Hey everyone, here's Part 4 clocking in at just over 5000 words (it's a long one). Apologies again for how long it's taken, but I think his part is the best yet! Enjoy.
Part 4: the road ahead
He was panting, enormous pecs heaving. Cum coated his chest and muscle gut, mixing with sweat. His body glistened with sweat - wanking was a lot of effort for such a massive man. In the year since we had begun, he had ballooned with 167lbs of muscle, growing from 120lbs to a jaw-dropping 287lbs - at a mere 5’7”, no less. A stone a month, on average. He was a muscle god, a monster; this is what he was meant to be. His purpose on Earth was to grow, and my purpose was to help him.
We were both stunned when he weighed himself live on video for me. I’d had to read out the weight, as he couldn’t see over his pecs anymore. Just another step in his transcendence of the normal world. The goal had been 250lbs, and I could tell he’d comfortably exceeded that...but 287lbs? Such growth should not have been possible. It took me a moment to actually get the words out; I was speechless, as was he. He sat back down in the chair, which creaked under his weight, and we just looked at each other in silence, smiles of pure joy on our faces. After a few moments, he gingerly asked,
“Sir, may I -”
I interjected, knowing what he wanted.
“Wank like you’ve never wanked before, James. You’ve earned it.”
He obliged, asking me the most touching question he could have while he did so: would I make him bigger? It was our equivalent of him asking me to marry him.
Here he was, my most magnificent creation. In truth, I’d never expected him to reach the milestones I set - they were deliberately insane, impossible. They were tests of his commitment and determination - how far would he push himself for me, for his dream of more growth? But he demolished them, and surpassed them. I’d never made a man so big. Usually the regime becomes too much for them, and they have to give up, their hunger unsatisfied through their own weakness. Or I discard them when they prove sadly wanting. James, however, had taken the regime in his stride; he seemed to have unlimited stamina, endurance.
The grotesquely overgrown and bloated body, swollen with hundreds of pounds of useless muscle, was the result. His life was gone; all he had was me and his oh-so huge body. He’d cut out his friends and family; he’d quit his job. All for growth. All for me. Now he’d grown so much that he could barely even live, struggling to wash himself, clothe himself, even pleasure himself. Yet he still wanted more, so much more. The ultimate addict. No other boy had ever proven themselves worthy - or capable - or advancing to the next, and final stage. James was the first - my first.
Poor boy, I thought. So desperate, and oh so so hungry. He’s gone so far, but there’s much further he could go. We both knew it. This was the end of the beginning. I loved him, and I was struggling to hold back the emotions.
“Please!” he pleads, he begs, between frantic thrusts, the hopelessly overdeveloped muscles jiggling from the bucking. His eyes crying out to me. “Make me bigger! I need it!”
I smile again, the tears of joy and love flowing freely now. Such an eager boy. He is a wonder to behold - and I love him like nothing else.
“I think that can be arranged,” I reply, flashing my smile - genuinely this time. There was no other answer I could give.
Sometimes you have decide based on instinct. When James was vying for my attention, he was one of several. Several boys all eager to prove to me that they wanted to test the limits of the male body, desperate to impress me and gain my favour. James was the most handsome, but also the smallest and least-developed. Others had already forced their bodies bigger, and in tearful confession professed their supposedly insatiable hunger for growth. On the surface, James had little to show, and made no grandiose demonstration of his supposed commitment; just a few hurried sentences uttered by a nervous little boy.
But there had been something in his voice, a glint in his eye. The suggestion of something truly enormous itching to be released. He had intrigued, more than all the other candidates who had merely spouted on about how they “wanted to get huge”. There was something different about James, and on a hunch I’d taken a gamble and chosen him. And that is how I witnessed the most beautiful transformation a man could ever undergo.
It was the best choice I’d ever made.
