Jump to content

ALL USER PASSWORDS WERE RESET. PLEASE USE THE LOST PASSWORD FEATURE AT LOGIN TO RESET YOUR PASSWORD. 

If you cannot reset your password please ask for support in Discord or the Contact Us form. 

Ozymandias

Member
  • Content Count

    81
  • Donations

    0.00 USD 
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

135 Good

3 Followers

About Ozymandias

  • Rank
    50+ Posts

Profile

  • Location
    London
  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
    Male
  • Orientation
    Gay
  • What are your interests?
    Growth, worship, a relationship with a bodybuilder. Aside from that: writing, reading, history, politics, casual gaming, personal fitness.
  • What are you seeking?
    Bodybuilders (preferably 20s but I’m open) to meet, chat with and worship. Definitely interested in something serious with the right guy. Feel free to shoot me a message :)

Recent Profile Visitors

The recent visitors block is disabled and is not being shown to other users.

  1. Ozymandias

    Super Soldier (Chapter 7)

    Forever holding out hope of a revival...
  2. Ozymandias

    SYNERGY: 2.16.2019

    A wonderful story so far. Always have a soft spot for these true love type stories, and these first two chapters are brilliant. Your descriptions of Brad’s emotions are perfect, as is your recounting of his experiences. Thank you for writing.
  3. Ozymandias

    I'm Built to Last

    Love the symbiotic nature of the relationship. Always appreciate a new piece from you!
  4. Ozymandias

    Control (Part 2 added 01/02)

    Thanks for the compliments and likes everyone. I’m working on Part 3, but it’s longer and I’m not quite happy with it yet. Will post when it’s ready! It contains some serious growth though :)
  5. Ozymandias

    Control (Part 2 added 01/02)

