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merehuman

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  1. Can you guys believe I've only read now the finale? Happens that I needed my computer to read it, since I was converting all the measurements to the metric system (if anyone wants a copy of that, PM me --if dreadlifter allows me) It was such a great journey, personal and inspiring and hot... but I miss an Epilogue, a few glimpses of the character's future, how he lives the rest of his life, how is his new routine work with these giants, the pros and cons, and final thoughts on his relationship with them, the good and the bad. I think it is brilliant because MG stories is mostly about the main character having everything he desires, and here is the opposite, and yet the protagonist ended to embrace more deeper desires. And I thought this genre grew stale for the last years, good thing I was wrong.
  2. While the Musclegod doctor talked about his HBO contract on the phone, the receptionist and the young man stayed by the door guarding Mr.Branson. They couldn't avoid talking about Dr.Breneth, "you look like who wants the doctor's dick," said Janine to the young shrink with a low voice. "Desperately" "45 years to get my 'v' shot. I count every year. Imagine, just to be anything close to Dr.Breneth. You would look up here." He pointed at his lower belly. "You wouldn't be that tall. Only the old spice get that tall. Besides, I will be a fucking amazon by that age. To fuck these monsters day and night." "You can be a fucking amazon right now. You would look great." "Thanks. I'm just like how petite I feel near a Musclegod. I don't know. Like most girls, I like to be dwarfed by their size. It is so awesome. A big, musclegod daddy is so scary, but a fucking thrill. Besides, after mom became a Musclegoddess, poor dad. He is half the man he used to be. Now he is just... pathetic. Always grumping. Complaining. While she has her escapades with Real Men. And it will take 20 years for his 'v' shot, and make sex 'properly' with a nearly seven feet tall amazon like mom. His is in constant sorrow and mom is having the time of her life. I wouldn't want that for my husband. I'll only take my 'v' shot when he takes his. Like a second honeymoon. It would be so sweet to grow together, playing games with the tinies, watching them getting smaller and smaller before us, and then let them worship our big bodies head to toe. So romantic." Mr.Branson listened to them talking freely like he wasn't there, talking about dreams he couldn't have. His company on the couch was Dr.Breneth's heavy book. He mapped with his eyes the picture of his immense lats, focused on his armpits on page 497, on the chapter "Revolutionary Psychology", and there Mr.Breneth explained a few biologic reasons of how dominance and submission became the 'New Normal' : The 'Testosterone Overload' of a Musclegod created several byproducts, one of them was the 'Male Suppressors', pheromones that bring the testosterone of those near (and weaker than) him to lower levels. More comparatively weaker the man, more such suppressors would affect a male psyche, making them submissive, non-confrontational and obedient, and with longer exposures, making them weaker. While Male Suppressors could develop arousal (and dependency), the ordinary men who attempted to fight it, developed depression and apathy, and in the worst cases, despair and self-harm. A little bulb lit inside Mr.Branson's mind, "that explains a lot." The more his father grew, not only more resentful Mr.Branson junior became, and more his mood became totally erratic. He used to be a very level-headed man, Mr.Branson could deal with stressful situations like a breeze, that is, until his father crossed the 330lbs (or 150kg) threshold and triggered his 'Testosterone Overload'. "Oh..." Mr.Branson recalled the day his father came with the news, that he was growing beyond the 300lbs of muscles, and suddenly he was energetic as a teenager, and always boning up at anything, boning up when he talked about his arms, or boning up while talking about how many women were hitting on him. His father became much bossy and competitive. It was by 300 lbs that he couldn't stop showing off his 'gains' every ten minutes. Every day was like he got those 300 pounds of muscles that morning, like a novelty that never wore off. He started to watch himself in the mirror constantly, choosing clothes elastic enough to look like he wasn't wearing anything at all. And pretending to arrange his skintight manly leggings or his wifebeater, his father was actually just watching his own muscles flexing and bunching insistently. Flexing his pectorals and watching how deep his cleavage went like a woman who just had large breast implants, always looking at it, to feel that they are real, that they are a part of her body, her new personality. In Mr.Branson Senior's case, muscles, piles of muscles everywhere over his big body all around, not just his abundant chest. With the Testosterone Overload, his father just couldn't stop himself. And it only increased with his size. Self-infatuation was a bodily necessity. While fiercely dominant, a Musclegod is a slave to his desires. And so as the Testosterone Overload elevates, so do the Suppressors. When a Musclegod reaches seven feet tall, or 2-meters tall, the Suppressors