Stage 3 was altogether different from those before. Before James, it had always been a hypothetical. No-one had ever made it before; they’d all washed out, unable to withstand the punishment of the process or my exacting demands. But not James. He alone had proven himself worthy. In that sense, this was a first for both of us. Neither of us had been in a relationship (a meaningful one at least) before; now that was going to change.
Since I was but a child I’ve had a fascination with muscle. Or, to be more precise, with men growing muscle. Lots of it. Endless amounts of it. Like the hunger, yet different - the other side of the coin. My purpose was to make little boys into gods, rather than become a god myself. While I had gained a shallow form of joy and pleasure from making a number of men balloon, I had always been seeking ‘the one’. He who could take our mutual desires to never-before-seen extremes, he whom I could love, he whom I could adore.
It seemed that I had found him, after seven long years.
James was to move in with me (the final severing of all ties to his old, much smaller, self) and then, together, in love, we’d then see just how far he could go; just how big he could get. I would care for him as he grew too big to look after himself. He would no longer have to worry about trivial things such as money and food; I would take care of everything now. He could devote himself to his - to our - passion. The endless growth of his body. This is what I had always dreamed of. It was what he had always dreamed of. Our purpose was clear.
I’d been paying his rent and bills for him since the beginning of the process, so winding that up was easy, but nonetheless symbolic. I admired his final leap of faith, his ultimate trust in me. If this went wrong, he’d have nothing. In a rational sense, it was a monumental risk. And yet, he knew it was no such thing. In truth, he had nothing to lose anymore. I, and the body we had built together, were all he had. He packed his few belongings in a duffel bag, and travelled to me. I was to meet him at the train station, with my home being a short walk away.
As I walked to the station, my stomach was in knots. This was it. I was about to meet - in the flesh (all of it!) - the boy whom I had grown into a man, and fallen in love with. Part of me was panicking - would this work? Fantasy was one thing, reality was another, as I had told so many boys in my time. Were we really in love? This was our first meeting. I fought to suppress the doubts, to remember how I felt when we talked.
11:00am. The last chills of morning had faded, giving way to a temperate spring day. I reached the station, and looked around for the man of my dreams amongst the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him. A man that large was rather conspicuous, after all. As soon as I saw him, all my doubts melted away.
He was looking in a different direction to me, giving me a side-on view. He was simply gigantic. In person, his size was in perspective, making it clear how enormous he really was. So...thick. He had to be pushing on two feet, taking into account all that pec and back muscle. His soft, dirty blond hair was neatly styled, accentuating his stubble (a result of his shaving difficulties I suspected) and prominent cheekbones. He’d clearly put effort in for this meeting - which I found rather sweet. He was as handsome in the flesh as he had been on-screen.
He was wearing a white cotton tee and shorts (little else fit him now), which were painted on. His upper body was threatening to explode out of the shirt, which highlighted each massively swollen muscle group. His nipples pressed against the fabric, stretched taut as it was across his overdeveloped musculature. His duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, looking comically small compared to his body. Passers-by were staring at him, mostly in disgust at how someone could do that to themselves. Gaze upon his glory, you ignorant fools, I thought. They didn’t understand. Yes, he was a freak. But he wanted to be one. It was his choice. His destiny. His purpose.
As I moved toward him, he must have caught me out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face me. His face lit up in the most heart-warming smile, and mine involuntarily did the same. We came together, meeting halfway (him waddling adorably). Introductions weren’t necessary, we immediately entered into a heartfelt embrace.
The contrast between us was hilarious, and arousing. I was 25, 5’6” and a svelte 110lbs. He was 20, 5’7” and 290lbs (I’d later find out he had grown another 3lbs in the last week). My arms wrapped tightly around him just below his lats, unable to make the slightest impression. His roid gut pushed into my own belly, while his muscles completely smothered me. All around me was muscle - pec, bicep, forearm. I was drowning in a veritable ocean of muscle. He was holding me firmly, but gently (his strength was as insane as his body). We said nothing, holding the embrace for a good minute. I drank in his scent - manly, but soft, with a hint of sweat - and the sensation of his muscles, letting his warmth suffuse into me. It all felt so...right. I could stay like this for hours. Both of us knew, in that moment, that this was meant to be. There could be no doubt.
