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Showing content with the highest reputation on 03/29/2024 in all areas

  1. The barn turned out to be Sam’s favorite place to train. He could do two hours of squats without having to worry about hogging the squat rack. He kept buying more weights, and used them to keep increasing his previous record. He challenged himself to squat until he puked, and then he could go outside and wretch his guts out without bothering anyone. Afterwards, his abs would spasm from the exertion, and his absurdly pumped legs would barely function. He’d hobble over to the Subzero refrigerator he and Kurt had installed. The only thing inside it was shelves full of antique glass bottles filled with the herbal concoction from Kurt’s ranch. Sam would down a bottle, then go over to the mattresses and crash out for a twenty minute power nap. When he would wake up, his legs were more pumped than ever, but they were no longer sore. He’d feel the veins that snaked down his quads, feeding his muscle. Then he’d grope his own ass and enjoy the hardness of it, the size of it. He swore his butt was gaining an inch of muscle with every leg workout. One day when he woke up from his nap, Kurt was standing over him. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Kurt said. Looking up at the towering, strapping sportscaster from the mattress on the ground was disorienting enough, but as Sam’s eyes focused, he saw the Kurt was holding something by his side. Something big. “I brought you a Valentine’s gift,” said Kurt proudly. He was holding a thick rope. A rope he had used to hogtie Hank with and bring him to the barn. The big arm wrestler had an apple stuck in his mouth and looked like a pig, ready for the spit. Kurt was holding him off the ground like a gym bag. “Oh my god, you didn’t kidnap him, did you?” Sam asked, sitting up. “Well, he didn’t exactly want to come voluntarily. So I used a little…coaxing. I decided to hogtie the little hog farmer.” He started lifting Hank up and down by the rope, using the 240lb meathead for one-arm curls. Hank was trying to talk, but the apple was wedged in deep, so all he could do was make grunting sounds. He did sound like a pig. He kind of looked like a pig too, with his pug nose, beady eyes, and ruddy, rounded face. Kurt walked over to the boxing ring and tossed him in. Kurt climbed in after him, and started untying him. “Come on in, I wanna watch you play with your new toy,” he said to Sam, as he tossed the rope aside and stripped Hank’s clothes off. Hank stood up, buck naked, a big bloated sack of over-roided muscle with a big set of pig nipples capping his broad chest. He took the apple out of his mouth. “I’ll get you for this,” the naked arm wrestler hissed. “Kurt, he’ll go to the police,” said Sam, walking over to the ring. “Nah,” scoffed Kurt. “What’s he gonna tell them, that the big scary man took him away for a boxing match? That’d be great for his reputation as a tough guy arm wrestler. Besides, he dropped out of the competition, claims his arm is injured, so what else does he have to do with his time? He didn’t come all the way from Georgia just to wank in his hotel room.” Sam climbed into the ring and looked Hank over. He had to admit, he was loving the idea of sparring with the cocky bloated juice head. Sam had been honing his skills, sparring with Kurt, and some guys from his gym. He discovered that his reflexes were faster, his punches more accurate, than when he was in college. And his strength, well, he had three times the strength he’d had back then, plus a hundred pounds more muscle to back his punches with. “I tell you what,” he said to Hank, “you do ten minutes of bare knuckle sparring, and I’ll take you back.” Hank looked at the handsome face across from him, and decided he could mess that pretty boy face up real good. All his years of training for arm wrestling, and he had forearms that were bigger than most guys’ biceps. One good punch, and he could smash his nose in. Then he’d go after the big freak that kidnapped him. Hank put up his fists and said, “Ok, deal.” But then Sam pulled off his oversized hoodie and tossed it out of the ring. “Fuck,” said Hank, his eyes widening, as he soaked in the vision of Sam’s 280lbs of shredded, veiny muscularity. Sam made his muscles ripple up and down, the fibers popping out all over, tight as harp strings. “Jeezus fuck,” said Hank, backing up. But before he had a chance to flee, Sam was on him, jabbing