his briefs, his fat cock was hard as steel and pulsing. Growling, he turned back to the man and pushed him backward on the bed. The man giggled excitedly. Descending atop him, Charlie pressed his huge, throbbing crotch against the man’s own, laughably smaller bulge. This horny little runt wanted a show and he was going to get one. Charlie grinded incessantly against him and instantly the man’s hands began searching every inch of Charlie’s tan, muscled body hovering over him. His fingers danced and combed up and down those beefy arms, probed the deep cleavage of his pecs, and held on for dear life around his shoulders as Charlie flattened against him. “Take off your fucking clothes,” Charlie growled. The man scrambled to kick off his shoes, pants, and shirt, revealing his doughy torso. A tribal tattoo around his left nipple suggested a wilder youth. He never looked like this though, Charlie thought proudly. He never knew what it was to have so much muscle and watch people drool over it like he is now. “Tell me how much you want these muscles.” “So, so bad! Please give me your muscles, Patrick—please! Please!” “Kiss my pecs!” Charlie barked. “Show me how much you them!” Frenziedly, the man made a second dive for Charlie’s pecs, and instead of pushing away, Charlie closed his eyes and savored the man’s tongue as it roamed over his nipples and cleavage. What person in their right mind wouldn’t want to give them a good licking? He flexed again, momentarily gripping the man’s tongue between his vice-like pecs, before the slippery organ escaped. All the while Charlie’s stout dick continued to grow ever harder. It needed attention—now. He pushed the man back down and held him down with one huge arm while he pulled off his briefs with the other. At once, his hefty cock rocketed up another level and Charlie winced. He slid back off the bed and stood at the foot of it, his raging prick demanding service. The man spotted it, licked his lips hungrily, and hurried forward. “You’re so big,” he said, marveling as he took Charlie’s cock in his hands, his cool fingers felt remarkably at odds with his fiery-hot meat. “I can barely get my hand around it.” Charlie glanced down and sure enough the man’s fingertips were barely just touching. He smirked and his cock swelled with pride, pointedly forcing the man’s fingers apart. The man gasped. With his other hand, he reached down and cupped Charlie’s heavy balls; they threatened to be too much for his palm. “It’s so hot…and these balls. How’d you get them so big?” “Ate all my fruits and vegetables,” Charlie growled. “Now suck.” The man eagerly obliged. He opened wide and as his lips slid over Charlie’s broad, hot cockhead he gasped. The man’s tongue flicked around it excitedly, slicking it up as the first inch eased into his mouth. As if disappointed that it was so easily accommodated, his heavy dick flexed again, widening and lengthening. The man continued swallowing him though, his hot, wet throat enclosing around inch after inch of the fat, veiny shaft. Six inches in, he stopped and gagged, unable to swallow anymore. Having found his limit, he began bobbing up and down the pulsing slab stuffing his throat. Charlie luxuriated in the sensation of his huge dick filling the man’s esophagus, wall-to-wall. He could only imagine what it would be like to be even bigger. His hands drifted to the man’s head, cupping it from behind and pulling him closer, easing him down over the last two remaining inches left out in the dry cold. The man gagged again, coughing, and Charlie smirked. “You wanted it, now take it,” he said. The man’s muffled reply sounded vaguely pleading, but Charlie ground his hips forward, the last inch slipping past the man’s lips. His throat was now clenching and unclenching around the mass of cockmeat struggling against it. Charlie indulgently began skull-fucking the eager, choking client, who determinedly remained planted on his huge shaft. Every so often he would remove himself from it to gather his breath, releasing its glistening impressive length and girth, and dive back down. Muscle fibers across Charlie’s body fired randomly, making his pecs jump, his shoulders flex. Wet slurps and schlucking sounds, deep, sumptuous exhales and growls filled the room. After what felt like an eternity, Charlie’s heavy, round balls rose, signaling release. He pulled the man closer, planting his nose firmly against his neatly trimmed pubes, and bit his lip as the first volley of cum raced up his cock. He could feel it flooding through his expanding dick and firmly kept the man’s lip-lock around him as his cocklips mushroomed, spread wide, and poured the load into the man’s gullet. “Mmmfh, uunfh, mmm!” the man muffled cries filled the room and he retreated from Charlie’s still-shooting shaft. In one fluid motion, he released the reveling saliva and cum-covered beast of a dick, tears streaming down his reddened face. Before he could recover, however, a stream of cum splattered across his face. “Oh, yes…more. More…” he whimpered. “Fuck!” Charlie cried. His cock swung in wide, wild arches as its spewed rope after rope of thick cum across the man’s face, chest, and shoulders. Every muscle in his robust body flexed and he roared, curling his toes into the carpet. “Rrraaa!” Finally, after a full thirty seconds, his balls emptied, the last few ropes of cum lazily dripping from his residually bucking cock. The man inched forward again and took it once more in his mouth. Charlie gasped as the hypersensitive length of meat slipped past the man’s lips again, vacuuming away the last bit of cum trapped in the thick shaft. When he finished, Charlie bent and kissed him, easing him backward onto the bed, and licking his own cum off the man’s face. “You’re turn,” he said, and reached for the man’s cock.

We pulled into my driveway just as the sun was breaking on the horizon. I put the car in park and glanced over at Charlie. Profoundly asleep in the passenger seat, I had never seen him look so peaceful. Even when he wasn’t furiously tearing it up in the gym, he buzzed with a vitality that made his eyes sparkle and his smile gleam. Whether he knew it or not, he exuded a verve that was downright contagious. But staring at him now, his head rested against the window, I debated leaving him be. His smooth, wrinkle-free face seemed even more placid than usual, completely relaxed; his plump, pink lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed. Suddenly the sun broke through the window, breaking me from my observation of his immaculate face. “Charlie,” I said. “Hey, Charlie, we’re here.” He did not stir. I reached a trembling hand toward him and placed it on his shoulder. He’s so damn solid. And warm, like an oven. Did I dare steal a tiny squeeze? Just for curiosity’s sake? Slowly, I flexed my fingers around the solid mass of muscle that was his delt— He suddenly stirred. I quickly snatched my hand away and put it back on the steering wheel. “Huh?” he said, sitting upright. “Are we home yet?” “Yeah, we’re…we’re here,” I said. “Do you need help getting inside?” I imagined how comical a sight that would look to the neighbors. Tiny old me with Charlie’s thick arm slung over my shoulder, trying to drag his herculean body inside. I wouldn’t make it to the flowerbeds, I thought. Still, it wouldn’t be so bad being that close to him. Getting to feel all those big muscles pressed up against me. Thankfully (or maybe not so much), Charlie said he thought he could make it on his own. He barely made it through the door before he collapsed onto the couch though. “I’m going to get you some water,” I said. “Something with electrolytes...” he mumbled and, knowing I’d be at a complete loss, added, “Gatorade.” “Gatorade. Right.” I quickly retrieved a bottle of Glacier Freeze from the refrigerator, but by the time I made it back to the living room, he was soundly dozing again, his face pressed deeply into a pillow. Look at him. He’s so damn perfect even when he’s asleep. And big. Look at how wide his back his. How does he even find shirts that fit? I should let him sleep though. I decided to err on the side of caution and call in sick to work just in case Charlie needed further tending. “Something must be going around,” Mrs. Dubose, the secretary, said. “Rick said he won’t be in today either. Oh, well, it’s getting to be that time of year. You get better, you hear? And we’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure to eat plenty of chicken noodle soup!” I hung up the phone and glanced at Charlie’s huge, sleeping form again. So, Rick’s not going in either. Guess he wore himself out trying to compete with this big guy. Or he’s just too embarrassed. Serves him right, the jerk. Who the hell does he think he is? Charlie stirred, raising his head off the couch. “Gatorade?” “Yeah, here it is,” I said, and quickly handed it to him. He chugged half of it in ten seconds flat and fell face first back into the pillow. I caught the bottle before it spilled, recapped it, and set it on the coffee table. Definitely the right call not going in. He shouldn’t be left alone. Guess it’s possible even for a guy his size to go too hard in the gym. I looked him over from head to toe again. His hair was still damp with sweat and tousled. He wore it long on the top and typically kept it coiffed back with just the right amount of product to make it look like it grew that way naturally. My eyes moved down. He had a neck that was thicker than I had realized, or at least it looked to be pressed against the couch, easily too generous to get my hands around. It sloped without interruption into his tall traps which, in turn, sloped toward his bulging, round delts that were easily the size of small grapefruits. I glanced across at his other shoulder. From one end of him to the other, he was easily doubly as wide as I was, his flaring lats aside. A considerable portion of his shoulder hung over the edge of the couch, his arm hanging on the floor. My eyes continued tracing down his back. Two considerable slabs of muscle ran parallel to his spine, one on either side, each thick as my wrist. I had never seen such development on body before. What do you even call those muscles? The rest of his torso began to taper inward as I my eyes made my way toward his waist. His was perhaps only slightly wider than mine, but still supremely impressive given the size of the body above and below it. And then, of course, there was his ass and legs. Like so much of him, his reposed hamstrings and quads were spread out against the couch cushions, filling his shorts beyond capacity so that the material was stretched like a second skin over his legs and ass. High and round, his butt looked as if it had never known a day of sagging in its life. Each cheek was the size of football and blended seamlessly with his substantial thighs. These successfully