When we eventually broke the hug, we looked at each other. He smiled nervously; in contrast, my nerves were completely gone. For all his great size and strength, he was still the submissive one, needing me to take the lead and set the direction. I took his hand, exercising control, but also making clear to him that we were most definitely okay.
I led James by the hand like a puppy to where I lived, ignoring the stares directed towards him. The short journey was a blur, and within a couple of minutes I had ushered him in and closed my door. I turned to face, and stepped close. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor, and I leaned in to kiss him on the lips. He returned it hungrily, and the kiss became more passionate, our tongues battling it out in our mouths. He pushed me against the wall, his pillow-sized pecs holding my measly weight in place. He moaned softly in satisfaction, while I breathed, “I’ve been waiting for this.” My hands eagerly grabbed at his muscles, and I tried to pull his shirt off, but it got caught on his lats. He simply brought his own hands up - calloused from all the weights - and tore the shirt clean in two, from collar to hem, exposing his body to me for the first time in the flesh. I gave a sharp intake of breath.
There was just...so much of it. Mountains upon mountains of hard muscle, fighting each for other space. Hundreds of pounds of overgrown mass spilling in all directions, stretch marks testament to how fast he had grown. I broke the kiss, and stood there silently for a moment, admiring what James and I had built. The most glorious body I had ever seen; a monument to our love built of rock-hard flesh. I sighed in pleasure, and attacked that body with my mouth, tongue and hands.
I spent the next 5 hours worshipping, appreciating, and sampling every last inch of his gloriously swollen body. For months I had wanted to do this, and I was making up for lost time. I kissed and licked his biceps and triceps - all 24 inches of them - as he flexed and pumped them for me, my tongue tracing the grooves, curves and crevices made by each head of muscle. I buried my head in his armpit - a vast cavern of muscle rippled with stretch marks - and drank deeply of his muscleboy sweat, armpit hair tickling my face. I teased and sucked his nipples while he slowly, methodically, bounced his pecs, and lapped up the fine layer of sweat that covered the downy, pillow-sized muscles, while my hands kneaded his cannonball shoulders.
And so it went on, both of us groaning throughout. He obediently flexed and pumped every muscle at my command, enjoying my appreciation at the immense body he had built. He was my trophy, and he was proud of how impressed I was. By the end, we were both naked, cocks aching for release. I got to my feet, having finished savouring his enormous legs, and kissed him again. His hips bucked at the contact, our cocks rubbing against each other. I pulled away.
“Suck,” I commanded.
He knew what I meant. He negotiated himself to his knees (at his size, it was easy to overbalance) and gently, lovingly, placed his lips over my manhood. I exhaled sharply, looking down at his huge body, on his knees, pleasuring me. This was my dream made real. He hungrily sucked me, eager to taste my seed...I guessed (accurately) that he had long dreamed of this as well.
“Pleasure yourself,” I offered, “but don’t make a mess.”
One of his hands immediately clamped around his raging cock and began furiously pumping while he sucked me. He did not have to wait long: looking down on my grotesquely huge lover I was soon shooting, cumming like I never had before. He swallowed it all eagerly, a smile of ecstasy plastered on his face. Me cumming triggered him, and his bucked as he shot into his hand. He was careful to catch every drop, as per my command, before eating his own seed as well.
My orgasm exhausted me, my brain overloaded from all the sensations. I stumbled on my feet, but suddenly his arms were around me and I was being carried (like a child - I weighed nothing to him) to my bed. He tenderly set me down, and then stood there. I chuckled and gave him permission to join me. The bed positively groaned under his weight, and he caused the mattress to sink, resulting in me sliding into him. Not that I was complaining; I snuggled up to him, resting my head in the groove between his pec and shoulder, while he placed his arm protectively over me. It was a prodigious weight in and of itself, but not uncomfortable. The warmth of his body suffused me. We lay there in thought.