literally 'attack' men around him with a flex of his muscles. The major 'Flex' was the Bicep flex, the pose that exposes the armpits, it creates a pheromone bombardment. A bombardment could elicit uncontrollable arousal on men and women alike. Mr.Branson kept reading, most affected men correlated the pheromone bombardment with the 'Flex', and even the image of a Musclegod doing the pose could create a similar response of expontaneous orgasm, and thus, a feedback mechanism. "Oh, my god," said Mr.Branson junior reading it. It connected so many dots in his mind. Scrambling his memories he remembered when the seven feet tall Branson Senior made Mr.Branson junior to orgasm 'accidentally' by flexing his double biceps in a show-offy casual fashion in the kitchen. He creamed his pants by just watching his father's oil tank lats expanding from his tank top. Mr.Branson Senior (and Mr.Branson junior's wife) were oblivious about what the Musclegod's armpits were doing to Mr.Branson Junior's libido. "Everything is biological..." Mr.Branson realized aloud. "Precisely," Mr.Branson heard the Musclegod's deep voice echoing around the office. With heavy thumps, the doctor was walking back the corridor towards him, Janine and the young man, and his voice could be heard in all other offices. Just before opening the windows above the double doors, he said, "everything you feel towards a Musclegod is a natural response." Mr.Branson heard it while his eyes fixated on the gigantic quads guarding the entrance to the room. Both Janine and the young shrink side by side of the door, watched the giant doctor open the main ceiling windows to pass inside, and once opened, the Musclegod gave them the 'Flex'. Flexing his huge arms. The skin-tight shirt protested by ripping further under his armpits, and both Janine and the young therapist lost balance, as did Mr.Branson, "there is no right or wrong, there is only my muscles," said the deep voice flexing his bowling ball biceps harder, but not hard enough to rip his shirt again, but hard enough to make the young man to cum again in his pants. In his 40s, Mr.Branson was about to shoot another load too, even if it was so painfully. Dr.Breneth was a man with so much testosterone that little specks and flashes of light filled Mr.Branson junior's vision. Mr.Branson thought he might faint again as his eyesight tunneled, everything turning black but Dr.Breneth's wrecking-ball-biceps and the big veins forcefully pumping blood into those two monumental masses of muscles. And then, the Musclegod relaxed his arms to his sides, bouncing his godly pectorals only once while his eyebrows raised in approval of our collective gasps at them, like the Musclegod was feeding from their released energy. The Musclegod glanced at both young graduates completely flushed. Janine's beige stockings were a mess. "I'll need you both presentable, go take a shower later," stated Dr.Breneth. The Musclegod came above the young man, looking down at him between his pectoral hills, "and bring me more coffee before you go." The young shrink nodded fast and went directly to the expresso machine eager to please the Musclegod. Other clients waiting outside noticed the young man and Janine walking funny, which was becoming too common of a scene around a big Musclegod. The military-grade chair groaned once again to accommodated one thousand pounds of muscles. "Did the HBO thing went alright?" Mr.Branson asked meekly, still breathing hard. "We don't need to go there," the Musclegod opened his notebook on his bench-sized crossed leg, and Mr.Branson heard some threads ripping around the explosive flexes of his upper drum-sized leg. "Why?" "Because you would compare yourself to me, and that would be brutally unfair." "Do you think I'm that fragile, Doctor?" The Musclegod took a deep breath expanding his massive chest, "you'll get better. I noticed you've already read a few passages of the book." Mr.Branson's eyes were drawn to the Musclegod's armpits, surrounded by his bulbous delts, traps, and biceps like the entrance of a cave, "yes... enlightening," Mr.Branson said, "Testosterone Overload, I didn't know about that." "The book contains my thesis, social experiments, and behavioral biology observations that my team and I conducted as I and my wife became Musclegods. My students, as you can see them on page 377, devoted the last three years to be a part of this study, spending all their available time studying me and my wife, our bodies and bodily functions... and also me studying their own bodies and bodily, emotional reactions." On page 377, on the chapter 'Scientific Method', there were more than five hundred students, surrounding the Musclegod doctor in the gardens of a college campus. Dr.Breneth's son, the photographer, seemed to take the exact moment that all 500 college students, of all colors, sexes, and nationalities had their heads turned to the eight feet tall Musclegod facing the crowd, shirtless, with his superwide muscular back to the camera. Half of the students were looking at his chest and biceps, the other half looking at the extreme cock tightly wrapped in his Adidas red compression thighs. "They look dedicated." "As part of the social experiment, I hardly informed how they should organize between themselves before me. What evolved then was an ever-growing atmosphere of competition for my attention