merged with his more than pronounced calves. One alone seemed as thick around as my arm. I let my eyes travel back up the length of his sleeping form, tracing the contours of his remarkably muscular body. I envy the woman who’s been lucky enough to have all of this at her disposal. Oh well. Can’t have everything. I glanced at his feet again. I should take his shoes off. I took his sneaker in my hand and stared at it impressively. Jesus, these babies must be like size thirteen’s or something. I slowly undid the laces, trying not to wake him, and pried them off his feet. Instantly, a powerful musk filled my nostrils. My head swam and I quickly set the shoes aside, lest I pass out myself and land face first in his ass. Like you wouldn’t want that, I chided myself. I sniffed my own armpit. Deciding that it would safe enough to leave him alone for ten minutes, I took a quick shower. As I toweled off my hair, I peered around the corner back into the living room and found him still soundly asleep, though he had turned onto his back. That’s a sight all on its own, I thought. And because I had not done laundry in a few days, I decided to throw in a load of laundry. I had just dropped my gym clothes into the washing machine when it happened—a sharp, dull pain not just in my stomach, but from my stomach. A hunger pain unlike any I had known. Well, unlike any I had known until that morning. Oh shit, I hope its not another one of those seizure things. Fuck. Charlie’s dead to the world. Maybe I should call 911. My stomach gnawed again, growling raucously, demanding food. Okay. Maybe I just need to eat something. A post-workout meal. Right. Totally forgot. Afraid I might trigger something worse if I moved too hastily, I made my way slowly into the kitchen. I ate my turkey sandwich, bowl of cottage cheese, some frozen vegetables, and protein shake in silence at the table, listening as Charlie groaned and mumbled in sleep on the other side of the wall in the living room. If this shit keeps up I’m going to have to go to the doctor. Maybe I have like a perforated bowel or something. Eww gross. I hope not. I fetched my laptop from my bedroom and returned to the kitchen. In the middle of surfing WebMD, I reached for another bite of turkey sandwich…and found my plate empty. I glanced at my bowl and shaker bottle. Both empty. Damn. Still hungry. Popping a thawed chicken breast into the oven and a sweet potato into the microwave, I continued surmising the source of my fevered episode overnight. Maybe I had an allergic reaction to something. But what? I’m not allergic to anything and all I’ve been eating for two weeks is health food. That and protein shakes. I paused, suddenly remembering the odd vials of syrupy supplements Charlie had given me. What were those things called again? Just then the microwave beeped. Deciding to ask him when he awoke, I devoured the sweet potato while I waited for the chicken to finish cooking. The moment it was done baking, I sliced it up and wolfed it down, washing it down with two more glasses of water. Maybe this is just what happens when you start working out, like Charlie said. He’d know. He puts it away like a linebacker. I crept back into the living room and settled into the recliner across from the couch and continued surfing the Internet. I decided to look up the name of the thick muscles of his back that had mesmerized me (rhomboids) and found myself lost in study of the numerous anatomy charts I came across. Who knew there were so many muscles in the human body? Most men looked as if they lacked half of them, if not more, they were so underdeveloped. It took a man like Charlie to show me what a truly and properly developed physique looked like. “I…no more…” Charlie groaned. I glanced up. His eyelids were twitching agitatedly. Dreaming. He raised a hand and for a moment I thought he was waking, but then it fell back onto his abs, massaging them sleepily through his shirt. Then it began drifting toward the waist of his shorts. I felt my cheeks burn. Holy shit. His hand continued its descent, creeping under his waistband, and disappearing between his legs. I should go. I should really go. What if he wakes up? I should definitely go. I’m going. But I didn’t move. I continued watching, aghast and in awe, as his hand explored the confines of his shorts, jostling around his groin pleasurably. Within seconds, an appreciably large bulge began to form beneath the material. He stroked it leisurely and ground his hips, groaning. What do I do? I should wake him up. “Mmmm,” he hummed, luxuriating in his own touch. He continued grinding his hips, the outline of his rigid cock now plainly visible through his shorts. It was unmistakably above average. It looked roughly the same size as my own, a solid eight inches. But between those copious thighs it somehow seemed larger. Everything about him did. My own cock was painfully hard beneath my bathrobe. “Mmm,” he hummed again, practically a purr. It was a deep rumble in his chest. His other hand had made its way to his chest and drowsily rubbed his nipple. It too was erect through his clothes. My face burned. My cock throbbed agonizingly. This is wrong. This is so wrong. He’d be so pissed if he knew. Just get up right now and walk out of the— “Like that, don’t you?” he said. My eyes flew from his pants, to his face. I fully expected those green eyes to be burrowing into me like spotlights, exposing my indecency. Instead, I found his face placid as ever save for a tiny grin on his lips. “Yeah…take that. Take it…” Oh fuck he’s just talking in his sleep. Holy shit. Deciding that it was simply too close a call to risk a second, I quietly closed my laptop and gently rose—or attempted to. My cock was excruciatingly hard now, despite having the freedom of being enclosed in nothing more than my bathrobe, and I stumbled as I rose to my feet, its rigidity throwing me off balance. I recalled its impossible appetite the night before. I crept toward the hallway, visions of lube and my bed in mind. “Sorry…didn’t mean…hurt…” I froze at the mouth of the hall. I turned back. Though his hand had stopped stroking his cock, it was still trapped in his pants. He rolled his head from side to side and clenched his eyes. Whatever wet dream he had had, had clearly given way to a nightmare. A fresh, aching wave gripped my cock again. His nightmare, his problem. I gotta go take care of this baby before it kills me. Quietly as possible, I slipped into my bedroom, shut and locked the door behind me, and stripped off my robe. I practically leapt onto my bed and reached for my nightstand to grab some lube, but when I looked down at my cock, the angry red head was already glistening with precum. Nothing like the natural stuff, I thought. I gripped my cock, once again marveling at how heavy, heavy, and thick it felt. At my touch, another bead of precum formed and rolled down my head. Its slow, slick descent tickled my fat, granite meat to terrible rigidity and I squirmed. My balls pulled up close to my body, heavy and pleasantly full of cum. I started with slow, smooth strokes, but instantly my cockhead mushroomed enormously. The sight of Charlie luxuriating in his own touch replayed in my head and I bit my lip, curling my toes into the bedspread. “Nngh,” I groaned. It felt like I was gripping a cylinder of rock that was protruding from my groin, one that stretched and tugged forward with anticipation, needing ever more. Shit, I’m going to have stretch marks if I don’t get rid of this thing. With that thought in mind, I decided to abandon the idea of a long and lush jerk-off session. Sometimes, you just need to take the edge off. I picked up the pace of my strokes and was stunned as more and more precum bubbled forth, sufficiently slicking my dick from head to base. Within minutes, I could feel my balls began to stir, drawing even closer to my body. “Phew!” I said, and raised my ass of the bed. I reached down, readjusted my balls...and gasped at their size in my hands. They feel so big. Like I haven’t cum in weeks. But I just came last night—and it was huge load! Am I...am I bigger? I glanced at my desk in the corner. A ruler stuck out from a collection of pencils and pen stowed in an old coffee mug. “Fuck it.” I managed to tear my hand away from my cock and swung my legs off the bed. “Ouch!” I cried, as my leg pressed painfully against of my engorged balls. Waddling, I made my way to my desk and glanced down at my cock. My particular piece of meat, bigger than the average man’s though it may be, has always pointed skyward when hard and now was no exception. Had it ever been so angrily red though? So blazing hot? I reached for the ruler and placed its end against the base of my cock. Slowly, I pushed down on the ruler, bending my cock horizontal. “Oh oh oh!” I winced as my cock bucked and throbbed against me, straining to return to the vertical. That can’t be right. I looked at the ruler again and checked that the base of it was firmly against my pubic bone. The number was plain as day though: 8.2 inches. I’m…bigger? How? My fat, throbbing meat bucked again, reminding me of its impending release. I tossed the ruler aside and returned to the bed. Okay you fat fucker, lets get you off. My hand sawed up and down my nagging prick, ushering it to release. Thirty seconds later, I felt the first rope of cum squirting from my balls and racing up my cum tube. My cockhead flared bigger in anticipation and a moment later it jetted forth, splashing me squarely beneath my right eye. I turned away, squinting, as a second rope landed on my chest and shoulder. A third hit my ear. A fourth, my chin. Finally, they wound down, the last rope lazily slinging onto my stomach. “So much for that shower,” I said. Standing, I moved back to the desk and reached for the box of Kleenex. As I wiped my neck, face, and torso clean of cum, I spotted the ruler on the floor. I quickly moved to my closet, opened it, and looked at my naked form in the full-body mirror on the back of the closet door. It does look bigger. Look at it. Even in its post-orgasm stupor, had it ever hung so heavy and low? It was still red and the head slung sleepily toward the floor, a miniscule thread of cum dripping onto the carpet. I wiped it up and pulled my bathrobe back on. Maybe I’ve just lot a little bit around the middle and it just looks like I’m bigger. They say that’s what happens to guys that lose weight. Right? I thought for a moment and opened my laptop. Opening a new document, I inserted a blank table and quickly entered the date in one column and my new measurement of 8.2 inches in the second column. I decided to name the document “Progress Report” should, worst-case scenario, someone end up snooping through my files. It seemed innocuous enough a name for a file on a teacher’s laptop, I thought. But what did I know?