    Part 2 here. Again, all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Part 2: realising his potential Let’s pause on that image for a moment. You may be wondering how we got here? How we ended up watching, through a screen, an overgrown freak wank himself off over the thought of more muscle? You see, I’m a facilitator. An enabler. I provide some muscle-hungry boys the means they require to embrace their destiny, to become the men they have always (knowingly or not) wanted to be. Allow me to elaborate. I’m careful with my selections. There are many boys who want to ‘get huge’. Most of them are unsuitable. I’m not interested in someone who just wants to look ‘hot’, and use their muscles to get sex. I didn’t waste my time on such types. No, the boys I’m interested in aren’t about looks at all. My boys are slaves to their hunger, and their only interest is in feeding it. In growing for the simple pleasure of growing. There is no end, no limit, for the hunger never stops. Like all addicts, these boys seek out those who can support their addiction. I am one of those. I give them the means to dedicate themselves to serving their hunger - and they love me for it. His name was James (not that it matters - he was just a boy; they all are). He was a hot boy of 19, 5’7” and 120lbs when he first reached out, saying he wanted to ‘transcend’. He was shy, embarrassed, and insecure as I probed his desires, his motivations. This was the first time he had discussed the hunger - in any depth anyway - with someone. But I was kind, cajoling and encouraging, and he lapped it up. The answers he gave to my deciding questions told me everything I needed to know. My curiosity was, admittedly, peaked as he poured his heart out to me. At just 19, the poor boy was already completely lost to the hunger, and its appetite was already so voracious. Quite remarkable, considering he hadn’t even indulged it much. I wagered that his potential was incredible. He just needed me to provide him with the release - and the permission - to serve his hunger in full. That’s what they always seek. Freedom from the shame of serving the hunger, and the means to do so. Permission to become a bodybuilder, and ignore society’s judgement of their ‘neurotic’ needs. I am only too happy to provide it, for the right boy - and for the right price. As I said, I’m a facilitator; I provide with all they need to grow, should they wish it. “How big do you really want to get?” “No limits, as big as possible.” “They always say that," I countered. It was true - I had encountered, and quickly discarded, many fantasists in the past. "But few really mean it, or comprehend what it takes -” He interrupts, his voice impassioned but desperate. It was the hunger speaking. He couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity, so he was going to come out of his shell...reveal the hunger in all its glory, in the hope that it would be enough to convince me. “This is all I want. All day, I think about it. Every night, I dream about it. I can’t stop. Nothing else makes me hard anymore. Everything revolves around growing. I don’t want a ‘normal life’. I want to be so huge I can’t live a normal life anymore. But I need your help.” I’m silent while I digest this. Party while I think, partly for the suspense. Don’t judge me. One has to enforce dependency from the beginning. But in truth, he’s affected me more than he realises - I’ve never seen such passion (at this early stage anyway) before. He stands at the edge of abyss, begging me to give him the final nudge to take plunge, and be lost forever. Little did I suspect back then that I would be holding his hand as the abyss took him. Fearing my silence, he whispers (while letting out a sound that can only be described as a sob): “Please...make me bigger…” I give a slight nod, to myself more than him, having come to a decision. He has convinced me with his hunger, his impassioned need. I give him a warm smile. Time to give him the release he craves so much. “Fear not, my poor, starving, boy. I will provide what you need.” Then came my price. It was steep - it always is - but they never spurn my offer. I know them too well. In return for providing everything he needed, I would own him. He was to be chaste, only pleasuring himself when I gave him permission. All my commands had to be followed without question. He was to provide weekly ‘progress reports’. He was to abandon all his life - work, friends, the lot. But most importantly, he had to put on 30lbs of lean muscle in 4 months, or I would discard him. He accepted without hesitation, as I knew he would. The trick was, of course, that I never expected him to reach that goal. It was nigh impossible. But his inevitable failure would only push him deeper into dependency on me, closing the circle. Call me cruel, call me a manipulative bastard if you want. But know this: they could always say no. They never do. He said he’d been working out for a year already, and put on 20lbs. I pretended to care. I was not interested in him for what he was, but for what he would become. I looked at him and saw a concept: the limits of human muscularity. I wondered how far he could go. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before he began to show me. Released from his own psychological constraints, as well as the chains of trying to live a ‘life’, he grew - fast. He lifted twice a day, and when he wasn’t at the gym he gorged himself on food and supplements. I was impressed by his devotion; I didn’t even have to encourage him. This is who he really was. And now he was free. He was visibly bigger for each of our weekly ‘progress reports’ - by which I mean a video chat where he flexed naked live and I examined every minute detail of his body, before asking him questions. He was constantly hard, such was the effect of his rapid growth, but I had not given him permission to pleasure himself. He obeyed the terms of our agreement to the letter. It was 2 months in he began to get the armpit stretch marks that are the telltale sign of a rapidly growing boy. I estimated he’d put on 15lbs already - which impressed me. Could he actually do it? Grow 30lbs in 4 months? Maybe. We’d soon find out. I’d forbidden him from weighing himself, to add to the suspense, but I was good at guessing this sort of thing. Call it experience, if you want. Even at this early stage I was developing a sense of his potential, and that aroused me like little else. His shoulders began to widen, his chest thicken, and arms swell. Separations between his biceps and triceps appeared, while his quads began to develop a shape for the first time. I signalled my approval, and he lapped it up. You would do well to ask whom he was doing all of this for. Himself, or me? Perhaps both. I’ll leave you to think on it. I told him how I was going to make him so big he couldn’t scratch his back. So huge he couldn’t run. So enormously bloated and swollen with muscle he couldn’t even wank. I told him how I was going to destroy his life, make him a freak, leave him a useless heap of muscle. And how that, even after all he had lost everything for muscle, he’d still grow bigger. As I told him his future, all he could do was groan while his cock raged. But I denied him permission to pleasure himself. He continued to grow over the next 2 months. If anything, he picked up the pace, inspired by my prophecy of his future. He’d gone from a lithe hot boy to a well-built gym rat, his body carrying a real heft to it for the first time. He couldn’t even begin to conceal the thrill that coursed through him as he saw his body grow. But, of course, I didn’t want him to. That was all part of the fun. To see him amazed, in awe, at his own body. After 4 months came the moment of truth. He weighed himself live for me. He was clearly terrified that he’d not met my 30lbs requirement. Although that milestone was merely a sham I had conceived to ensnare him, it was clear he’d gone much further - to my surprise, I must say - but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I was nonetheless intrigued to see just how much he’d grown, however. Neither of us had to wait long. 157lbs. He let out a sigh of relief. 37lbs of muscle in 4 months. I was impressed, and gave him a smile to show I was pleased - the first time I had done so. He licked his lips in response, and began flexing for me. There was a confidence, a cockiness, in him - the boy liked his new muscle. “Have I grown enough, Sir?” My smile faded as my eyes met his own. “No,” I replied, deadly serious, my face deadpan. His confidence faltered as did his erection; the desperate boy was still there. He was confident in being my trophy, nothing more. The confidence was submissive in nature - he was entirely dependent on me, and the imbalance between us was only going to grow with his body. It was thrilling. “You’ll need to at least double in size before I think of the word ‘enough’. Don’t ever mention it again.” His raging cock told me exactly what he thought about that, as did his terrified eyes. Terrified at the thought I was not happy with him. That he would fail me. I smiled again to reassure the boy. “But you’ve done well. I’m proud of how much you’ve grown. Time to move up a level.” This was the final step, really. There were more stages to come in this process, but this was the last time he’d be able to walk away. I knew he wouldn’t, of course. I would never have chosen him otherwise. Once he was on the steroids and lost control of his ballooning body, there would be no going back for him. The boy wasn’t stupid - he knew that. But he was willing. Steroids are a crude tool. If I’m honest, I don’t especially like them. They lack the finesse and elegance of natural bodybuilding. Of perfectly disciplined diet and training. That was the true, pure growth. I cannot, however, deny their effectiveness. For extreme and rapid growth, they are an unfortunate necessity. Needs must, as they say. The end justifies the means. His cock, rock hard, twitched and leaked as I detailed what Stage 2 would involve. He moaned as I listed the steroid stacks and cycles he’d be taking. His hunger lapped it all up. It seemed the boy liked steroids more than I did. Or perhaps he liked what they would do to him? I didn’t much care; the result would be the same. “In 8 months’ time - a year since we began - you must weigh 250lbs, or I will discard you.” There was a sharp intake of breath, his cock tensed, and his hand moved to grasp it...but his control won out, and his hand stopped mid-air. I had not given him permission. I had, however, commanded him to grow 93lbs in just 8 months. It seemed impossible. Normally it would be. It was another sham milestone, like the last. But with him, perhaps not. Time would tell. With the hunger, growth will come naturally. I couldn’t wait to see my 5’7” boy that swollen. My cock (hidden from his view, of course) aches at the thought. It would be glorious...but still only the Second Stage. His eyes were begging me, his breath ragged, but he dare not ask. I gave him my smile again, and saw him melt. “Pleasure yourself, my growing boy. You’ve earned it.”
  6. Ozymandias