and acceptance. From there we could extrapolate how the society will unfold under the vHCG era. You can find my conclusions on page 441, Chapter 43, 'Lordship and Bondage' and Chapter 44, 'Father Figure' on page 466. For every word, Mr.Branson thought of a quip. That all these absurdities deserved to be met with sarcasm. Yet, he swallowed those cynical thoughts when his eyes shifted from his doctor's face to any of his superhuman body parts. The fascinating muscular appeal of the Musclegod's pictures was there to show the world that the new deal was there, a final raw deal, real as it gets: a tyrannical hierarchy of attractiveness, the attractiveness that comes with muscle size. Mr.Branson looked back at the rendering of Dr.Breneth's muscular arm holding the planet on the cover. It sunk then the true weight of that book: it was a political manifesto, a scientific treaty, maybe even a new socio-economic theory and a spiritual guide. It will break 100 million copies, Mr.Branson thought, sell more books than Tolkien and Stephen King together. The newer Testament. "It is... fascinating," Mr.Branson said. "In a weird way, I think I kind of knew all of that, but a lot of it all came together now, doctor." "Good to know." Mr.Branson was curious about his amazon wife, "I don't seem to find your wife on the book." "We'll have another version of the book, with her pictures instead. As soon as she reaches 7'5 feet tall..." The Musclegod shifted his position for a moment, his arms swelled harder as he thought of his amazon wife, "and my son's team to finish the production," he shifted his position again, his chair clanked with the massive weight shifting, "...of the pictures." "Anything wrong, doc?" "I'm fine." The Musclegod took another deep breath to clear the image of his Musclegoddess wife from his mind. "Christ... 7'5? She's almost your height!" Mr.Branson listened to a few more strands ripping apart around the Musclegod thighs, "she would tower even over my ex-wife, and my ex was already threatening enough for me at 6'9." Mr.Branson noticed the Musclegod adjusting his tight pants between his mesmerizingly muscular legs, the chair groaned loudly this time. "If my ex got to 7'5 feet tall she would have crushed me between her legs a long time ago." The expensive pen in the Musclegod's hand snapped in three and Mr.Branson saw the already big package of the doctor enlarging with every heartbeat. Shit, he thought, looking at that, that thing was thick as Mr.Branson's forearm and then getting wider than his upper arm. The elastic pouch wrapping every detail of his immense cock was stretching to accommodate the added mass, but that thing didn't stop there. It was getting longer and thicker, the cock head getting ready to pierce whatever material it finds in its path. "We'll have to interrupt for one moment," said the Musclegod looking at his watch, and he elevated his voice for the whole office to hear, "Janine, please come over here." In ten seconds, Janine was at the door, not missing the obscene enormity growing over the Musclegod's thunderous sartorius like a cake in the oven. "Would you mind?" The Musclegod pointed towards the building enormity in his crotch. Mr.Branson saw Janine's mouth went agape at the proposition, stupified as her eyes lingered on it, not quite believing it. And for one moment, Mr.Branson thought that Janine got deeply offended by the crudest move in the sexual harassment history of the working class. He was wrong, Janine went on her fours and started crawling the office carpet towards the Musclegod's thighs with her eyes taken by insane lust, her salivating red lips eagerly smiling all the way. "It won't take long," said the Musclegod to Mr.Branson as he opened his monstrous legs to let Janine come and crawl between them. Mr.Branson watched Janine's hands crossing the muscular landscape of the Musclegod's upper legs, feeling every crevice, every hard bump overflowing her palm, embracing them with her arms as her nose and cheeks rubbed on one leg, saturating her nostrils. The Musclegod finished writing some more notes before giving his full attention to his cock and Janine, putting the notes aside, relaxing his musclebound arms to the sides and spreading his legs further, as she blissfully basked her face on his muscles, feeling them with her whole body. All the while his big cock kept creeping larger at twelve inches -30cm- and Mr.Branson didn't know that it was still halfway to go in both length and width. 'He'll kill her with that thing,' he thought. The stretchy pouch of pants was reaching its limit, encasing the Musclegod's cock like a condom ready to burst, Janine whispered at it with a soft but desperate voice, biting her lips hard, "can I touch it, sir?" Dr.Breneth boring his eyes at her, just above his immense pectorals full of authority, just nodded. Janine positioned herself as the Musclegod fully -spread his long legs pushing Mr.Branson's couch aside to give him even more space -the whole room. Janine embraced the sidewalk pole with her hands and arms, feeling smaller than ever. Every single touch of her delicate fingers on the Musclegod's throbbing rod sent every submissive tendency of her on overdrive. She loved that her both hands only felt a fraction of his hardening cock, which was then starting to elevate both its mass and Janine from his immense leg, as