him with rapid fire body shots. Sam’s fists landed on the bulky farm muscle until Hank’s thick torso was welted and red. “Hit him back, Champ,” encouraged Kurt, and Hank took a couple of wild swings which Sam dodged like he had Spidey sense. knocking Hank off balancing and down to the mat. Sam helped him up, then let him hit him with some body shots, but Hank’s thick arms were no match for the armor plated torso of the musclebound weatherman. Especially his abs. Repeated blows to Sam’s midsection produced no results for the hapless arm wrestling champ. Then Sam returned a series of punches to Hank’s face, not hard enough to break bone, but hard enough to sting. Hank tried to block the blows with his hands, but Sam just maneuvered around him and kept jabbing, disorienting the younger man. Overwhelmed by the blows, Hank’s hands fell, and Sam kept jabbing, one stinging punch after another, until Hank’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the mat. They had been sparring for less than three minutes. Sam hadn’t even broken a sweat, but it was pouring off Hank and puddling around him. Sam knelt down beside him. “You ok, dude? You don’t look so good.” Hank was trying to remember where he was. Kurt threw a towel into the ring, and Sam started toweling Hank off. Hank’s body odor was rank, but it was turning Sam on. And as Sam rubbed down Hank’s balls, Hank groaned. He felt confused. Normally he would clock a guy for touching him anywhere, let alone his balls, but this was turning him on. Sam ran the towel down Hank’s ass crack, and Hank groaned more. Hank’s butt was furry, broad, and solid. A concrete block of ass. No one had ever touched it before, and it was making him bone. Sam tossed the towel aside and started massaging Hank’s hard glutes with his hands. “This is not my scene,” Hank said unconvincingly. “Ok,” said Sam. “Then how about this?” Sam rammed his index finger into Hank’s hole. “Oh fuck,” said Hank, his sphincter muscle clenching around Sam’s finger. Sam pushed in deeper and started flicking Hank’s prostate. Hank almost came. “Oh my fucking god,” he gasped. “Yeah? You like that? You want me to keep going?” asked Sam. “Oh fuck yeah. Go. Go go go.” “If you like this, I got something that’s gonna make it feel even better,” said Sam, whipping out his dick with his free hand. As he stroked himself hard, Hank looked back and saw the size of it. His sphincter twitched with fear and anticipation. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but Hank flopped his arms over the bottom rope of the boxing ring, and the formerly cocky alpha presented himself to Sam like a beta baboon. From outside the ring, Kurt had been stroking himself too, as he watched Sam enjoying his Valentine’s present. He grabbed a bottle of posing oil they used for Sam’s contest prep, and tossed it to Sam, who used it to lube his eleven inch cock. Then he proceeded to breed his Valentine, brutalizing Hank’s oversized roided ass for the next hour and a half. When he finished, Sam pulled Hank off the ropes and flipped him onto his back on the mat. He straddled his new toy. Hank’s breath smelled like Red Bull and Skoal, neither of which Sam liked, but he found himself wanting a taste. He leaned down and kissed the battered redneck on the mouth. Hank couldn’t believe he was being kissed by a huge muscle dude and liking it so much. He couldn’t believe he just took a huge dick up his ass and liked it so much he was aching for more. His whole body throbbed in pain, but he liked that, too. He felt up Sam’s huge arms and flaring back muscles as they kissed, and he started getting hard again. All that size and power controlling him like a toy. He didn’t want it to end. And now, the massive hairy beast that kidnapped him was climbing into the ring, and headed over to them, looking like he was ready to own them both. Best Valentine’s Day ever.