Quick recap guys: wary of the effects of NPH-01, Charlie has given some to Andy under the guise of "BCAA's" to see if it'll effect him similarly. We saw that it gave him increased libido, but what else does it do? Read on to find out! * * * I awoke with my skin on fire. I had been dreaming a particularly pleasant dream of spending an afternoon on a sunny beach. In one hand, I held a sweating margarita. Overhead, gulls coasted lazily on warm gusts. Most pleasurable of all, however, was the incredible physique before my eyes. Not Charlie’s…but my own. My usually pale skin was baked a fine caramel. My stomach was a rugged valley of abs, my pecs the mountains that overlooked them. I flexed vigorously, watching as my muscles bulged and popped, striations flushing across them. This is the life, I thought proudly. Smirking, I gazed out over the glistening sea. A sudden shift far out in the water caught my attention. In the distance, a figure was emerging from the waves. A head emerged, the man’s dirty blond locks, usually perfectly coiffed, plastered wetly to his forehead. Charlie. Slowly the rest of him emerged, his frame growing wider and wider as his thick, bullish neck appeared. It was followed by impossibly high, sloping traps, the sea-foam draining off them in tiny waterfalls down and across his wide, rounded delts. Tiny rivulets dripped from his perfectly carved chin into the deep crevice of his pecs, guiding it down toward his granite abs. I felt my face warm at the sight of him trudging toward me, parting waves like some mythological god of the sea. I wiped my forehead. God does he get me hot, I thought. I wiped my forehead. Like really hot. I fanned my face. All of the sudden it was not just the sight of Charlie baking me, but the sun overhead. I glanced down at my sun-kissed skin. It was growing increasingly red right before me eyes. Oh fuck. So fucking hot. Gotta get out of the— All at once the sun was extinguished. The beach evaporated. Charlie vanished. I was only fleetingly aware of the absolute darkness of my bedroom as I snapped awake before the searing heat gripped me. I bolted upright, panting desperately. Sweat practically poured from every pore of my body. Near-volcanic heat radiated furiously outward from my body, as if I had swallowed molten rock. My sheets squished wetly beneath me, drenched with sweat. Tumbling frantically from my bed, I fled to my door and wrenched it wide. Need water. Without a moment’s thought for Charlie’s slumber, I thundered down the hall and burst into the bathroom. My limbs felt full of sand and embers, heavy as they were hot. Water gotta get water. I collapsed against the sink, cascading toiletries to the floor, and turned on the faucet. Divinely icy water glugged from the tap. Frenziedly, I slopped handfuls of it past my fiery lips, drinking like a man stranded in the Saharan. I glanced in the mirror. A scream rose on my lips, but my throat was too supremely dry to deliver it. Every inch of my scarlet skin looked like as if it had been scalded with boiling water. The veins in my neck and temples visibly throbbed and pulsed, threatening to burst. My eyes, so dilated, were black as a ravenous shark’s. My blood boiled in my veins. Oh god I’m dying. I opened my mouth to call for Charlie, but just as I did so, a sharp, shooting pain in my stomach doubled me over. I cried out—or tried to. Only a dry, whisper of a sound floated past my lips. My stomach tightened again and suddenly the sensation exploded in my chest, back, legs, and arms. Every muscle in my body seized. “Charlie…” I rasped. “Help…” The searing heat plaguing my body was nothing to the cramps that gripped me. My spine seized, forcing me into a fetal position, and I collapsed to the floor. I glanced down at my body. I watched in horror as my heart visibly throbbed against my chest. No, I thought vaguely, isn’t my heart… And indeed it wasn’t. My chest was throbbing, but it was not from the organs beneath. It was the muscles themselves. The cords of muscle and sinew in my pecs swelled and clenched, swelled and clenched. They expanded right before my eyes, looking one moment more pumped than I had ever seen them, and then automatically flexing as they shrank. I could practically feel every fiber straining. Similar machinations played out in my abs, legs, and arms, pulling and contorting me into painful positions. One moment I flailed, the next was I was curled into a ball, my knees drawn to my chest. I was a puppet to my own body, incapable of controlling a single inch of my burning, burgeoning body. Helplessly, I gazed at the window, willing myself to pass out just to escape the blazing pain. This is it. This is how I die. A lifetime later the pain miraculously began dissolving. The heat faded. At some point, I had fallen asleep—or, more likely, passed out—because I suddenly came to. My cheek was pressed against the warm tile of the floor. It did not escape me that the tile was usually cold, but that I had warmed it with my volcanic, thrashing form. I glanced at the window. Still dark. What time is it? Shaking, I dared to pull myself into an upright position. Everything looked distant and small, as if I was peering through the wrong end of a telescope. I shivered, somehow now chilled. A puddle of sweat had pooled on the floor around me. When no more cramps bit me and I thought it safe to stand, I hauled myself to my feet and made for the sink again. I drank directly from the tap this time, slowly and carefully, terrified that I might somehow trigger another episode. When I finished, I glanced in the mirror again. A pale, haunted version of myself stared back. “The hell…the hell was that?” I wondered aloud. A safely lukewarm shower somehow seemed the best course of action. I bathed slowly, afraid to move too quickly, and slurped the water as it ran down my face. Clean and slightly less thirsty, I dried off, mopped up the puddle of sweat, and cleaned up the toiletries littering the floor. Dumping my towel in the hamper, I suddenly caught the soft clang of metal pots and the gurgle of the coffee pot far off in the kitchen. Charlie was awake. With the thought of heat in mind, I slipped back into my bedroom and into a pair of boxers and a thin undershirt. As I made my way into the kitchen, I was still shaking. Per usual, Charlie was planted at the stove in his usual skin-tight outfit that hugged him in all the right places. But instead of gazing longingly at his globular ass and thick arms, the moment I stepped into the kitchen, another sense took over. My nose went into hyper drive at the plethora of dishes awaiting me. “Morning, early bird!” Charlie said, hearing me enter. I grunted a response, too preoccupied by the delectable aromas swirling around me. A gnawing, frantic hunger had suddenly blossomed in my stomach. I plopped down at the table and feverishly began piling double servings of everything onto my plate. At the stove, Charlie nodded, seemingly impressed. “That lifting appetite’s kicking, eh?” he asked, taking a seat across from me. “Just…hungry,” I said between mouthfuls. “And thirsty.” I chugged two cups of coffee between heaping spoonfuls of oatmeal, turkey sausage, scrambled eggs, protein pancakes, a bowl of Greek yogurt and mixed berries. I chased it with a glass of milk and second helping of nearly everything. But just when I began to wonder if my stomach had become some sort of bottomless pit, I began to feel the uncomfortable stretch of fullness. I groaned, leaned back in my seat, and glanced down at my bloated stomach. Across the table, Charlie stared at me, stunned. “Damn,” he finally said. I glanced at his plate and found it only half-finished. “You keep eating like that, you’ll pack it on in no time.” “No!” I said, suddenly dismayed and disgusted by my bloated middle. I pushed away from the table and stood. I need to go to the gym. Work all those calories off. What was I thinking? Charlie chuckled. “Calm down, Andy. Gains are a good thing.” “They are?” I said. I was coming down fast from whatever high had gripped me, the uncomfortable ballooning in my middle giving way to nausea. I dropped back down into my chair. As Charlie explained to me the science behind building muscle—something about increased caloric intake coupled with rigorous exercise and profuse rest—I tried to ignore the odd sensations unfolding within me. I could have sworn that I could literally feel my body converting the ungodly mass in my stomach into energy. Am I—no, that’s impossible. Imagining things. My brain must’ve gotten fried last night. Ten minutes later Charlie and I were driving to Platinum Fitness Warehouse and for once I was as eager to get pump iron as he was. Whatever energy my body had converted my ample breakfast into was coursing through me wildly. I propped my feet up on the dashboard and eagerly strummed my fingers on my knees. Occasionally, I’d glance at Charlie, but whenever I looked he was staring at the road ahead. I could have sworn, however, that I saw him glancing at me, too. Five minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot and I practically leapt from the car in anticipation. Inside, the usual morning crowd was waiting for us: a middle aged woman, a man I took to be her husband, the woman who planted herself on the stationary bike with a People magazine…and someone else. “Shit,” I mumbled beneath my breath the moment I saw him. Planted in the middle of the free weights section, sweat-drenched and panting, Rick Hockstetter looked like some overworked gorilla. He wore a t-shirt two-sizes too big, the sleeves cut off so that you could see every hairy inch of his side from his shoulder down to his waist. He was a big guy, no doubt, but he looked equal parts muscle and fat. He glanced up as I walked in, looked genuinely surprised…and then smirked darkly. I froze in place. “Dandy!” he called. He stood and I had to admit I was momentarily impressed by the size of his barrel chest…until he began swaggering toward me. I realized that the woman on the stationary bike was keenly watching us. Rick planted himself in front of me, reeking of a hideous body odor that stung my nose. “Come to check out some big ol’ sweaty dudes?” he said, planting his paw-like hands on his huge waist. “Hate to tell ya, but you’re too early, Dandy. No pretty boys here this early in the…” He trailed off, suddenly glancing over my head. Behind me, I felt the door swing open and a familiar presence enter. Warm. Safe. Strong. Charlie, I thought reassuringly. I watched as Rick’s smug bullying mask melted into something akin to awe and then hatred. A dark shadow passed over his face. “Who’s this?” Charlie asked behind me. “Someone you know, Andy?” “Just someone I work with,” I said. “Rick. He’s just the gym teacher.” “Athletic Director,” Rick growled, still staring over my head at Charlie with thinly veiled envy. “Nice to meet you,” Charlie said. One of his strong, muscled hands reached past me, sweeping me to the side, and extended toward Rick. Slowly, Rick raised one of his own, took Charlie’s and shook. The struggle between them was plainly visible: Rick’s fat knuckles turned white, the chords of muscle in Charlie’s forearm bulged. When their handshake finally broke, Rick’s hand dropped to his side and curled into a fist. “Excuse us,” Charlie said, and brushed past him. Rick practically stumbled as he stepped out of Charlie’s way. When he looked back at me, his face was furiously red. I beamed widely. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?” As Charlie strode to the free weights section, I ducked into the locker-room to stow my gym bag. That’ll show him, the ass-hat. Come at me like that. He only wishes he was half a ripped as Charlie. I turned to go, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink and paused. My average-sized reflection stared back. Hell, I wish I was that ripped for that matter. My expression hardened determinedly. And I will be. He’ll see. See how smug that dumb fucking lug is when I’m huge. My newfound energy was returning full-force, and smirking heroically, I exited the locker-room and found Charlie and Rick in the free weights section. Charlie’s tall, toned form was stretching methodically, stretching one thick arm across his broad chest. “Chest day! You ready to pump up these babies?” Charlie said. He patted my chest playfully, easily gathering up the bit of muscle I had developed there and squeezing it between his sturdy palms. My heart skipped a beat at his touch and I prayed his fingers wouldn’t notice. “We’re gonna get you a set of these,” he said, and released my chest. He dropped his heavy arms to his side, glanced down at his chest, and jiggled his pecs independently of one another. He grinned that boy-next-door-grin and I nearly fainted as all the blood in my body rushed to my groin. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s get to it, bud!” I could feel Rick’s incinerating gaze on me as I made my way to the dumbbell rack. Okay, that could’ve gone better, but—those fucking pecs! I could watch those things dance all night long. What I wouldn’t give to grab a quick squeeze. Careful to give the fuming ape in the corner that was Rick a wide berth, I carried the two twenty-five pound dumbbells to a bench and positioned myself for a set of incline chest presses. By this point in my body transformation education, Charlie was confident enough in my abilities to leave me on my own while he rigorously threw himself into his own workout. As I laid back on the bench and raised the dumbbells, I gathered myself. The memory of last night's episode was still fresh in my mind, particularly the way my pecs had swollen and shrank right before my eyes. Was it safe to test them now? What if I induced another episode? But then I recalled Charlie’s bouncing pecs, how intoxicating a sight they had been, and with that image looping in my mind, I got to work. The strain and stretch of the ligaments in my chest was instantly intoxicating. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff. By the end of my first set, I could already feel a pump developing and flexed. Much to my surprise, I could practically feel an inrush of blood flood my chest. I even imagined I could feel the nutrients of my breakfast supplying me with additional energy. Halfway through my second set though, I dropped the dumbbells. I can go heavier, I thought confidently. I swapped the twenty-five dumbbells for a set of thirties and got back to work. I worked slowly, savoring the tension and resulting pump. By the end of my final set, I couldn’t wait to flex. God, my chest has never felt so big. Well...not since last night anyway. Charlie must have magic in those fingers! I flexed again, forcing more blood into my pecs. I eagerly moved onto a set of dumbbell flies, exchanging the thirties for a pair of thirty-fives. What's gotten into me? I was lost in my own world of iron, muscle, and grit, so much so that a half hour passed before I remembered Charlie again. My chest swollen and burning, I mopped my forehead free of sweat and scanned the gym for my favorite muscle-bound hunk. Given its economy size, Platinum Fitness Warehouse (slogan: “The West Coast’s Biggest Fitness Centers!”) had multiples of everything: multiple treadmills, multiple Smith machines…and multiple bench presses. I spotted Charlie at one, fervently pumping away. His engorged pecs filled his Under Armour shirt to straining and they seemed to puff up just a little bit bigger with every rep. His handsome face was dark with determination, his mouth a thin line of resolve and purpose. He was a sight to behold. I was not the only one watching him though. Planted on the bench beside him, Rick watched Charlie with plain envy and loathing. His chubby, unshaven jaw was rolling, his brow dark and brooding. With a deep, heroic grunt Charlie finished is last rep and racked the barbell. When he sat upright, I went lightheaded. Look at his pecs! Look how big and fat and round they look. Look at the way that hang down so huge and heavy. And—oh, fuck yes, he’s flexing them! “Phuh!” Rick harrumphed loudly, snapping me out of my daze. Charlie and I both glanced at him. His face had gone a deeper shade of red now, nearly purple, his mustache bristling. He glanced at the plates on Charlie’s barbell and then rose hastily and stacked two more twenty-five pound plates onto his own—exceeding Charlie’s barbell by a good twenty pounds. He dropped heavily back onto his own bench and turned to Charlie, meeting his gaze. And then he spat. In an instant I knew. Oh shit. A dark cloud passed over Charlie’s glistening, handsomely rigid face. Orange lightning flashed in his green eyes. He pointedly rose and grabbed two ten-pound plates to match Rick’s barbell. As he sat back down, Charlie met Rick’s gaze again. Flames practically sprang up between them. Automatically, I drifted toward them. As one, they fell back on their benches, gripped their respective barbells, and began. Their first dozen reps apiece went smoothly, but by the time they had rounded fifteen and moved toward twenty, they began to slow. “Grah!” Rick grunted. Charlie answered with a deep, “Urgh!” Rick’s arms began to quiver first, but only by a nanosecond. I watched in horror as Rick squeezed out a twenty-fifth rep to Charlie’s twenty-third. Come on, Charlie! Abruptly, Charlie racked the barbell. No! Don’t give up! I hadn’t realized it, but I was shifting from one foot to the other like a child watching a race, but I stopped as Charlie hauled himself upright, ostensibly beaten. He panted heavily. “Pah-ha!” Rick laughed through a pant. He eked out one last rep. “Fuck yeah!" Charlie rose, stretched…and moved to grab two more twenty-pound plates. YES! I pumped a fist into the air, not caring who saw, and moved closer. At the elliptical machines, the husband and wife pair slowed to watch as well. As Charlie loaded the two plates, Rick’s momentum and strength suddenly abandoned him. He watched, aghast, as Charlie lowered himself back onto the bench. “Raaah!” he roared, racking his weight. Not to be beaten, Rick swiftly loaded more plates onto his barbell. I quickly did the math in my head. Between the two of them, they were moving nearly 600lbs of weight. Plopping back down, he went to work, furiously pumping out reps to catch up with Charlie. “Grrr…come on, bitch!” he hollered. They combatted with animal ferocity, exhaling with explosive pants, grunts, and growls: a muscle-bound stallion going head to head with a thickset ape. I couldn’t look away. Charlie’s flawless skin was a deep red, a vein in his forehead thick and throbbing, threatening to burst with every rep. His green eyes burned with a laser focus. His jaw was clenched so tightly I feared his pearly teeth might shatter. Every muscle in his body bulged and swelled, but none more so than his pecs: each was tremendously swollen, the cables of muscle coursing through them plainly visible beneath his shirt. Beside him, Rick bellowed with bull-like intensity (“Grah! Urgh! Grah! Urgh!”), his face plum purple, his nostrils flaring madly. His own chest was impressively wide and rolling, though not nearly as defined. Sweat dripped freely from their benches. A pungent cloud of testosterone floated around them. Ten reps. Fifteen reps. Twenty. And then I saw it. A sudden shift of movement: Charlie’s hand slipping. With his grip interrupted, the bar dropped, plummeting toward his hugely distended chest. I nearly screamed. His reflexes were sharp though and he caught it a moment before it made contact—but not before losing his focus. The dark cloud that had passed over his face vanished. The indomitable gleam in his eye was replaced with a flash of fear. His jaw quivered. I moved toward him instinctively. His wide, wild eyes flicked toward me. I met his gaze. “You’ve got this," I said. The effect was instantaneous. The shadow returned, passing over his face. His trembling lips stilled and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a wry grin. The vein in his forehead resurfaced, bigger than ever, and his eyes clouded over with a tremendous determination that I would come to know all too well: a look that was at once vehement and unseeing, as if he were gazing into another world entirely. His gripped tightened on the bar and his whole body shuddered. And then it happened: the bar began to rise, slow and deliberate. Charlie’s pecs expanded with renewed vigor. Suddenly, a sound built deep within that incredible chest, low at first, but gathering like distant thunder. I recognized it instantly: the sound of encroaching victory. All at once it exploded past his lips. “GRAAAH!!!” Charlie bellowed madly, the sound drawing everyone in the gym to a halt. Beside him, Rick faltered, his arms wobbling madly. He hastily abandoned the barbell, racking it at twenty-nine reps. Seemingly wanting to make the point resolute, Charlie lowered the weight once more and, with all the fortitude of a conquering army, pumped out one last rep. When he finally let the weight crash down on the rack, it clanged thunderously. I instantly extended a hand to Charlie to help him upright. He nearly pulled me down with him. Sweat poured from his temples. “Thirty-one reps,” I announced. And all at once, there it was: that brilliant fucking grin of his. It blossomed across his face like sunshine, banishing the storm that had fueled him to victory. “That’s bullshit!” Rick exclaimed. He leapt from his bench and descended on me, a storm in his own right, his barrel-chest knocking into me and sending me stumbling. “You’re a fucking liar! Besides, I was benching for twenty minutes before you two even got here! I—I was at a disadvantage!” Charlie suddenly swept between us. He only had about an inch on Rick in height, but in that moment he seemed to tower over him. Their chests, broad as they were engorged, pressed against one another and all remaining space was filled with Rick’s wide stomach. “It’s over,” Charlie said coldly. “Move on.” Peering around Charlie’s widespread lats, I could practically see the machinations of Rick’s thought process. He could either stay and enter into an entirely new arena with Charlie or drop it…for the time being. His mustache bristled again, he grunted like a hog, and took a step backward. “I ain’t coming here anymore,” he announced to the room at large. I glanced toward the cardio section. The husband and wife had stepped off their ellipticals to watch. The woman on the stationary bike had even looked up from her People magazine. “This place has gone to the fucking dogs!” He turned and marched toward the locker-room, crashing through the door. No one moved as the metallic sound of slamming lockers echoed throughout the gym. A moment later he reappeared, gym bag and keys in hand. We all watched in silence as he stormed to his Tahoe, jumped inside, and rocketed out the parking lot, his tires screeching loudly. When the sound of his roaring engine finally faded into the distance, Charlie turned toward me. “You okay?” he said. Much overdue fatigue seemed to be crashing in on him. “Are you?” I asked. I suddenly realized that his newly inflated chest was on display mere inches in front of me, nearly double the size it had been before he started. I recalled the way his pecs had bounced and wondered what that would look like now that they were even larger. Hard as it was, I tore my eyes away from those splendid pecs and met his gaze again. Dark circles were forming under his eyes, his face was rapidly draining of color. He licked his lips. “I think…I think you’d better drive home,” he panted. I agreed instantly and helped him to the car. It wasn’t until his bulky, bulging self was safely stowed in the passenger seat and he was slipping into the deepest of slumbers that I realized that the place we were going, my house, was the place he had called home.