“What are your limits?” I asked. He was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he softly replied. “Much bigger than this. I still feel so small. Now that I’ve started, I don’t know whether I could stop, even if I wanted to.”
I sensed he had more to say, so I said nothing.
“I think of the boy I was...I’ve buried him in so much muscle. But the hunger is as great as ever, like I’m still that 120lb nobody. At first I just thought about being big, then a bodybuilder, then a mass monster...it doesn’t end. I don’t think it ever will.”
He paused again.
“It’s limitless, endless.”
He looked me in the eye. I met his gaze, peering into his heart and soul.
“Sir...grow me until you can’t grow me anymore. No limits. Don’t stop, no matter what.”
I squeeze his lat lovingly, and nod in comprehension.
“We’ll start tomorrow.”
He was no fool. James knew what he had asked me to do. And I had been fully aware when I accepted. I was not surprised, knowing him as intimately as I did. But it was important that this final stage was done by mutual consent, given its end point. On the hand it pained me, loving him as I did. But on the other, this was destiny. It was meant to be.
Quite simply, we were going to grow him to immobility and beyond. We did not know how long it would take, only that it would happen. Even his body, resilient as it was, could not endure the process forever. But in so doing, we would live in sublime happiness, exploring the extremities of humanly possible muscle growth. Full-time care, immobility...these were steps on the road. He would die in the end, but he would die a god.
First off was helping him wash. My shower was a large walk-in one, meaning both of us easily fit. I gently cleaned every inch of his body - which he could no longer easily do - worshipping him along the way. I didn’t take long before he was on his knees milking me once again.
Then it was straight to work. He came on the spot when I injected him with the first dose of his new cycle - one so extreme even the hardened pros would turn it down. He bowed his head in embarrassment, waiting to be punished. I stroked his cheek, raising his head to meet my gaze, smiled and lightly kissed him.
“I’ll forgive my boy’s overexcitement this time...just don’t make a habit of it.”
With the steroids (and other things) flowing through him, we made love for the first time. I straddled his roid gut, my erection thrusting proudly forward, and looked upon his body, laying spread-eagle beneath me. It was as if I were an aeroplane, flying over the most beautiful landscape below. Acres of muscle stretched in all directions, complete with mountains, valleys and forests.
I took a moment to again admire what we had built. And to think it was just the beginning. What would he look like at 350? 400? The best days were still to come. On that note, I dived down to beginning worshipping his muscles once again.
An hour later he was on all fours, his enormous backside - two globular glutes the size of my torso - thrust outward. It was time for me to claim him. I was no especial fan of anal sex per se, but this was a symbolic act...and I couldn’t deny that the thought of conquering my massive boy was rather enticing. I scrambled up the huge leg muscles to mount him, noting the ludicrous size difference between us. My tiny body perched upon his Herculean one.
I positioned myself, and breathed deeply, before cleanly thrusting all the way inside him in a single motion. He groaned like a horse, and his glutes bucked into my hips, almost sending me flying from the strength. Fortunately, I was using his shoulders as rather sturdy handholds. After another pause while he recovered his composure, I then began thrusting. It didn’t take long before my own composure was lost, and I was pounding him like a jackhammer, with all the power I could muster.
He absorbed that power as if it were nothing (and to him, it wasn’t). But he was in ecstasy, roaring with pleasure every time I thrusted.
“Conquer me Sir, breed your growing boy...make me immobile…”
“You wanna get bigger, little boy?” I panted.
“Please Sir, make me bigger...grow me…” he begged.
“What was that?” I teased, thrusting ever faster, sweat running down my forehead.
“Please, grow me...grow me...GROW ME!” he screamed, as I came inside him.