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  2. Once they got to Kurt’s place, the onslaught on Sam’s ass continued. Kurt had the stamina of a rutting bull. He only needed about five minutes between rounds before he was ready to go again. He made the doors and windows rattle with his powerful thrusting. By the end of the night, Sam was exhausted and bruised, but in a state of utter bliss. The sheets on Kurt’s bed were tousled and soaked with sweat. The mattress was askew, and the headboard had broken off the bed frame. When Kurt got up and left the room, Sam fell asleep. He woke with a start to find Kurt looking down on him, dressed in his powerlifting suit and weight belt. “I’m going to lift,” said Kurt. He took a swig from an old fashioned glass milk bottle. He handed Sam another bottle. “I brought you something to drink,” he said. “What is it?” asked Sam. “It’s an herbal protein shake. I get it shipped in from my ranch. My foreman is descended from a long line of Cherokee medicine men, so I’m not sure what’s all in it, but there must be a ton of protein and anti inflammatory herbs, because the stuff works like a charm. Drink it down, it’ll help cure what ails you,” chuckled Kurt. The liquid looked creamy, with a slight green tint. Sam took a sip. “Not bad. Kinda like kefir, only saltier.” Sam drank more. “Finish it up, then get some sleep. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.“ Sam watched Kurt swagger out of the room, his huge glutes rolling as he walked. How the hell did he have the energy to go lift after the night they’d had, Sam wondered. He finished up the thick herbal shake, then laid back and went to sleep. He fell into a deep sleep, melded with dreams of growing bigger and stronger. Swelling with mass. Gaining the strength of Superman. Becoming unstoppable. Godlike. “Whoa,” said Sam as he woke up and realized that four hours had passed. He felt amazing. Energized and rested. And hard. He sat up and remembered that he had a workout session with his trainer in less than an hour, so he got dressed. He’d shower after his workout, he decided, because he was so charged up to lift. Kurt still wasn’t back, so Sam texted him. “Headed out. ttyl.” Kurt answered back that his workout was running long. “I boxed up 6 bottles of the drink if you want them. They’re in the kitchen.” Hell yeah, he wanted them. Sam grabbed the box off the kitchen island, and took off. He rushed home and got his gym bag, then went to the gym. He changed into his workout gear in the locker room, then went to the front desk, where Omar, his trainer, was waiting. “Right on time,” said Omar. “You ready for this?” “More than ready,” said Sam, who was buzzing with adrenaline. Ten minutes into the session, Omar said, “You weren’t kidding about being ready. You sure seem to have your focus back.” “Yep,” said Sam, already feeling the pump building. “Hey, your bruise is gone,” said Omar, nodding at Sam’s arm. And so it was. Sam hadn’t even realized. All the fresh bruising from last night’s rampage were gone, too. Instead, there was a thick biceps vein running down his arm, a vein he’d never had show before. “Damn, bro, you’re looking jacked,” said Omar, as he also noticed the vein. “And we haven’t even done arms yet.” Sam grinned broadly. He couldn’t wait to hit arms, but they still had to get thru his back routine, and he was going to blast his lats and traps like never before. Forty-five minutes later, Sam was raging. He’d done set after set to failure, then had Omar help him rep out forced reps of each exercise. Then Sam stood up and looked in the mirror. He had on an oversized tee, but his shoulders spread out wider than he’d ever seen them. He pulled his tee off over his head and tossed it on a bench. His gym was upscale and a little uppity, so going shirtless was against the policy, but he wasn’t worried about any rule. He was Sam the Weatherman, and he had to see. His traps were rising up like bread loaves. “Fuck yeah,” he said. Then he put his fists on his waist and spread his back out. “Holy shit,” he said. Now he knew why bodybuilders called them ‘wings’. “Dude,” stammered Omar. “What the fuck…that’s the sickest pump I’ve ever seen.” Despite having just been training back, Sam’s pecs were pumped heavy. He turned sideways and flexed into a side chest pose. His chest rose like balloons. Even his nips were pumped. Omar staggered back up against an exercise machine. “Godammm, I’m a good trainer,” he said. Sam laughed. “Aw yeh you are. Now let’s do arms.” They did extra sets and reps for every exercise, then Sam had Omar add more arm exercises that he had never done, like hammer curls, reverse curls, one-arm preacher curls. When they finished, Sam’s arms were throbbing. His forearm veins had veins. When Sam flexed, his arms bunched up into perfect cannon ball shaped mounds. “I knew you had good genetics for this, man, but this is other-world shit. I’ve never seen your body respond like this.” Sam knew that Omar had four kids with three different women, but he was definitely chubbing up to Sam’s muscles. “Lemme take some