I locked my bedroom door behind me. Across the hall, I could hear Charlie moving in his own bedroom as he prepared for bed and wondered if he could hear my heart thundering in my chest. Every hair on my body stood on end. Every vein pulsed with electric adrenaline. That was…it was...I struggled to comprehend how Charlie’s touch had affected me so, had so effortlessly set my whole body on fire. I rubbed my butt cheek where Charlie had slapped it. Did he really just slap me on the ass? Mindlessly, I drifted to my bed and cracked open my laptop to continue grading the tests I had abandoned earlier in the evening. I automatically pulled up Google, but as I lowered my fingers over the keys of my laptop, I froze. I glanced at my locked door. Not fifty feet away, Charlie was probably lying shirtless—or, even better, nude—beneath my sheets. All that muscle, so temptingly close but so incredibly far away. His muscles were exceptionally erotic when they were rock hard and sweaty, but there was something especially sexy about all that bulk at rest. Just waiting to be touched. Just waiting to be squeezed. Before I could stop them, my fingers danced rapidly across the laptop’s keys. The results for “muscles” numbered nearly half a billion and brought up everything from Wikipedia entries on the anatomy of the human body to articles on how to exercise most effectively to gain the most muscle while losing the most fat. My fingers danced over the keys again. “Big muscles” revealed more enjoyable results. Exercise blogs, Tumblr pages filled with male models, articles on steroid usage and abuse, and pictures upon pictures of men who had transfigured their bodies into astonishing physiques I had previously thought impossible. Athletes. Weightlifters. Bodybuilders. Men with slabs of muscle that bulged and swelled over every inch of them, muscles so large their skins hardly seemed able capable of containing them. Their biceps seemed to rival the size of their heads. Their cannonball shoulders stretched their shirts to nearly ripping. Their chests protruded outward and upward into slabs of engorged pec meat. Familiar names like Schwarzenegger and Ferrigno were joined by other, new names: Yates, Coleman, Lewis, Heath. Here was a collection of men devoted to altering their bodies in remarkably bizarre ways, expanding their arms and legs and chest and backs to inconveniently enormous proportions. As I wondered what it what it would be like to be that massive, I continued surfing the internet for information on all things muscle. A hunger I did not know I possessed had flourished in me and I was desperate for more. Within minutes, I discovered an entirely different facet of the world of muscle and the men dedicated to growing them: the people dedicated to worshipping them. Videos of men literally slobbering over every inch of these brawny hunks with their mouths and tongues, pictures of bodybuilders morphed to impossible sizes, even websites devoted purely to fictitious stories about people mutating into muscular behemoths. I want more, I thought hungrily. More muscle. More size. I glanced at my alarm clock. Midnight. Where had the time gone? I had to be up in four hours for a brutal workout that I was suddenly desperate to undertake. If it’s painful, that just means it’s working. But sleep seemed impossible. My adrenaline had not diminished. If anything, it had doubled. I’m so fucking wired. I need to run. I need to lift. I need to…to… “Fuck,” I sighed. I wiped my forehead. When did it get so hot in here? I peeled off my shirt and scrambled to slide out of my pants. I suddenly realized that a hot sweat had materialized all over my body. Free from my damp clothes, I hurriedly continued through the images of men flexing their huge, veiny muscles. Man, I need to jerk off, I thought distantly. One shaking hand continued scrolling while the other dove into my underwear to free my cock. Unleashed from its confines, my cock rocketed to full length. I’m so fucking hard. I need to get off like right now. I started with soft, absentminded strokes. Slowly, I realized that my cock had never felt so hot to the touch. Burning practically. Every vein felt fat and throbbing. It feels so big. So thick. It hardly felt like my own cock at all. It was like jerking off someone else’s cock, but one that was attached to me. Or like jerking off for the first time all over again. “Uhnh!” I grunted as my cock lurched. My spine arched and my ass lifted off the bed. I could practically feel the tendons in my groin stretching to accommodate my eagerly expanding shaft. “Oh shit…” I gasped as my cockhead flared painfully. I glanced down at it. It was an angry shade of red I had never seen, mushroomed fatter than ever before. Whose cock is this? “Oh shit!” I gasped. Another sudden, lengthening lurch. Fuck I’m so hard it hurts. But I need to get off. I need to cum. With thoughts of fat, heavy pecs in mind, I gripped my raging cock more firmly. As if sensing my need, beads of pre-cum blossomed at the tip of my enflamed cock lips and dribbled down between my fingers and skin. Nothing better than nature’s lube. At my touch, my balls drew up close to my body. I squirmed at the sensation. “Uuhnh…” My balls suddenly felt so much heavier, so fat, as if they were housing twice their usual amount of cum. They rose and fell as I began smooth strokes down my granite hard meat. Need to cum. Need it now. I imagined my hot, white splooge shooting all over a pair of inflated pecs, my balls emptying into the vast cleavage of them. Nipples dripping with cum. My cock rocketed upward and outward once more, desperate for a hole to fill. “Oh shit!” In an instant, my resolve broke and I began jerking with wild abandon. Images of swelling biceps and forearms replete with ghastly veins flashed through my mind. My cock continued to expand with surging pleasure. Abs like steel raced through my head as my own clenched, signaling my balls’ impending release. I licked my lips. “Oh yes…oh yeah…” Tree-trunk quads thicker than my waist. Shoulders wider than doorframes. Arms bigger and thicker than most men’s waists. I needed them all. Needed to touch them. Big muscles. I shuddered as waves of pleasure emanated outward from my cock. I suddenly remembered Charlie across the hall, how close his own muscles were to me. How desperately I wanted to squeeze and feel them. Without warning, the first surge of cum suddenly exploded from my balls, raced up my fat shaft, and burst from my cockhead. It shot out in a thick rope, smacking my chin and splashing across my cheek. “Uhn uhn uhn!” My ass puckered as my abs clenched and the second, third, and fourth ropes of cum jetted out of my cock, hitting me in the chin, forehead, and nose. As my cock bucked with its last bit of release, splattering one final rope across my stomach, the rest dribbled down over my fingers. I collapsed backward onto my bed and sighed. My chest heaved. Hot cum dripped from my face. “What…was…that?” I panted. I shivered and twitched as my cock jumped with residual pleasure. I reached for my softening shaft, now hypersensitive, and shuddered as a shockwave of pleasure swept through my body again. The potent images of pecs and biceps and abs began to fade from my vision. In fact, my vision began to fade entirely. Blackness swam at the edges of my eyesight. Fatigue rushed in. With the comforting knowledge of Charlie’s muscles nearby and a stupid grin plastered across my cum-covered face, I slipped asleep.

Charlie Greene was nervous. It was an emotion that he had once been intimately familiar with, but he had not known deep anxiety in almost a decade, not since he entered the gym for the first time in his life and had begun building his strapping, muscular body. That it was this very sculpted torso of his that was the source of his nervousness only made him all the more anxious. He stood in front of the mirror and pinched the skin at his waist, frowning. His body fat percentage was undoubtedly in the single digits, he thought, but it had seemed nearer to ten than zero in recent years. He rolled the skin between his fingers and frowned more deeply, feeling the thinnest layer of fat between them. Objectively, he was as built as most men could hope to be, but the layer of fat that had begun forming around his middle and softening his abs concerned him. When had it formed? He had been eyeing his physique more actively in the past two weeks than he had in months. True, he had been eating more than usual, but that was only because he had been hitting the weights harder than usual. That, too, perplexed him though. Why was he abruptly lifting more? Going harder? Churning out an extra set almost every day? He met his own gaze in the mirror. Mechanically, he raised his arms into a double bicep pose and examined the ample peaks that formed. His biceps were easily as big and round as softballs. He hit a side tricep pose and watched as the impressive horseshoe shape flourished in his arm. He followed it with a front lateral spread, his V-taper suddenly more drastic, and finished with a most muscular pose, his shoulders and traps bulging impressively around his neck. Each pose looked as remarkable as ever, but…was there something different about them somehow? He flexed a bicep again and ran his hand over it, inspecting the fibers beneath his fingers. Now that he thought about it, lately his sleeves had felt a little tighter than usual, as if his arms were perpetually pumped. And, unless he was imagining things, his arm did feel more solid somehow. More dense perhaps. If only he could just that separation in his peak that other guys had… His phone vibrated on the sink, signaling a new text. In the lobby. Be up in five. “Tony,” he growled, and quickly pulled on his shirt. Why that vulture of a woman had demanded to see him on a Wednesday night—a night he could have otherwise used to entertain a client—was beyond him. It certainly wasn’t how Brett did things back in Chicago, he thought. A soft knock at the door a few minutes later signaled her arrival and he called for her to enter. Had she been a client, she would have found him partially nude at the foot of the bed, clad only in his underwear, one hand stroking his nipple or searching the confines of his underwear, coaxing his cock to a rock-hard erection…but seeing as this promised to be a purely business meeting, he had opted to slouch in a chair in the corner. “You’re looking a little under the weather,” she said, dropping her bag onto the bed. “I had hoped to use tonight for a more pleasurable purposes,” he said, smiling coldly. “Lucky you, this won’t take long,” she said. She stood before him, hands planted on her hips, scrutinizing him. He stared back determinedly. He was struck by a swift bout of self-consciousness and had the sudden urge to pinch at his waist again, as if sensing that she could somehow see the weight that had begun to form there. Finally, she turned to her bag and withdrew another of the small vials she had granted him with the last time they had met and held it out to him. “Your next dose.” But as he reached out to take the vial from her, she suddenly pulled it away. “No side effects yet?” she asked. “Seeing as I don’t even know what the hell that stuff is supposed to be doing for me, I can’t really say. So, no, I haven’t had any…” he started to say, trailing off. That wasn’t exactly true, he suddenly realized. He had been experiencing some changes, hadn’t he? The image of his fuller muscles reflected back at him in the mirror formed in his mind again, the way his arm had felt beneath his fingers, the way his poses had seem fuller. Nervously, he scratched at his waist and flexed his jaw. “Like I said,” he said, avoiding Tony’s suddenly curious gaze. “No side effects.” “Really?” she said, evidently surprised. He waited. “In that case…” She turned back to her purse, dug through it, and withdrew a second vial. “Let’s increase the dosage then,” she said. His smiled dropped. “What?” Pursing her lips, Tony slowly extended the vials of NPH-01. He took them. “You going to tell me what this stuff is?” he asked, pocketing the vials. “Or why I’m supposed to be taking it. Or what’s it supposed to do? Maybe I should check with a doctor first or something…” “Your job has a lot of perks, but knowing what I know isn’t one of them. And if you’re not already making regular appointments with your doctor, you’re in the wrong line of business, honey.” He swallowed slowly. “So we’re done here?” “I am,” she said, and grabbed her bag. “You’ll probably want to take care of that raging hard-on you’re sporting though. I’ve got a bottle of lube if you need some.” He merely flexed his jaw and shook his head. Flashing a poisonous grin, she waved him goodbye with her talon fingers as she flitted out the door, generously shutting it behind her this time. He waited until her footsteps faded from earshot before extracting the vials from his pocket. He stared at them lying innocently in his palm and wondered momentarily if he ought to go straight into the bathroom and empty their contents down the drain. A single dose had thrown his workouts into overdrive, sure, and it had also made his arms and the rest of muscles noticeably fuller, but it had also made him put on the damned unwanted weight around his waist that had set his nerves on edge. What would two vials of the mystery drug do? He didn’t want the bloated, off-season look off a weightlifter. He needed to stay trim and ripped, if not for his own satisfaction, then for that of his clients. The drain it was. He was halfway to the bathroom, however, when he stopped short. Granted, he didn’t need the translucent shit, whatever it was, but that certainly didn’t mean that someone else didn’t. And, more importantly, his curiosity had yet to be satisfied. To a man his size, the stuff would probably only make him look more swollen, but to someone who didn’t have any size to speak of? He tried to picture what Andy would look like with a good ten or fifteen pounds of muscle on his frame. Even if five of that were pure bloating, he thought, it would certainly make the thin little guy look more impressive. A smile flourished on his face at the thought and he replaced the vials in his pocket.