My puny body spasmed uselessly against his grotesquely overgrown mass, firing every last drop of cum I had into him. He was also spasming, but desperately trying not to cum. My edict remained in place, after all: he could only cum with my permission. And I hadn’t given it - deliberately. His eyes rolled back in his head, hips bucking like a bull, as I clung on, fingers digging into his shoulders. After a couple of minutes the bucking slowed, and came to a stop. He’d held it in.
I loosened my grip, and stroked his cheek and withdrew from his arse (he whimpered as I did so), the glutes twitching as if hungry for more.
“Good boy,” I told him, smiling in the aftermath of our love. “Now, you go to the gym. If you come back pumped enough I may just let you pleasure yourself.”
He nodded like a puppy, and I kissed him.
He stood naked in front of my wide mirror, studying his reflection as he casually flexed different muscles. His cock was hard, throbbing rhythmically. I came up behind him.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He brought his arms up for a double biceps, the engorged muscles ballooning larger than his head. I couldn’t help but suck in air, and my cock twitched heavily. He brought them down after a couple of seconds.
“I’m a freak, aren’t I? How big I am, how much I’ve grown, that I still want to get bigger...all of it. I’m sick in the head.”
I nod. No point in denying it now, given how far he’s gone. I had decided we’d only weigh him every 6 months, to increase the suspense. It had been 3 months since we’d met at the station, and he’s visibly grown since them. I’d guess he was somewhere in the 320s, but at his size it was hard to tell.
“You are, yes. It isn’t ‘normal’ to want to do what you’ve done. But then I’m not ‘normal’ for finding it the most beautiful and erotic thing on Earth. If you’re ill, so am I.”
I shrug at that, and put my arms around his waist, my chin resting on his mountainous shoulder.
“We’re happy, right?”
He nods back, smiling softly.
“Happier than I’ve ever been. I feel alive for the first time. Knowing that I have built this body. Knowing that every day I’m bigger. Knowing that I’m growing with the man I love.”
He turns his head to me, eyes giving me that ‘this is my soul you’re about to see’ look.
“This feeling, this lifestyle,” he continues, “Is all I’ve ever wanted. Please...make it never stop.”
I smile and kiss him gently.
“I’ll do my best.”
He picks me up, carries me over to the settee, and sits me down on his lap. This has become a habit of ours, where we’ll snuggle and read together. His enormous quads provide a more-than-ample cushion for me, and his pecs are perfect to rest my head against. His arms enclose around me, enveloping me in walls of muscle. There is little more soothing and comforting for me. I immediately feel myself relaxing into his muscles, feeling them push back against my feeble weight. We do this every day, and every couple of sessions I can feel he’s bigger. Something’s a little harder, or sticks out a little more, or is a little heavier. It’s exhilarating.
We’re currently reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace. A bit of long one, I know, but I felt its theme was appropriate to our situation. James enjoyed it as much as I did, hearing of lost characters stumbling through life’s twists and turns, coming together in love. There was more than a passing equivalence to our own tale, we both thought. Not to mention the book was simply great, truly one of the greatest works of literature humanity has ever produced.
We sit there in silence, reading one page at a time, occasionally giving small reactions - a chuckle to something humorous, or a tsk when some character is being a dick (not uncommon in War and Peace). I always finished the two pages first, with him a few seconds behind; when he finished, he’d give a sign - usually by flexing a muscle - and I’d turn the page and we’d carry on.
He groaned as I announced it, precum leaking from his desperately hard cock.
68lbs in 6 months. Slower than his previous rate, but to be expected given his size now. Still damn impressive.
I had worshipped his ballooning body every single day of those 6 months. Knowing that his muscles were bigger each and every time my lips and hands touched them was pure sex to me. Stretch marks spread from his armpits across his shoulders, pecs and lats, as his body struggled to keep up with the process. Discovering new ones when I sampled his body was a small joy in and of itself.