    Dane's Ghost (Part 24 added 02/22/19)

    Don't know if it's me, but there seems to be a great selection of masterfully-written stories floating around the forum at the moment!? Thanks for writing this.
  7. Ozymandias

    Control (Part 2 added 01/02)

    Hi all, this is my first bash at putting up a story. Part 1 is a little on the short side, but serves as the introduction. I write primarily for fun, but enjoy the process (when writer's block doesn't strike, that is) - so any and all feedback is very much appreciated. Part 1: The Hunger He can't stop growing. Not that he wanted to, of course. He was addicted. It always ends up that way. The hunger is dormant at first, biding its time. Like many appetites (or should I say addictions?), it requires a trigger - a first taste. That first taste of muscle is like nothing else after; it stays with him forever. Often it’s a cartoon, featuring some character growing more muscular. Depending on the when he first imbibes, it may not even arouse him...merely intrigue - fascinate - him, for reasons he can’t yet grasp. But the hunger is awakened, and over time it starts to make itself known. Almost subconsciously, he will begin to seek out more. The hunger is insidious, and insatiable. Inevitably, it enslaves them. With each indulgence, it only grows more voracious. Stories of growth are joined by videos of bodybuilders; but the hunger soon demands more. He then joins a gym, and starts to grow, clothes tightening and giving way. Yet still the hunger is not satisfied. Each fall, deeper and deeper into the addiction, is easier to stomach than the last. It starts becoming easier to embrace the hunger. At first he resists the allure of steroids, but that resistance falters when the growth slows. As it happens, the ones who resist tend to perform the best; those who give in early often self-destruct, which just cuts short the pleasure. Inevitably, he succumbs to the promise of more, and faster, growth. Another fall. It will be followed by more - stacking numerous drugs, again and again. By this point, the hunger is all that’s left. Day and night revolve around feeding it. Such an innocent beginning. Such a glorious end. *** He is wanking furiously, pleasuring himself with dreams of enormity. His pecs - heaving as he grunts and groans - are so bloated he can’t reach his arm around to properly grasp his cock, forcing him to violently buck his hips. The chair is smothered by his mass, and creaks ominously with each thrust. His grotesquely swollen body glistens with sweat from the exertion (it’s hard work moving that much mass), filling the screen through which I watched him. He is monstrous. He is beautiful. His face - which looks comically small and awkwardly placed atop his body - is the sole remaining physical hint of what he once was. Boyishly handsome, dirty blond hair and brown eyes. Even contorted in pleasure - as much mental as physical - he remains handsome. That face is all that’s left of the days when he was a mere 120lbs at 5’7”. Today, he tipped the scales at 287lbs. I gave him a smile, to show I was happy with how far he’d come. “You’ve grown into quite the big boy!” I comment. He thrusts and groans as he hears my compliment. Something in the chair breaks. His shoulders are too broad to fully fit in the screen, and with each stroke of his hand striations ripples across the deltoid heads. His arms are swollen with power, each the size of his head, with the intersections of the deltoids and biceps etched in stone. My mouth salivates at the sight of them. Below the pec shelf, so heavy it sags, comes his rock-hard abdomen, with eight thick abdominal blocks carved in splendid relief, as if my a master sculptor. Framing his engorged manhood are splayed quads thicker than my waist (by several inches), the hugely overdeveloped heads of muscle flexing slightly with each buck of his hips. Between his moans - and dreams of being so much bigger - he manages to whisper: “More...please, more…” I cock my head teasingly, pretending not to have heard him. In truth, though, his question has deeply affected me. Tears almost come to my eyes. I can’t help but admire the hundreds of pounds of perfect, beautifully overgrown muscle desperately fighting for space on his tortured body. He has pushed it hard, punishingly so...but it did the only thing it could do: balloon, and balloon, and balloon, with muscle. He can easily go further. How much further? I don’t know. But we both want to find out. Poor boy. So desperate, and oh so so hungry. He’s gone so far. “Please!” he pleads, he begs, between frantic thrusts. His eyes crying out to me. “Make me bigger!” It’s curious. He knows he’s a freak, a monster. And yet, he doesn’t. He sees the great mountains of muscle he has grown, but doesn’t quite comprehend them. He never thought he could come so far, but he cannot imagine stopping now. It’s a vicious - or perhaps virtuous, depending on your viewpoint - cycle. Growth simply spurs the desire - the need - for more. A feedback loop of transitory pleasure. Each fix sets the stage for the next. It does not end. But that is what makes it oh so glorious. I smile again, a tear flowing this time. Such a beautiful, eager boy. He is a wonder to behold. “I think that can be arranged,” I reply. He explodes.
  8. I, for one, forgive you. Writing is hard, which is often forgotten. I know myself - ideas come, bloom spectacularly, and then suddenly die. It’s really rather difficult to keep a story alive, and just as difficult to satisfactorily end one. The idea peters out, and it’s orignal attractions to you fade. With that, your motivations fade too. And writing without motivation is quite simply a chore. You’ve set in motion a series of events, and it turns out to be almost impossible to properly tie things together. The number of endings - from stories here to full novels - that I’ve actually liked are few and far between. Often, the best stories have some of the most hollow endings - it’s usually just not possible to close Pandora’s box in a single chapter. Something always feels missing, the end anticlimactic. Great writing. Thank you for taking the time to write this love story and share it with us.
  9. Ozymandias

    Dane's Ghost (Part 24 added 02/22/19)

    This is a great story. The pas de deux between Dane and Pete is conveyed very well, as is Pete’s emotional turmoil and personality. I really hope Dane doesn’t become a ghost though!
  10. Ozymandias

    Smitten

    This is great! The structure of the story works very well, and our protagonist is brilliantly portrayed. Keep it up!
  11. Ozymandias

    Super Soldier (Chapter 7)

    Have the feeling our protagonist and Lewis are going to get intimate at some point...
  12. Ozymandias

    Make It Never Stop - Parts 1-5

    Loving this story - transcendence type stories are one of my favourites. Lets see what a god our protagonist becomes...
  13. Ozymandias

    Resolutions

    I’m loving this! Very much looking forward to seeing Jake grow out of control.
  14. Ozymandias

    Make It Never Stop - Parts 1-5

    It would quite simply be criminal not to continue this! As you so eloquently put it: make it never stop.
  15. Ozymandias

    Super Soldier (Chapter 2-4)

    Love this so far - let’s see what Lewis has become
×

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.