it gained even more inches. Mr.Branson couldn't move, couldn't react. He was partially afraid and spellbound, speechless that it was even larger than the pictures in the book. He has been modest in the book. Dr.Breneth had more cock than all those 500 students put together. As the advanced material of Dr.Breneth's pants couldn't take anymore cock, Janine expertly found the little band that held the overly stressed pouch closed. With her small voice, full of reverence, but with her eyes staring greedily on the big prize growing before her, she begged him, "can see it, sir?" The Musclegod took Janine's head with his big palm and pressed her face over his monumental erection, as Janine attempted to unclasp the pouch open, with her hands almost trembling with excitement. The closer contact made it grow a few inches more and to elevate to 45 degrees from his lap like a battleship cannon, making Janine not needing to kneel to reach its head anymore. Mr.Branson watched the Musclegod and his little worshipper forgetting his presence, they were in a world of their own, orbiting the largest cock he ever saw. The massive rod free from the unclasped pouch, grew harder and angrier as large veins sprouted and pulsed like a bloody steam locomotive taking speed. Janine was delirious as she rubbed her whole face, hands, and arms, and breasts, and tongue, anything, as if she was doing sex with the Musclegod's cock alone, ecstatic and somewhat disgruntled that a cock of such size would never fit anywhere in her body. The Musclegod needed the release immediately, and his solution was to grind Janine's face harder, his huge arm pushing her cheeks up and down against his 20+inches shaft. Janine was nothing more than a contraption for the Musclegod to get off. She got even more delirious by the maneuver, her drooling kept dumping on to the monster rod making it lustrous, with her tongue all out slurping like she was licking a giant jawbreaker. Her eyes were wide open to drain the sight before her, at an 8'5 feet Musclegod. A fantasy she has been harboring for the last three years was finally happening. Janine wanted to devour DR.BRENNETH'S COCK as long as she saw his pictures in the college. All her girlfriends wanted that cock. And it was finally hers. Hers alone. She couldn't wait to tell them. Mr.Branson noticed her tied shirt opening and her breasts getting off of her bra as her body was rammed up and down against the humongous cock. His full attention was the Doctor's mango-sized balls, which seemed to have needs of their own, growing bigger. He never saw something like that, spermatozoids multiplying themselves on a geometric progression, filling those balls in all directions, and once each ball got bigger than Mr.Branson's closed fists put together, it hastened even more size. Mr.Branson's hair was being pulled of his face by the displacement of hot air coming out of the Musclegod's powerful lungs, rumbling his deep growl. The almighty cock bobbed with Janine's maniac craze, her petite hands rubbing the shaft as far as the length of her arms allowed, "YES", the Musclegod doctor rumbled, shaking the windows and making Mr.Branson squeal in his seat. Mr.Branson found himself at the path of the fully loaded sperm weapon, watching pre-cum falling over Janine's face and drenching her body, igniting her multiple orgasms like a strike of napalm. Between her delirious cries and the Musclegod's balls churching heavier, inflating like a party balloon, between the web of veins spurting all over the Musclegod's bloated muscles, like a giant eight feet tall erection, the giant rod that bobbed before he was just as veiny, Mr.Branson junior noticed that he in the line of fire. The head, the size of a kid's SS helmet, was aiming at him. The entire picture of a Musclegod behind it made it look even larger. The mini-refrigerator sized pectorals, maybe each as wide as his shoulders, flinched. The Musclegod was about to cum between Mr.Branson's eyes, and then his eyes locked with the menacing green eyes of the Musclegod doctor looking back at him. Mr.Branson had to make a choice: Should he dodge? . end of the fourth part
  3. yep, I resuscitated this story because the concept was the closest cousin of elongro that I had! I love describing a whole society centered around the narcissism of these giant bodybuilders (by the eyes of those who do not grow)
  4. Mr.Branson opened his eyes looking at the ceiling, 'where am I?'. For a moment Mr.Branson thought he was at home. His old house. The same roof he once shared with his father, his wife, and his kids. As his eyes focused, he felt a warm presence, he could feel the heat irradiating off of a massive body by his side, and feeling on his skin the displacing air coming from powerful lungs with 30 times more capacity than his own. "D... doctor Breneth?" He said looking back at the seated giant, "you've..." his eyes went from the doctor's confident expression and unique handsomeness downwards to the O-M-G bulge enveloped by the tight pouch of his skin hugging dark pants, "...grown." "How are you, Mr.Branson junior?" Said the Musclegod, the deepness of his voice that could replace James Earl Jones' legendary 'This is CNN'. Intimidated by everything, the size of the Musclegod, his voice, his eyes, his perfection, and his barrel-like upper legs and the enourmous bulge that couldn't