pictures,” Omar said, and he pulled out his phone and eagerly snapped shots of Sam in different poses. “Dude,” Omar said, “look at your back.” Sam looked at his back pic on the phone and said, “I didn’t know the back had that many muscles.” “Yours does,” said Omar. “Mind if I post some of these on my Instagram account? I’ll get a shit ton of new clients.” “Knock yourself out. But does that mean I get a discount on my sessions?” Omar’s training rates were not cheap. “Dude, I’ll train you for free from now on if you keep this shit up. And I am definitely entering you into that bodybuilding contest I told you about.” Sam laughed. “We’ll see,” he said as he put on his shirt. “But now I’ve got somewhere to go.” They shook hands, and Sam went out to his car. He texted Kurt. “U home?” Kurt answered back yes, and Sam told him he was coming over to show him something. Kurt said great, and said he’d make them something to eat before they went into work. Sam said great, and he took off for Kurt’s. His arms were so freakishly pumped that he could barely steer. He smiled devilishly as he gripped down on the steering wheel and made his rippling bands of veiny forearm muscle clench like steel, and his pecs press together like grinding boulders. Kurt was in for quite a show.
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  3. Read Part One HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Two The bed shook, the headboard banging against the wall. Big Ben liked having his fraternity brothers know when he was beating the monster. His battleship-sized feet hung off the end, his 50 inch TV blaring out the moans of some porn he’d stolen from another brother. But in Big Ben’s huge meaty hand was his phone, a blond twink choking down a fat cock drawing all of the giant linebacker’s attention. His other hand was furiously pounding at this swollen meat stick; his hearty bull nuts bouncing against the sweaty sheets. A load of cum was already drying on his heaving pecs. Big Ben was so grateful he wasn’t hairy. The flood of cum he shot every time he jacked off would’ve been hell to clean up. The look of his pecs having rich brown hair on would be sexy, and it only made Big Ben jack off harder. The room reeked of him, he was still covered in the gunk and sweat from practice the night before. He’d shower after he had come. After that he would wipe down his pecs, wishing he could get some guy to do it for him. He’d returned from practice and slept the rest of the day, more exhausted than usual. He could hear his brothers starting to wake, it was nearly time. Big Ben always timed his pre-shower strut so that he caught a couple of his brothers waking up. His heavy footfalls getting their attention as they wiped sleep from their eyes. They always laughed, though Big Ben could see some fear in their eyes as he thudded down the hall. Comments like, “Thank fuck my girlfriend isn't here” or “Taking the beast for a walk huh” would be uttered. Big Ben would just grunt or make some comment about the guy’s girlfriend. Then he’d get into the shower and as silently as possible he’d cover the tiles with cum thinking about doing the same to his fraternity brothers faces. Big Ben bit his lip as he shot. Cum splattering over the cold load from before, his balls unleashing an epic load. But Big Ben sat bolt upright, his hand looked odd on his cock, his fingers were wrapped around his fat cock, still rock hard and waiting to go for two or three more times. His fingers though were touching they hadn’t touched since he was 15. The floor shook as he got to his feet, wiping the cum off his thick chest with his blanket. He looked down as his now soft cock, the shock having killed his boner. It looked slimmer, not as salami fat as it used to. Even though he was near to grazing his head on the ceiling and making the oak floor struggle under his weight, he, Big Ben, the hulking linebacker, felt small. He grabbed his jockstrap from the floor and gave it a sniff, holding the reeking pouch against his face. The musk, his musk calmed him, the cotton tickling his stubbled jaw. He pulled it on, heading to the shower as quick as he could, for the first time in his life not wanting to be seen. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Melvin woke not to the sound of Chris’ alarm waking him hours before he needed to be woken, but to a horrific painful smell in his nose. He coughed and spluttered as he breathed in, it tasted like a locker-room. Reminding him of the smell of his fingers after handling Big Ben’s jock strap. “Good you’re awake” Chris said, he was already dressed and looked like he was heading out. Melvin let out some sort of sound that was meant to be words, but he was still too tired. “I’m going to check in on the jocks, I’ve got an hour or so spare.” He grinned, “Oh and check out Bert.” Melvin blinked a few times trying to get his eyes used to the bright light, Chris had opened the curtains and Melvin was blinded. He watched as Chris left, slamming the door. Melvin climbed out of bed, his baggy pajamas hiding his frumpy shape. He popped open a window. Must be the elixir making that smell. As he pulled back from leaning over the best he felt a strip of wetness spread down his shirt. It was Bert, or a cactus that must be Bert. Gone was the small little cactus, now a thick almost throbbing green foot of plant sat in the pot, two bulbous bulbs at its base. A large bright red flower had erupted at the tip, oozing ripe sap. Melvin sniffed the wet sap on his shirt, it smelt like the funk he’d woke up choking on. The door suddenly opened, Chris was back. “Bert…” Melvin started “He….” Chris butted in, “Looks like a penis. Yeah, I noticed” “So the stuff works,” Melvin asked excited. Chris nodded and stepped over to the desk picking up Bert’s pot, trying not to get reeking sap on himself. “What are you doing” Melvin asked following Chris as he headed to the door “I’m throwing Bert out, not having our room smell like a jockstrap,” Chris said and he turned, poking a finger into Melvin’s chest. “Don’t touch the elixir. We know what it does to a plant, but not what it does to humans.” Melvin nodded, “But can you buy me a new Bert?” Chris smiled sweetly, “Sure.” And he left, taking Bert with him, Melvin knew he’d never get a new one. ——————————————————————————————————————————— “19, 20, 21,” Barrett counted out loud as he continued his morning exercise routine,clad in only pajama shorts with the straps of his jockstrap peeking out from the waist line. His body dipped down and up with each push up, he was already sweaty, and feeling tired. He’d woken up refreshed, but oddly stiff, like he’d overworked himself at practice. But he hadn’t. He’d barely pushed himself. “25……..26...” he started, but his arms gave way half way through the last push up. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the sounds of his frat brothers waking up echoing through the house. A second ago he’d heard the unmistakable sounds of Big Ben’s monstrous frame thudding past his room. He wondered if Big Ben was feeling just as odd as he was. It seemed that everyone at practice was off, and it wasn’t just because of the over partying on the weekend before. His room was massive, it had been his older brother’s when he was a member of the fraternity. A floor to ceiling mirror decorated one wall, hiding a closet. Barrett always hid how often he’d stare at himself in the mirror, flexing a bicep, arrogantly smirking at himself. But today as he sat up he looked at himself with concern. Even though he’d slept longer than normal he still looked tired. Greyish bags hung heavily under his eyes. Barrett stood up and stepped close to the mirror, flexing his bicep. It looked odd. It felt stiff, but looked softer. The skin wasn’t as taut over the muscle as it had been. He scratched at his balls with his free hand. “Gotta be sick,” he said to himself. He popped open the bedside table, ignoring the half full box of condoms he grabbed an assortment of pills. Throwing back his head he swallowed them down, covering all the bases: flu, allergies, headaches, he wasn’t letting this illness get any further. Barrett went to leave his room, time for breakfast, he stopped though and looked down at his ripped bare chest. He sighed, and like all the other footballers he grabbed something to cover himself up, unsure about his own perfection. He flexed his arm one last time, the sleeve of his shirt not near to bursting as his muscle bulged. He jogged down the stairs, whistling, putting on his cocky demeanour. The kitchen was alive with big beefy jocks grabbing their breakfast, barely any bare chests. Only the best built non-football players were shirtless. Barrett grabbed a piece of toast another brother had cooked for himself, the guy wouldn’t complain, at least not to Barrett’s face. He leaned against a kitchen counter, watching the group. His fraternity was a house of beasts, all the main guys from the football team in one place, and most