His face - his beautiful, handsome face - wore a look of perpetual bliss, the pleasure centres of his brain firing constantly from the unceasing cycle of lifting, eating, roids, worship and sex. Our love had only grown with his body, making the last 6 months the best of both of our lives. We were perfect fits in every way. And there was still so much more to come.
I took a moment to look upon the monumental body we had built together. His head was framed by traps that nearly brushed his ears, and sat atop a thick bull-neck. That neck flowed into shoulders so broad he couldn’t fit through door frames, each shoulder the size of a football, the three caps of muscle fighting each other for space. From those boulder-like shoulders hang arms the size of tree trunks. Horseshoe triceps that thrust three inches outwards when he flexed, and biceps bigger than his head made for upper arms approaching 30 inches in circumference. After them came forearms the size of my legs, contoured with the striations of the muscles and coated in a perfectly soft layer of light brown hair. I liked to stroke my cheek with that hair when we lay in bed together.
Then came his pecs. Pecs had always been my favourite muscles, and James carried the most enormous pair I had ever seen (virtually or physically). They were the size of pillows, with a cleavage so deep it swallowed my hand all the way to my wrist. Sagging under their own weight, it took nearly a second for him to bounce the whole muscle, creating this glorious slow-motion ripple effect of muscle as he did so. The ensemble was completed by a coat of soft fur that made them sublime to rest my head on. The width of his shoulders required him to turn sideways to get through doors, and the thickness of his pecs meant doors were becoming narrow in that orientation as well. Just another step on the road. Worshipping those gigantic mounds of muscle alone could make me cum.
Below his prodigious pec shelf came his roid gut. 8 abs, each the size of my hand, ideal for running my tongue over. I particularly enjoyed lapping up the sweet gym sweat from the crevices between each of the muscles. If it hadn’t been for the rest of his muscle, the gut would’ve made him look obese from its size. The gut was framed by a set of lats that stretched over a foot outwards when he flexed, forcing his arms to rest at a 40 degree angle to his sides, and fjords of intercostal muscles. It was as if every muscle in his body, from the greatest to the smallest, was stupendously overgrown. It served to give his abdomen the appearance of a granite column.
Then came his manhood. Permanently erect from the sheer pleasure of his vast body, and from being high on an obscene cocktail of drugs, his penis stood at proud attention, almost saluting our efforts to make him even bigger. It was framed by two mammoth sets of quads, each bigger than his waist (which was very bloated from his roid gut), the four heads of muscle engaged in a ferocious battle of space. They bulged out in a landscape of peaks and troughs, taking up so much space that James found walking tiring. Each step required him to swing his leg out wide to get it around his other leg; it was slow, tiring work but gave him a delightful lumbering waddle. The bulging quadriceps flowed into calves the size of my head, rising an inch outward when flexed. Even his feet had accommodate his ever-increasing weight.
I spent the whole day worshipping every millimetre of that body, culminating in me claiming him with such passion I nearly passed out. As we snuggled in bed afterwards, my head resting on his pec (he covered the whole bed nowadays), I softly asked him an important question.
I sensed him pondering the question. Although I wanted him to get bigger (limits were for the weak), it was important that we both understand where each of us was coming from. His size was having a lot of consequences for him now, and if he didn’t want to go further I would accept that. There was more than enough of him to enjoy as was; more would of course be nice, but not essential.
I felt a rumble develop through his pec, indicating he was about to speak, and looked up to his (still boyishly handsome) face. He was smiling, but his voice carried worry that I doubted him, that I wasn’t going to make him bigger.
“I’m still mobile, Sir. You promised to make me immobile. I’m still just a little boy. Please Sir, make me a big boy. Please.”
It was partly sex talk, but also serious. I flashed him my smile.
“You won’t be mobile for much longer if I have anything to do with it, believe me. We’ll make you a big boy, you have my word.”
His smile broadened with simple joy.