escape his view, Mr.Branson had to swallow hard to muster a response, "Fine... no, I'm not fine. I'm... I'm..." He felt butterflies in his stomach, he couldn't even think straight. The Musclegod's presence was dumbing down his reasoning. He felt like a teenager asking a girl out the first time. Or like when he asked his (ex)wife to marry him. Very few life events gave him such twisted feelings. "Disoriented?" said the Musclegod, writing down on his notebook. With the Musclegod's eyes down on the paper, Mr.Branson took the opportunity to gawk at the doctor's chest once more. He changed his shirt. Another color. Most of his godly pectorals were still exposed. Just as his oppressively large traps. Even seated, Mr.Branson saw the four pairs of stones under a compression shirt that belonged to the Marvel movies. "Yes..." Mr.Branson's eyes were still trapped on the doctor's tectonic pectoral shelves on full display. The Musclegod looked on his big watch, noting the hour, making his absurd bicep to twitch into a hardball. "You... don't need glasses anymore?" Mr.Branson asked looking back the green eyes above him. The seated Musclegod doctor could see that his patient was more willing to talk about musclegod features than his own woes. As usual. "My visual acuity is up to 20/100 these days." "Jesus... what it means?" "I can see the license plaque of that Prius," the Musclegod said with a single glance to the large window outside. Mr. Branson could only one car at the whole deserted street, it was three blocks away turning into a bridge. "Is that even a Prius?" He felt even more intimidated by those same inquisitory eyes, aware that this Musclegod's vision could see every pore and imperfection of his face and body. "To tell the truth, I need to exam them again," the musclegod said while still writing, making his huge writing bicep to bulge like a solid sphere under the highly stressed sleeve. "My vision is always improving," he completed. Mr.Branson's eyes fixed once again on the musclegod's biceps and had a flashback of the sleeve of the prior shirt tearing apart at his face. His felt uncomfortable with his pants all messy and wet, making him feel dirty, ashamed of such position before a huge Musclegod, completely exposed and defenseless, and yet waning more of it, savoring these same memories the shirt exploded by sheer mass of the doctor's immense muscularity. The Musclegod doctor noted his wanting, and flexed an arm for his patient, watching Mr.Branson's pupils to dilate as the colossal muscles piled on the musclegod's bent arm, "I take that has been a long time since you last have been close of a Musclegod?" How did he guess? "Yes... I've been living in an old cabin not too far from here, Dr. Breneth. I... just disconnected from the world... I didn't want to be found... by them." "By Them, you mean your family?" "Yes... I tossed my phone on the road, tablet, everything. Stop using internet. I just couldn't bear any more. With the little money I had, I rented an old cabin in the woods, hiding. Hiding from those monsters." The godly muscular doctor kept writing, Mr.Branson never saw a pen moving so fast, in a little more than a minute, his sharp and precise handwriting covered yet another page. "For how long?" "Two and a half years..." "900 days completely disconnected from the world, Mr.Branson?" "Yes. There was not even a radio signal on the lake valley. I knew if I ever appeared in front of a computer, or a security camera, dad would find me. Dad has now connections with the CIA, NSA, the Army! I'm absolutely sure that he'd put the entire nation after me!" The Musclegod doctor didn't react to any of those possible delusions, because he had contacts himself within the major government offices as well. The giant brought the conversation back to Mr.Branson's life, "how you kept yourself occupied there for over two years, Mr.Branson?" "Books. Books are my passion. I know I'm a good businessman but I never had the time to do my calling. I can write. I always knew I had the knack for it. Every English teacher told me. I spent my time there reading all my favorite authors during the night and writing in the morning. I decided to make a sort of autobiographical novel, to be truthful about the unfairness of the world, make sense of the hell, and yet still aspiring, but..." "You abandoned it," the Musclegod doctor completed while filling out yet another full notebook page on his patient like a stenographer. "It was too depressing. Every page was like cutting my own wrists. One day drunk I just burned every page. It was fit of rage. All those drafts gone. Like it never existed. I guess I won't be on the NYT list any time soon." The Musclegod raised his eyebrow, "did any member of your family ever hurt you physically?" "Physically? Oh, yes, once my monster of a father broke my shoulder! He almost tore my arm from its socket!" "How exactly it happened?" "I... well, okay. It wasn't his fault. We were crossing a street and I was so disturbed that I didn't saw a bus coming and he yanked me towards his big chest so hard that he broke a few bones of mine. I think the bus would hurt less." "Did he blamed you?" "Yes! I mean, no. Actually, it was the one few times he got 'nice' with me. At least until it was healed." "So, he still cares about you." Mr.Branson did not reply to that, choosing to look the other