of the other star players of other sports, with Barrett as the top dog. The rest of the football team’s massive roster were in lesser frats or lived off campus, Barrett couldn’t think of any freshmen still living in dorms, maybe one or two of the new guys hadn’t been sucked up by the fraternities yet. He scratched at his balls while he ate, his fellow football players looked just as tired as he was. Bags under their eyes, paler than normal. All with hunched shoulders and dim looks on their faces. “Gotta talk to Peters,” Barrett muttered Maybe they needed a break, whatever illness Barrett had looked to be spreading around the frat. He’d have a word with Coach Peters about an easier practice schedule. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Next door to Chris and Melvin, their rarely seen neighbour was still sleeping as the clocks passed noon. His name was Sean and he’d worked all summer so he could afford to pay for a single room. He didn’t want to share his personal space with anyone. His single room was dark with only the dull glow of his PS4 on standby lighting the room. The curtains were pulled tight and were dusty, never having been opened since he moved in. A plush gaming armchair sat in front of the rooms desk facing a large top of the line TV Sean had got from his parents for winning the scholarship to Lincoln University. An indent of Sean’s fat rounded ass was visible on the seat’s cushion, the fabric tainted with Dorito dust. Sean was a nerd, a massive gamer, and an avid reader of comic books. He was a stereotype. He was also a loner. He only left his dorm to use the bathroom, for classes and food shopping. He was greasy, spotty, and rounded with limp plump fat, but he was a nice guy. Always helping classmates in class, even though he hated public speaking. If he was a little more sociable he'd have a lot of friends, he’d already been invited to join a couple of fraternities and his professor wanted him to run for the student council, but Sean just wanted to be alone and play games with people on the other side of the world he’d never have to talk to. He was snoring loudly, the weight of his fatty chest causing the choke sounding rumblings as he lay on his back in bed. His greasy bright red hair plastered to his spotty forehead. Only his head was visible from behind the covers. He was only 5’6. Even the dorm room’s small single bed was too big for him. Drip, Drip, Drip. Drops of green liquid fell onto Sean’s blankets, above Sean a line of green was spreading over the ceiling. Rising up from a crack in the wall, a patchwork of vein like green stains were stretching out from behind a set of shelves cluttered with books and PS4 games. With an almost sentient intent the green liquid grew out over the ceiling, it drips moving further up Sean’s blankets till the drops started to land in Sean’s gaping maw. The drips increased in intensity, and size, soon it was like a steady stream trickling from the ceiling down Sean’s throat. He didn’t splutter or gag, the liquid quickly vanishing into the walls of his mouth and throat. But the taste was horrid, a foul salty taste. Like drinking cool sweat. Sean’s eyes fluttered behind his eyelids and the dripping stopped. In the dark though the green stains on the ceiling and the wall wasn’t noticeable, even with a bright light it would be hard to notice against the darkly painted room. Sean made a moaning sound and sat up slowly. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, a hand then wiping green liquid from his lips and onto his pajama shirt, thinking it was just drool. The chubby nerd climbed out of bed, his hand reaching for a cola bottle on the small snack table next to his gaming chair. He took a long swig from it and then dropped his fat ass onto his armchair. His console controller already in hand he flicked the PS4 on and started to play, he had a couple hours spare before class. With Sean’s attention on his gaming the green liquid snaked its way over the ceiling. A fat raindrop of the elixir fell, landing in the open cola bottle, just as Sean reached over to pick it up to take another sip. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett was on the treadmill in the college’s expansive gym, he’d just gotten the shit verbally kicked out of him by the Coach. How dare he ask to lighten the load, the Coach had bellowed at him. He was even threatened with losing his captaincy, and again compared to his older brother. How his older brother would never have asked for something so stupid, especially when there was so much competition this year from other teams. He was being punished, half an hour on the treadmill. It was meant to be easy for Barrett, more a punishment that would screw up his schedule, but Barrett was struggling. It was like all his stamina was gone, he was sweating and panting. His balls were so itchy, the cotton of his jock rubbing his hefty balls and was making them beg for a scratch. He’d almost fallen over whenever he went to itch them, and it was messing with his mind. It was like when he was doing laps at practice, he just felt drained. He’d have to get an appointment with a doctor. He was sick. With still 10 minutes left Barrett slowed down the treadmill, now walking he coughed out and spluttered. He gripped his chest, under his toned pec muscles his heart was racing. He’d never been his unfit, he’d never struggled like this. His free hand scratched at his balls, they were overheating like the rest of him. Slick with sweat and so itchy, he’d have to wash his jock. His face was bright red as he dragged his worn out legs to a water fountain. His arms screamed as he braced himself against the fountain to take a dozen or so mouthfuls of cooling water. “Barrett” a voice asked Barrett stopped drinking and sighed, it was Yuri the captain of the college swim team. He was a frat brother. Barrett pulled himself up, standing tall to look down at his frat brother and rival. It was an unspoken rivalry, but Yuri had wanted to head the frat, but Barrett beat him to it. He was sure that Yuri hadn’t let it go. “Yuri” Barrett smiled “How you doing” He was trying to be cocky, trying to be Barrett, but he was still red faced and sweating through his shirt. “You ok” Yuri asked, the ripped half Russian looking amazing in his workout gear “You look sick” “Yea… I think I’m coming down with something” Barrett said dropping his attitude Yuri held out his full water bottle and Barrett took it. “I have a spare, drink this on the walk back” Yuri said with a smile Barrett knew it was sign of submission, he was showing weakness to someone he was fighting with, even if the fight was all in Barrett’s head. Yuri turned and headed further into the gym, Barrett watched him leave. He felt deflated, but he took a long swig from the water bottle. He took a few deep breaths, feeling his energy coming back. Barrett left the gym, his footfalls slow and laboured. His shirt felt a little loose, maybe it was just cause it was being weighed down by all the sweat. He scratched his balls, he had two things to do today get a doctors appointment and wash this itchy jock. First though he needed to sleep. He hadn’t planned on getting this worn out today, but if he had it wouldn't be on a twenty minute jog. He yawned as he stepped out of the gym and his shoulder thudded into a shorter very well dressed guy. “Sorry” Barrett muttered as he hurried pass The first time he’d apologised for such an action, usually he’d berate the other guy. Instead he continued back to the frat, swigging from the water bottle. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Chris stared as Barrett walked away from him. He rubbed his shoulder, Barrett was still solid, but the reaction was a change. He’d seen Barrett explode in anger after someone just looked at him wrong. But he apologised, the powder was working, not only draining Barrett’s size and strength, but taking more. It was sapping away at Barrett’s ego, his confidence, and it had only been a day. The powder worked fast, Chris could only imagine what would happen in a week or so. He sent a text to Melvin, saw Barrett the guy looks sick, it read. He was being careful, Chris didn't know where the magic book had came from. For all he knew there was an entire magical world which wouldn't look to kindly on him playing in their world. So he was being as normal as possible and he’d warned Melvin about doing the same. No mention of the stones or the plan on any computers or phones. Only the notes he’d written down in the magic book. He took a quick lap of the gym, only seeing Yuri the swim team captain on a rowing machine. Chris wondered whether he should move his sights onto the other sports team after the football team were drained. But then what would he do with all the elixir, it wasn’t like he and Melvin would need very much to get the bodies they deserved. That was if Chris even let Melvin have any elixir.
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