Charlie woke me promptly at 4:00am the next morning. The moment I lifted my head from my pillow and attempted to stir, I was alerted to the fact that I was sore in parts of my body that I never even knew existed. I stumbled into the kitchen groaning. The same spread Charlie had prepared twenty-four hours before greeted me once again. He wore the same outfit, an impossibly tight t-shirt and ass-hugging basketball shorts, that he had worn the day before. Were it not that he seemed to eat even more this time around, I would have sworn I was pulling a Groundhog Day. Oh, and if it weren’t for that my legs were killing me. The ache radiating in my demolished quads, calves, and hamstrings assured me that I had indeed truly worked out for the first time in my life the day before. I gritted my teeth as I sank gingerly into my chair, my ass cheeks were so tender. Breakfast was also accompanied by quasi-scientific explanation of the importance of nutrition from my new trainer/roommate. “Like, these pancakes aren’t just regular pancakes. They’re protein packed,” he said, as he shoved a forkful of the syrup-soaked flapjacks into his face. Meanwhile, I spooned my oatmeal reluctantly past my lips. If anything, I felt as if I was still somewhat full from the day before. Afterward, Charlie drove us back to Platinum Fitness Warehouse, once again excitedly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This time, he announced, we would be hitting chest and shoulders. And thus proceeded the first week. Each day we worked on a different body part and each day I stared amazed as Charlie not only vastly surpassed me in his athleticism and strength, but surprised himself as well. More than a few times a day he remarked that he couldn’t believe the strides in strength and endurance he was making. These remarks were usually accompanied by baritone grunts and growls, adamant shouts, and not-so surreptitious flexes in the full body mirrors at the gym. “Must be something in the air,” I said to him one day. “Air? Psh. Right,” he mumbled back. He was once again in the free weights section while I plowed away on an elliptical. Today was cardio for me, but once again he was furiously busting out concentration curls. As if those biceps aren’t big enough already—wait, what’re you saying? You’d love it if his arms were bigger. Stop complaining. It nevertheless struck me as odd that I had yet to see him perform any type of cardio, not even so much as a jog. How’s he keep his body fat so low? I guess when you look like that you can skip a day or two on the treadmill though. Or seven. After working out, Charlie and I drove back to my house to shower and get ready for the day. Because I had to report to work before him, I usually showered first. On this day, as the water warmed, I peeled off my sweat-drenched clothes and tossed them in the hamper. When I turned back to the mirror, I gave my body a quick glance. Although I had only been working out for a week, each and every workout had been rigorous, and the results were beginning to show. Nothing outlandish, but noticeable. My pecs were beginning to look more defined and while my abs weren’t visible, there seemed to be a little less flab around my waist. Still, I thought, you’re nowhere close to Charlie. Which wasn’t exactly fair, seeing as Charlie had a good ten years worth of workouts under his belt. Just imagine what you could have looked like if you hadn’t spent so much time with your nose buried in a book. Fishing the bathroom scale from the back of the towel closet, I stepped on and hesitantly watched the needle climb. 174 lbs. I heaved a huge breath and met my gaze determinedly in the mirror. “That’s all about to change.” My determination to transform my body was not the only thing growing within me. The affections that I harbored for the man who had decided to make me his personal project grew with each passing day. I stole furtive glances at Charlie whenever I thought I could get away with it: in the mornings over breakfast, whenever he turned his back to me at the stove or refrigerator, or in the evenings, as we sat in the living room watching television. The latter had become a frequent pastime of ours and though I was by no means a fan of ESPN, I gladly agreed to watch it to satisfy Charlie’s desire to stay glued to the channel. If it meant his eyes were on the screen while mine were on him, then I had no problem with it at all. He often propped one foot up on the coffee table, so that the leg of his shorts slid down his thick thighs, giving me quite a show out of the corner of my eye. But there were eyes on me as well, I soon discovered. “Have you lost some weight Mr. D?” Luke Freeman, a senior on the varsity basketball team, asked me one day as he turned in his test. “You look like you’ve been working out.” I glanced up at him, surprised. Luke was decidedly not one of my favorite students. He rarely ever turned anything in and when he did it was severely late. When I confronted him about his assignments, he usually dropped his head and scuffed his foot distractedly on the ground, shamed like a puppy. It was a sight to see. He was scarecrow thin and, at 6’5”, he towered over me like a man on stilts. “Uh, somewhat, yeah. Just a little,” I said, unsure how to answer. No-one had ever paid me the compliment before, let alone a student. “T-Thanks. Thank you for asking.” And an A+ for Mr. Freeman, I thought cheerfully as he sauntered back to his seat. Needless to say, as I strolled into the teacher’s room come lunchtime, I walked with a little more spring in my step and practically floated to my usual table in the corner. Even my typically bland bowl of brown rice and baked chicken that Charlie had prepared for me didn’t seem as unappetizing as usual. “Tell a girl how to join you up there on cloud nine or come back down to Earth.” I hadn’t even noticed as Lynn Richter, a junior biochemistry teacher and my usual lunch companion, approached. She settled into a seat across from me without invitation and began unpacking her salad and fruit, all the while cocking that curious eyebrow of hers. Her white blouse was, per usual, filled with her bountiful breasts, and even for a gay man, it was hard not to take a good long stare. “Spill.” “I was just paid a compliment earlier. That’s all.” “For an English teacher, you sure are lax on details.” I grinned. “Do you know Luke Freeman? Plays forward guard on the varsity team?” I started to say, before suddenly biting my lip. Now that I was actually about to verbalize it, it seemed odd to be so proud of the compliments of a seventeen year old high school student. Almost creepy. “He, uh…just said he can tell that my workouts have been paying off.” “Please. Don’t be so bashful,” she said, waving her fork flippantly. “At least your students actually tell you that you look good instead of drooling over you while you’re trying to teach them what an alkylate is. I mean it’s flattering in a way, to know that they’re probably making me a deposit in their spank banks, but it really impacts my professionalism sometimes. Besides, for a D-average student, he’s right. You do look good. What’ve you been doing?” “You…you noticed too?” I stammered, choking on a piece of chicken. “What girl wouldn’t notice when her favorite piece of unavailable ass improves?” Someone could just have easily lit my ears on fire, they felt so warm, but I nonetheless began to recount to her the routine the Charlie had put me on, the one that despite my initial misgivings, I had stuck to and which was now evidently paying off. “It’s brutal at times, but Charlie’s always going on about—” She raised her fork. “I’m going to stop you right there. You’ve mentioned this Charlie guy like four times in the past five minutes. Is he, like, your personal trainer or something?” I hadn’t even realized that I had dropped his name and quickly bit my lip. “He’s, uh, a private trainer, yeah. Anyway, he’s always telling me—” “But he’s also your roommate?” she interrupted again. I mentally kicked myself. How much have you blabbed, you idiot? Have you no filter? I started to open my mouth to spit out a convenient lie, but decided against. Of the few people who wouldn’t pass along sensitive information, I knew Lynn to be one of them, despite her playful attitudes. Heaving a sigh, I told her the Readers Digest version of how Charlie had so unexpectedly reentered my life…making sure to leave out the more lurid details. “Two questions,” she said, when I had finally finished. “Is he straight and is he available?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

Were anyone else in the room, they might have been impressed by the sheer luxury of it. The lights, though dim, accented the black silk sheets and pillowcases of the king-sized bed. On the mahogany nightstand, a sweating bottle of champagne rested in an ice-filled pail. A warm, near-cinnamon smell emanated from an out-of-sight candle. Pieces of strange, yet beautiful modern art perched in various places around the room. Amidst this all, spread-eagle on the bed, lay Charlie. He wore a look of sensual mastery, his green eyes trained on the woman standing at the foot of the bed, the corner of his mouth curled knowingly. Ever so slowly, his large, yet nimble fingers undid the buttons on his shirt with a dexterity that proved it was a practiced act. The crisp material fell open, revealing the white V-neck undershirt he wore beneath, the one that clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing his broad chest and washboard stomach. “Like what you see?” he asked, sweeping a hand over his abs. The woman stared at him hungrily, as if he were a piece of meat to be consumed. “I do,” she woman said. Satisfied with her response, Charlie moved his hands to his belt. “But I’m not a client.” Charlie froze, one hand on his belt buckle, the other on his left nipple, mid-coax. He cocked an eyebrow and let both of his hands fall to his sides. He heaved a sigh. “Tony.” The woman smiled acidly. “Brett said you’d be eager to please.” Charlie sat up right, jerking his shirt closed again, and began buttoning it. His nipples, already hard, poked against the material. “Leave it,” she said. “You’ll be taking it off in a second anyway. There are a few things we need to discuss first. Necessary details. It won’t take long. How much has Brett told you?” Charlie sighed heavily. “The general framework,” he said, letting his shirt fall open once more. He sank into a relaxed pose. Though it wasn’t meant to be erotic, merely comfortable, his finely muscled body made the pose inescapably sensual. “You loaned him your best earner a few years ago and now he’s repaying you in kind. Should I continue undressing?” “Just a second,” Tony said. “You know, you really ought to spell your name with an I. It’ll cause less confusion.” “Androgyny’s the new black, ” she said, turning her back on him. She wore black, snakeskin heels that sliced into the carpet as she turned and walked to the armchair on which she’d abandoned her purse. She began rifling through the designer bag, withdrew something, and turned back to him. “There’s more to the story than Brett’s told you, but I’m in no position to give you all of the details either. Suffice to say, he hasn’t sold you out. On the contrary. He’s the one doing me a favor, actually. Or will be, if you agree. And you will.” She crossed to the bed and stood, feet planted, in front of him like a sentinel. He couldn’t deny that she was one of the most imposing women he had ever seen, with her designer pantsuit and unsmiling expression. She had only the slightest hint of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but her skin was notably taut in other places, a telltale sign of Botox, he thought. He scanned her as best as he could without outright scrutinizing her from top to bottom and suddenly noticed a small vial in one of her hands, no larger than her pinky. He nodded at the vial. “Because of that,” he concluded. “Because of this, yes,” she said, and held it up to the light. It was full of what looked like water, though he noticed it was slightly thicker and more viscous, like corn syrup. “You have no idea what this is, so I won’t bother taunting you with the question. This is called NPH-01. And it’s about to make the both of us a lot of money.” He frowned. “So what is it? Liquid Viagra or something?” “Nothing as instantaneous as that, no. Think of it as a long-term investment.” She uncapped the small vial and waved it underneath her nose, her eyelashes fluttering sensually. She extended it toward him and he gently leaned forward to sniff it himself. It didn’t smell particularly sweet, more acrid than anything actually, but it did make his head swim. “The deal Brett and I made was this. If you agree to come over to me, you’ll work for me just like you did for him. Same hours, ten percent increase in pay. All you’ll have to do is take one vial of this once a week and report back to me any…developments. And it’s as simple as that. Do we have a deal?” He glanced at the vial again. It glistened lethally in her hand. He nodded. “Terrific,” she said, and recapped the vial. She tossed it to him and he slipped it into his pocket. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can move on to the examination.” “Examination?” he echoed. “Physical examination, yes. You’re working for me now and I always get to know every inch of my earners before I send them out. So let’s see that birthday suit.” The grin returned to the corner of his mouth. This was what he had come for. He lay back, spreading his legs wide once more, and gingerly began removing his shirt once more. The white undershirt clung to him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination when it came to the finely carved muscles beneath. One his hands drifted to his belt buckle, undid it, and slipped into his pants. Within thirty seconds, the shirt was cast aside, and his pants were unzipped and unbuttoned, sliding down his shapely, muscular legs. He worked leisurely, leaving as much to the imagination as he could while he could. Once the curtain had been raised on the show, reality set it. As impressive as the show would be, reality could never hold a candle to the fantasies people built up in their heads. Tony remained standing before him, one hand to her chin, eyebrow furrowed. She watched him like a fashion designer might a model, but instead of displaying his clothes, he continued peeling them off. An image of a vulture roosting on a dead branch flashed through his mind. She was dressed in a too-tight black dress, the string of white pearls around her neck hanging hideously between her breasts like a chain that might drag someone to the depths. Charlie paused briefly—this wasn’t work, as Tony had pointed out, but the dramatic pause only came natural to him when he was undressing, if he was being paid or not—before pulling off the undershirt. Her eyebrows rose. His chest demanded attention first. His two broad, firm pecs practically leapt into view, commanding any and all eyes present. They looked as delicately and diligently carved as a Roman breastplate and just as durable. A smattering of dark, trimmed chest hair spread evenly over the thick slabs of muscle, the hair darkening and thickening as it disappeared into his deep cleavage. And although it wasn’t remotely cold in the room, his nipples stood proudly erect. He ran his hand over his pecs, coyly brushing one of his nipples in mock absentmindedness and coaxing it on further. And as his hand made its descent, so did the attention it drew, guiding all eyes to the rippling six-pack that waited below. His abs, similarly sturdy-looking, were more deeply cut than his chest. Their deep, excessively pronounced shape and size was made even more apparent by the dark trail of hair that wound its way between them, a trail of hair that fanned outward as it neared his waistline… Her mouth moved into what he supposed was meant to be a smirk. “Pants.” Grinning wryly, he shimmied his pants off his ankles, hooked them with a toe and sent them sailing across the room to the bed, where they landed beside his shirt. So what if they got wrinkled? He was working now, damn it, and he would be damned if he was about to interrupt his performance. His thick, rolling thighs were lined with deep cuts of muscle. Without even waiting for Tony to prod him, he cupped his prominent package and gently squeezed it. It began to swell with the attention. “Eight inches,” he reported smugly. “I’ve been in the business easily over half of your life. They all say that. The truth lies in the tape,” she said, and opened her other hand. A length of tape unfurled and she tossed it to him. “You don’t want the honors?” he asked. He was nearly hard already, easily at seven inches, and all the clients that he had fucked with that prodigious dick had been more than pleased with it. Who was this bitch to pretend she didn’t want some too? “Oh, I’ve had my share, believe me.” She nodded at his crotch. “Continue.” Her expression did not change as she crossed her arms and watched his cock get lured into full rigidity and length. It was only once she expected his cock to finish thickening and it did not that she raised an eyebrow. Already as thick as the average man’s, it was giving every indication of being anything but average. Fatter and fatter it grew, the veins plumping as well, until it finally could swell no more. Dramatically, Charlie unraveled the measuring tape and placed one end in the midst of his finely trimmed pubic hair, firmly against his pubic bone. He stretched the other end toward the fat, mushroom head eight inches away. Evidently impressed, Tony waved him on. Charlie grinned wider and proceeded to wrap the tape around the broad, rock-hard middle of his cock. “Six inches thick,” he said. “You need a measurement on these too?” He cupped his balls. They, too, were proportionally larger than average balls, like grade-A eggs, but somehow less impressive beneath the stout cock they hung beneath. She raised a hand. “No need. Can you work any magic with that thing or are you a one-trick pony?” “Pony? Yes. One trick?” He hungrily grabbed his cock. “I don’t think so.” “I think I’ve seen enough for tonight actually, thank you,” she said hurriedly, and collected her purse. She made for the door. “You start tomorrow. I’ll text you with the usual details. I’ll finalize the rest with Brett.” “But…” he started to say. He gestured to his throbbing cock. The head was angrily red, demanding to service or be serviced. It would not be denied its due. “Oh, right. That. The room’s paid for, so have at it,” she said. She gave him one last glance over, a quick scan from head to toe. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said as she opened the door wide. A middle-aged couple passing by turned toward the open door absentmindedly—and suddenly stood aghast at the sight of such an exceptional naked figure gazing back at them. Looks of mixed repulsion and admiration spread on their faces. “Welcome to my agency.” She left the door open behind her. The couple hurried down the hall, whispering feverishly beneath their breath. Charlie hurriedly swept off the bed and strode to the door, his rigid cock pointing at the ceiling and slapping his abs as he slammed the door shut. He hated her. He hated her as much as he envied her. Hated the way she wielded her power over him, over a body as powerful as his. He raised an arm and flexed, grinding his teeth. His bicep pulled into a thick ball of muscle, the peak rising to a solid eighteen inches. He grinned darkly. He had more powered she in one arm that she did in her whole body, he was sure, yet she was the one who ordered him around. How fair was that? He crossed back to the bed, sat down, and jerked his fat cock in a business-like fashion. Not only had she lorded over him like a slave master, she’d gotten him all hot and bothered and then left him there to finish it off. Bitch. He grunted as he neared a climax, clenching his jaw, and his grin grew darker. She didn’t know what she was missing out on. Half of this down her throat or up her snatch and she’d be singing a different tune. When he was done, he showered and took the elevator to the first floor. Now that his erection had been satisfied, his anger had subsided. As he crossed the lobby, he caught sight of the middle-aged couple near the coffee machine and waved a hand in their direction affably. The wife raised a hand in return, but quickly pulled it back to her side as her husband glared. In the parking lot, he unlocked the trunk of his car and withdrew the duffle bag inside. He headed back upstairs, changed into the cargo shorts and Indianapolis Colts tee-shirt the duffle bag had to offer, pulled on a baseball cap, and slipped into a pair of gym shoes. It felt much nicer, he thought, but somehow odd. He wondered only momentarily if it was the same feeling secret agents felt when they had to juggle between disguises. He decided that it probably wasn't so and began folding the dress clothes. He had just begun to pick up his pants when he remembered the vial tucked away in one of the pockets. “The hell do you do?” he wondered aloud as he extracted the vial. He uncapped it and sniffed it again. Without a second’s consideration, he tossed back the contents like a shot. Twenty minutes later, across town, he pushed a shopping cart through the front door of Walmart. As bland an activity as shopping was, he privately enjoyed it more than he cared to admit. And because it was a secret pleasure, he appreciated it more. It was not the act of shopping itself that excited him, so much as it was the fact that he was the only human being in earshot that knew from where he had just been, what he had just done. To them, he appeared as nothing more than an exceptionally in-shape suburbanite. A father of four, maybe. A man who spent his days in the office, his evenings in the gym, and his weekends on the golf course. Who could guess he was a high dollar escort? Sure, his arms filled his sleeves generously. Yes, his shorts fit his ass like a glove. Neither, however, were an indication of the countless number of men and women had massaged, sucked, tickled, fucked, licked, and caressed over the past decade. Or the countless many more that would follow. At the checkout line, the cashier, a chubby young man who didn’t look a day over twenty-five, stopped in the middle of scanning the carton of eggs Charlie had dropped onto the conveyor belt and glanced at the rest of the contents of the grocery cart. “You a bodybuilder or something?” he said, impressed. Charlie looked down at the items: two cartons of liquid egg whites, four containers of baby spinach, a jumbo-sized package of frozen chicken breasts, two grapefruits, and a dozen other equally healthy and organic food stuffs stared back. He flashed that grin he knew to be overwhelmingly charming and said, “Not me, no,” he chuckled. “This is for a friend.”