way. "I... I have to say that I don't have 2000 dollars to pay for this." "You do not need to worry about my fees," said the Musclegod. Two thousand wouldn't even affort the doctor three days of food, or the pay back the custom made compression shirt he just destroyed to remove Mr.Branson out of his catatonic state. "I don't do this for the money, Mr.Branson." "Why charge 2000 then?" The Musclegod wasn't used to be questioned by tinies anymore, and neither he liked the scrutiny coming from such a tiny patient, the doctor's titanic chest took a deep breath to calm himself and not let his domineering nature to get better of him and teach Mr.Branson why a Musclegod should be always addressed by SIR. "I have countless other more profitable options than this, Mr. Branson. But those heavy fees are there to discourage new clients as my available time became too limited. Either way, I do make more than enough money to keep my old career, and it let me give guidance to my long-standing clients, like I'm doing for you, Mr.Branson." "Do you have a new career?" Mr.Branson asked. Both heard a small knock on the door. The young shrink was back, making his presence known to his own office. Breathless like he just came out of a marathon, the young man approached the Musclegod with a wide and heavy 600-page book in his hands like a trophy, "I've got one, Dr.Breneth!" "Why you took so long to find me a copy?" The Musclegod noticed that the hard cover book was used, very often used. The young man treaded lightly "w... we don't have any more copies in this office, Dr. Breneth. It is not Janine's fault. Or mine. We asked for more copies last week, and they're all gone, again. Now every client asks for them. It is still hard to find it in online stores. You know it." Doctor Breneth inspected the book and found his own autograph, "is this yours?" "Yes. I... went home to pick it up for you as you asked, Dr. My home is not that far. And it is a very well preserved copy. We wont need it so soon. Actually, my girlfriend prefers the audiobook version, she listens to your voice all the time, it helps her to get in the mood... to, hmm, give her... clarity... about the world. I prefer the book than the audiobook, but Mr.Branson needs it more than me." "Well, then, now it belongs to Mr.Branson," said the Musclegod extending his blue-sleeved veiny python arm handling the book to the small (for him) patient. "It looks expensive," said Mr.Branson. "No, seriously, you need it way more than I do," said the young shrink honestly, but their eyes didn't meet, as for the whole time, the young man could not tear his eyes apart from Dr.Breneth's hypnotic ocean of musculature, always shifting and moving as the Musclegod adjusted his 1000 pounds body (450 KG) in his large creaking military-grade office chair that took half of the free space of that room. While the book seemed small in the Musclegod hands, it felt like a slab of concrete once it got in Mr.Branson's hands. Its BIG title: "THE NEW NORMAL", and the subtitle: "The New Era's Bible" On the book's 'deep space' black cover had the picture of a cosmic herculean arm with our planet by the tip of its fingers. In golden letters was the author: 'DR.ERIC BRENETH, PhD.' The arm in the cover was just as cut and big as the relaxed arm on in front of Mr.Branson's couch. On the back cover another picture, this time with the Musclegod's chest, and again, with a tiny planet Earth being compressed between the muscular enormities of his twin chest mountains. "We are releasing the third edition with updated pictures. My assistant will mail you a copy," "Third edition!? It is a hit, then, doc! Congratulations." Mr.Branson opened the big book. It was damn heavy because every single page had a glossy finish, and every even page of the book had a full picture of Dr.Breneth; the first chapters were a diary of his transformation into a Musclegod. The first pictures were clinical and detached images of an old man fighting cancer. And progressively, as the old decrepit Dr.Breneth started to win over cancer and get muscles instead, the pictures became more stylistic than clinical, by the third chapter of the 600-page book Dr.Breneth was a whole other person, breaking the two meters tall barrier (or seven feet), and every photograph then on was a work of art, of passion and commitment, elevating the Musclegod into a mythical being. One picture in the middle of the book grabbed his attention, taken at the second that the doctor's extreme quads burst a 501 to shreds like a collapsing dam, "that's... great photograph." If Mr.Branson had that book earlier, he would find more things to keep him occupied in the cabin by the lake valley. "My son is the photographer." the Musclegod said. "All pictures completely untouched. Just as in real life" "Oh, your son, that's why they feel so... intimate." "My life is literally an open book. His partner and he followed me every single day of my transformation for over three years." On page 202, at the start of the chapter titled 'Eight Feet and Beyond,' the Musclegod was reaching his 'final form', with two SUVs worth of concrete against his explosive chest on a concrete bench, splitting and cracking to accommodate both massive weights. "Your son does really have the talent to make them... rather dramatic." "He always had a huge talent and he found a subject worthy of his talent," the Musclegod said making one huge pectoral to bounce magnanimously for a brief moment. Most Musclegods had the habit of bouncing their pectorals while talking about themselves. Even psychologists couldn't escape from having such Musclegod subconscious antics, and anytime they bounced like this, it would take Mr.Branson breath away. Mr.Branson couldn't flip the pages further without the first photo his eyes laid on grabbed his whole attention, on page 353, the chapter titled, 'The Spiritual Limits of Domination', the Musclegod wore nothing but a white toga drenched in water. His cock at half mast and nearly thick as a two-liter pepsi bottle, fully diplayed at the center of the picture. No inhibition at all. Mr.Branson turned to another page in hope to find such cock completely hard, just to phantom its size. "On page 505 there is a picture of me with son. He won more awards for those pictures than me as a writer. I'm very happy for him." "I wish my father was like you," he said turning on page 505, the Musclegod's son was his age, an average man like himself, being dwarfed by his Musclegod dad with a gym/superhero outfit like he once was. "Your father is like me," the Musclegod said bringing his hand to his chin, making gigantic forearm to fiercely compete for space with an even greater bicep. "Like me, he can do great things." But was that book a great thing? Mr.Branson thought. Surely, Mr.Branson would buy the book without thinking. Some would say it was vulgar, but he couldn't stop turning its pages, almost addictively. But his father was into GREAT BIG things since he came to be a member of the Three Comma Club. By 2018, Mr.Branson Senior owned an entire fleet of ocean liners being refurbished to allow big Musclegods to spread and show off their muscles free from social norms. A Carnival business where Musclegods had little to pay, and lines of ordinary young men and women hoping to buy a cruise ticket to be with them. His father was making billions. Mr.Branson opened a double page picture at the middle of the book, with several beautiful young girls screaming fighting between themselves to touch the Musclegod's bicep like a rockstar in a concert. How could a single picture be so heart-stirring, hair-raising, and spine-chilling... how it could steer such strong emotion in himself? Mr.Branson thought. The Musclegod's pride oozed from its glossy finish. Great photograph with an even greater subject, sure, but not anything as BIG as his father was able to attain as a Musclegod. People would be lured by such nearly obscene, lustful epic pictures of Dr.Breneth, but not the writing, Mr.Branson thought. Janine, the receptionist knocked on the door, "Dr.Breneth, HBO is on the phone's office, again." Janine in her early twenties, still in college, not only was biting her lips while stripping the Musclegod naked with her eyes, but her nipples shown like little bullets in her flannel shirt, tied with a knot urging for the Musclegod to unfasten it. The Musclegod was not amused by the session getting interrupted, "and why is that important?" Janine kept focus, "a man told him that another man told him that if you don't sign their contract by the end of the week, they will phone Dr.Memphis." "Dr.Memphis? He is a HACK!" The glass over the table trembled at the doctor's full voice. Both Mr.Branson and the young shrink protected their ears, while Janine's legs trembled as his loud voice alone was edging her to multiple orgasms, she was THAT sensible to his powerful voice, more so than all other countless young women and amazons the sex symbol doctor encountered. "You," the Musclegod pointed to the young man, "stay here with Mr.Branson while I resolve this." "No problem, Dr.Breneth. I'll do anything you want. Anything..." The young man noticed he was being too pushy, "I'm just glad to help," he said not being able to avoid looking at the pants-life-threatening bulge resting on the Musclegod's supremely powerful looking thighs. Watching a Musclegod standing up was a spectacle in itself. Rising higher and higher, always perplexing to the ordinary people around him. Mr.Branson surely had his share of this experience with his father. Didn't matter if this simple act was a daily, or an hourly occurrence, it would invariably impress him like the time he saw naked breasts for the first time as a teenager. There is something that snaps when a Musclegod breaks the two-meters/seven feet barrier. And it happens again at two and a half/eight feet, becoming unbearably too hot to anyone too close. And then, they watched his apotheotic swagger as the 8'5 feet Musclegod thumps on the ground as he turned to the door. They kept their buggy eyes at the big bulge package bouncing as it was so big and heavy as the Doctor's overwhelming muscles. Janine could not stop mentally comparing the volume of that package with the size of her hands. Even soft, those balls and the mass of cock would overflow her open palms. "Oh, shit..." Janine cried while crossing her legs again as if she needed to pee urgently. She forced herself to stop those impulses as there was a client in the room. Not just any client, but DR.BRENETH's client. He must be important, she thought while her eyes feasted at the butt, as hard, big and jutting as two bowling balls rolling one over another, walking away from the room by the narrow (for