"You want me to stay with you?” he said. I stared back at him, my stomach twisting and tightening. The corners of his full, pouting lips, lips to make Tom Hardy envious, slowly pulled down into a frown. In the warm, midday sunlight streaming through the window, I could trace every contour of his face. The faintest trace of stubble darkened his thick, square jaw. Five o’clock shadow on a marble sculpture. “I mean, just until you can, you know, find a place,” I said quickly. “Just so you’re not, you know, spending all your money on a hotel room. I’ve got an office that I’ve been meaning to turn renovate, but I never got around to it, so—” Shut up. You’re blathering. I could hear myself, but I couldn’t stop. He rolled his thick, muscled jaw and suddenly the frowned melted away. “I don’t want to put you out or or anything…” he said slowly. I was dumbfounded. Truly and wholly dumbfounded. Nonetheless, I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a sound, the waitress suddenly materialized beside us again. “Two medium steaks,” she said, her eyes glued on Charlie. “You sure can eat a lot, mister.” “One of those is his actually,” he said affably, nodding toward me. “Oh, of course. Silly me. I just saw those big arms of yours and assumed all this protein was for you,” she said, in what was an obviously rehearsed, though poorly delivered, pick up line. She never glanced my way. His smiled dropped away. “Right. Thanks.” She lingered for a moment longer, but when Charlie dove into his steak, she sighed and turned on her heel to march away, tossing an angry glare at me over her shoulder. Normally, I would have felt triumphant in that moment, but I was still wordlessly in awe of my own luck. “So, this spare room…?” he prompted me between mouthfuls. I could see the muscles in his jaw twitch and roll as he chewed and absentmindedly brushed my own cheek. Did I even possess those muscles? If I did, they were so underdeveloped that they were practically nonexistent. The veins in the back of his hands and forearms swelled as he deftly handled his fork and knife, begging to be traced beneath my fingers. “Oh, right,” I said, pulling myself back to the conversation. “You. Me. Living together—beside one another, I mean. In the same house, but...different rooms. Right.” “I wouldn’t be imposing? You’re sure? I mean, your boyfriend wouldn’t mind…?” I frowned. “I’m not…uh, seeing anyone right now, no.” He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but stopped and returned to his steak. I suddenly realized that I had yet to touch mine, so I mimicked him, carefully training my eyes on my plate as I cut the slab of meat into bite-sized pieces. Below the table, my erection had subsided, a combination of the sheer surprise and disbelief I was experiencing and the anxiety now coursing through my veins. This bubble’s about to pop, I thought. Any second now, so don’t you dare start buying into this dream you’re having. You’ll wake up any second now. But there was no bubble, so it did not pop. We ate in relative silence, occasionally tossing in a meant-to-be-humorous story about some circumstance we had recently encountered, but the humor was lost on the both of us. I didn’t know what he was feeling and I was sure I didn’t want to. I certainly didn’t want him to know what I was feeling. A half hour later the waitress returned, noticeably less genial, and dropped our check onto the table. Charlie quickly snatched it up. “Let me,” he said. “My treat.” I reached for the check, but he swiftly pulled it out of reach. “I invited you,” he said. “It’s on me.” “Save your money. You need it.” He cocked an eyebrow. “For what?” “You don’t think I’m not going to charge rent, do you?” He tossed back his head and laughed a deep, booming laugh that I could feel in my own chest. I felt my cock began to stiffen again. Shit, we’re going to have to work something out. You can’t have me yo-yoing back and forth this much. My blood pressure can’t handle it. * * * We agreed that he would move in the following Wednesday. I explained that despite the fact that I did have a spare room, it was full of junk and needed cleaning out. Though he offered to help, I refused and spent the next three days slaving away after I got home from work to make sure that the room was in shape for his arrival. Truthfully, however, I worked more on the rest of the house. I wanted to rid it of as many ostensibly “gay” things as I possibly could before he moved in. The memory of that spring night oh so long ago danced at the back of my mind. Granted, Charlie had seemed ostensibly more accepting of my sexuality than he had when I had seen him last, but I knew that everyone had their limits. So I packed up nearly half of my DVD collection, books, and music and stowed them in the attic. On Wednesday afternoon, as I settled into the teacher’s lounge for my tuna sandwich lunch, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. The rough callouses that covered it were perceptible even through my shirt and the fingers that gripped my shoulder dug into it unnecessarily hard. Dark black hair covered the huge knuckles. I frowned. “Mind if I join you?” he said, dropping into a seat before I could answer. There are certain obvious disadvantages to moving back to your hometown after graduating college. In addition to the fact that you never get to truly experience what the rest of the world has to offer, you may have the displeasure of having to end up working with someone you have despised since high school. For me, that person was Rick Hockstetter. “I was actually hoping for a little alone time today,” I said flatly. “Contemplating that big move-in later today?” he asked. My head instantly swung toward him. “How do you know about that?” I demanded. Rick was the obligatory combination of gym teacher/football coach/asshole. A part of me had always thought that he must have taken pride in the image because he tried so ridiculously hard to maintain it, what with his perpetual basketball shorts and the whistle dangling around his thick, bullish neck. But another part of me thought it was sad. Then I remembered that I was an English teacher who wore glasses and fantasized about someday becoming a famously published author and realized that I was as much a cliché as he was. I tried to interact with him as little as I possibly could, but work and the fact that we lived a small town made it frustratingly impossible sometimes. “This is a small town,” he said, as if reading my mind. “People talk too much.” “Evidently,” I said coldly. “Can I help you with anything else?” He chuckled and scratched his hairy, unshaven cheeks with one of his ape-like hands. “As a matter of fact there is,” he said. “I was just wondering who this Prince Charming is?” He was a high school football star gone to seed and, as such, had a barrel chest that would have been impressive were it not undermined by the large, beer gut that jutted out beneath it. Every inch of him was covered in hair—this I had learned after an unfortunate run in at the local gym’s locker-room—and seemingly growing hairier by the day. He was the only man I had ever met who could shave one day and have a full lumberjack’s beard three days later. He had actually been pretty attractive when we were high school and (gag me with a spoon for saying this) I had even had a slight crush on him back then. Experience and time had sobered me up though, and I could never feel anything but repulsion for him since. Before I could answer, he laughed raucously, stood, and slapped me on the back. “Have fun with your new boy toy,” he said, loudly enough for the rest of the room to hear, and then he rose from the chair and lumbered out of the room, belching underneath his breath. I spent the rest of the day wondering just how Rick had known Charlie was moving in. Sure it was a small town, but it wasn't like I had advertised Charlie’s arrival with a neon sign. There was no stopping the rumor mill once it was in motion though; soon, everyone would know. Which I honestly didn’t mind for my own sake as much as I did for Charlie’s. If he heard that people thought we were together, I feared that would run him off before we’d even had the chance to…To what? Fuck each other’s brains out? He’s straight, remember? After school, I raced home and did one last check of my house. Charlie was due to arrive at approximately 4:30, seeing as he was due out of his hotel room at 3:45. I walked through the door at 3:05 exactly. Everything seemed in order when I scanned the house, but I knew myself well enough to know that I had forgotten something. Before I could check a third time, the doorbell suddenly rang. I froze in place. I opened the door and my stomach turned over at the sight of him. He wasn’t wearing a polo shirt this time, but khaki chinos and a powder blue dress shirt. The top three buttons of said shirt had been left undone, revealing an all-too-noticeable line of cleavage in his thick chest. The sweeping curve of his upper pecs were as deeply tanned as the rest of him. I quickly tore my gaze from his chest and met his eyes. “I’m early, I know,” he said, smiling apologetically. “You look...unprepared.” For you? Always. “No, I just got off work. School. Same difference. Do you need me to help you carry stuff in?” Like he needed my help; he looked as if strenuous physical labor was part of his profession. The moment I had opened the door, however, I had caught strong waft of his cologne, a pungent musty smell that somehow reminded me of leather and wood, and I decided that I hadn’t quite had my fill of it yet. I followed him out to his car, catching furtive glances of his wide back and even wider shoulders. He’s taller than he used to be. Or maybe I’m just shorter. He’s thicker, that’s for sure. So why not taller too? He had surprisingly few possessions and we managed to get all of it into the house in just a few trips. We deposited the few boxes, bags, and suitcases into the room across the hall from my bedroom. When he had finished, I dropped onto the couch, embarrassingly tired. He remained standing, powerful hands planted on his waist. “Do you want a beer?” I offered. “No thanks. I don’t drink. Empty calories,” he said. “Water?” When I returned from the kitchen, beer and water in hand, I found that he had taken a seat on the couch himself, his hands folded placidly in his lap. His handsome, impeccably clean-cut look was at odds with my drab, secondhand furniture and décor. It looked like I was entertaining a celebrity whose car had broken down outside of my house and needed to use my phone. “You’re very healthy,” I said conversationally, handing him the glass of water. “I just mean, I noticed that you eat well. And you said you don’t drink. You work out a lot?” Dumbest question ever. Obviously he works out. Look at that body. “Whenever I can fit it in,” he said. I couldn’t decide if that meant he didn’t get to work out as much as he would like or whenever he had the free time, but didn’t ask. “What about you? Do you work out?” Second dumbest question ever. Look at my body. “I used to, but…but not in a while. My gym membership expired and I never, uh, renewed it.” Something behind his green eyes flitted to life and I mentally checked myself to make sure that I hadn’t said anything remiss or given a wrong impression. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said suddenly. “It’s kind of crazy, but hear me out.” He grinned excitedly, that fucking brilliant smile flourishing on his face, and I shifted in my chair to hide the erection I could feel growing in my pants. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled back his sleeves, revealing those thick forearms that strained the fabric. Again, I noticed the veins snaking around those thick, meaty slabs. His arms were lightly covered in hair. I hadn’t noticed before, given that the hair was blond, but sunlight was streaming through the window and illuminating them golden. I wanted to take a tape measure to every inch of him just to see how extraordinarily thick those pythons were. “How about I become your personal trainer? I’ll be living here anyway, so it’ll be easy to keep you accountable and that way I’ll be like your live-in personal trainer,” he explained. “You won’t have to pay or anything. In fact, I’ll be paying you, since I’ll be paying rent. I used to do some training when I lived in Florida for a little bit. What do you think?” He moved his hands animatedly as he spoke. I had forgotten how much of a kid he seemed to me whenever he got truly excited by an idea—which was ironic, given that I felt like a gawking teenager whenever I was in his presence. A sort of light erupted behind his eyes, as if he had stumbled across the world’s greatest prospect, and seemed to radiate out from every pore of his body. His skin even seemed to glow a little bit, but they may just have been his golden tan. “Can I sleep on it?” I asked, my mind on the rapidly stiffening rod in my pants. I need to jerk off; take this edge off. “Oh come on, man,” he said, and reached out to slap my leg. My knee threatened to buckle beneath the effortlessly strong gesture. He is taller. He has to be if he can reach all the way across from there and touch me. But if he touches me again, I might just blow. “It’ll be great. Like old times when we used to hit up the gym. Are you telling me that there isn’t some part of your body you don’t want to improve? Because I don’t believe that for a second. Every guy wants a little more or a little less somewhere.” The “old times” to which he was referring were perhaps great in his mind, but not so great in my own. On the rare occasion that I had accompanied him to the gym, I had spent the hour or so gently passing the time on a stationary bike while he sprinted himself to death on the treadmill. I hardly ever broke a sweat and he always came away drenched. Soccer and cardio had done wonders for his body back then, but he had evidently traded them in for some time pumping iron as well. The treadmill had given way to dumbbells; you’d have to be a dumbbell yourself not to realize that. Think about it though. If you like what you see now, just imagine what that body will look like when it’s wearing Under Armour. And if you lose a few pounds in the process, you’re better for it in the end. It’s a win-win situation. “Okay,” I said automatically. “Sweet!” he exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. My cock suddenly rocketed to its full length at the sight of his arm straining his sleeve and I smiled weakly to hide my grimace. “Man, this is going to be awesome. Just like college, but better. I know a shitload more than I did back then. You’re going to love it.” I suspected that he had been waiting to say the latter part of that statement since we had met, a sort of humble brag that I could not exactly blame him for; I know I would have bragged some if I had a body like that. I also realized that a part of him that I had only caught glimpses of when I had known him before had grown more virile in my absence. He had always been athletic, but almost never a jock. Almost. Occasionally, whenever he had gotten in a particularly good workout or won a game, the jock in him would make an appearance, but he usually quelled it fairly quickly. I wondered how much potent it had gotten since I had seen him last. “So, we’ll start tomorrow!” he said, smacking his palms together. “I—what?” I stammered. “I don’t know about that. I…have school and then essays to grade and…” “Come on, man,” he said. “Don’t you want abs like these?” In one swift movement he leaned back, untucked his shirt, and pulled up to reveal the most beautiful six-pack I had ever seen. Each slab of tightly packed muscle was a miniature brick trapped beneath his skin. And unlike other six-packs I had seen, these were perfectly symmetrical. Each palm-sized slab of muscle was perfectly aligned to the one beside it. And to top them off, a dark trail of hair coursed through the deep cut between them, drawing my gaze down, down, down toward his crotch… My own crotch was uncomfortably full and tight. I shifted in my seat. I licked my lips, finding them suddenly dry as sandpaper. “Impressive,” I said, in what I hoped was a flippant tone. As if I saw such marvels every day. “You could have abs like these, man,” he said. He dropped his shirt, his beautiful washboard stomach vanishing. “With me as your trainer, it’s a guarantee. But we need to start ASAP.” I nodded distantly. In that moment, I would agreed to anything he said, I was so mesmerized.