him) double-sized doors. Their clear lack of self-control made Mr.Branson feel somewhat more 'normal' about himself. The 'New' normal, he thought. How many times he didn't found himself in this same situation with his father. Of course, Mr.Branson junior never told any of those moments to Dr.Breneth. It was just, too damn private to get hard beyond any control for his Musclegod dad. The more he attempted to avoid fantasies and daydreams involving his father's muscles, his cock wouldn't avoid it, it would rebel. "HBO?" Mr.Branson asked once his senses allowed. "Is he going to be on Game of Thrones or what?" "A deal on the book. That's what we know," said the young shrink. "Seriously? How quaint. It must be a vanity project." Both Janine and the young shrink looked back at Mr.Branson like he was crazy, "what?" Mr.Branson asked back. "Dude, he sold 80 million copies," said the young shrink. "Everyone is talking about it. It is... controversial." "80 million! Those are Harry Potter numbers!" "Were you living under a rock?" Asked the young shrink. "You should know, you are the therapist here." "I'm only doing this for the credits. I'm probably the worst shrink in the whole United States." The young shrink did not mention about his fixation fever on the Musclegod doctor as the major (and sole) reason for being there. Everyone had their secrets about a Musclegod. Mr.Branson looked back at the heavy book with the tacky muscle cover. "80 million?? That's Da Vinci Code Big. He must be a millionaire by now." "He's making 20 bucks on each copy, do the math. He is making fucking bank! He is so awesome. Dr.Breneth don't even sell his face. He could make much more money if he wanted to. But he says that integrity doesn't have a price... which makes them even offer more money." "Did Dr.Breneth got on the NYT list?" "The 'New Normal' IS on the TOP of the NYT bestsellers, Mr.Branson." . end of the third part (of the second part)
  5. all his aliases (that I know of) are: musclegod300 soccerstud88 TeenMuscleGod BuffBoy HSMuscleBoy geektofreek
  6. "Come on in, Dr.Breneth." Even if they wanted to look anywhere else, they couldn't. Both Mr.Branson junior and the young shrink kept their full attention on every inch of the double doors opening inwards. The vertical slit slowly opened showing inch by inch a torso that until then belonged to mythology (and the pornographic arts). While the younger shrink was breathing faster in excitement to have a Musclegod before him, Mr.Branson wasn't breathing at all. It has been two years and a half since he saw a Musclegod of such stature again (his father). Like in the movies, he watched the doors to open in slow motion. As a typical Musclegod, Dr.Eric Breneth held a natural muscular pose, with his hands on his hips, and even those huge hips looked small next to his legs. His lats fully flexed, tapering out beyond the doorframe. Mr. Branson saw the abs of a God, the armor-like eight-pack that could be seen one by one of in his dark blue compression shirt. Being disconnected from the world for so long, Mr.Branson wasn't up to speed when it came to the latest in Musclegod's fashion. The towering He-Man before Mr.Branson wore a long-sleeved compression shirt, stretched to the max from his wrists up to his inhumane forearms, covering his glorious delts, but leaving his huge traps and most of his immense chest fully exposed. The wide scoop t-shirt was designed to show the immensity of the traps of a musclegod bulging out of the shirt. The shirt barely covered his diamond nipples pointed downwards, at the same the shelves of his chest projected outwards, erupting naked from shirt collar. And still, the doorframe only allowed Mr.Branson could only see the lower half of those pecs. The doors opened ten more inches, and Mr.Branson couldn't yet see where Dr.Eric Breneth's pectorals would end. Those pectorals should be in a museum, like a piece of art, if it had any more veins and striations they would look gross, yet Mr.Bransons couldn't imagine more veins and striations than those in front of him. It was paradoxical to him. While Mr.Bransons was hypnotized by the two enormities, each pectoral seeming as wide as him. He was already floored. Mr.Branson felt weightless as if the world seemed to have only one final man standing: the great muscle beast at that door. Mr.Branson felt vulnerable as ever. It didn't matter the face of such musclegod, or his personality and intentions, the spectacle of his mere breathing, making his polished hard muscles to shift ever so slightly, his inches deep abs to contract and expand like smoldering ember. Against his will, Mr.Branson felt his body giving itself in tribute like in King Kong. He felt small as one inch tall, a little trinket to entertain this musclegod, and be either taken or crushed at his whim. Dr.Eric Breneth's dark pants only had a pretense of formality. Like the dark blue shirt, the pants material hugged the monstrous thighs and his immense virility as if it was painted. Mr.Branson fought the urge to embrace one leg and hump it like a misbehaved dog. Mr.Branson tightened his legs as he felt he could even ejaculate accidentally, as the two pillars of pure strength moved one step back, bunching and expanding. If Mr.Branson was indeed embracing one thigh, such a mere flex would break such embrace. The doors fully opened, and still, Dr.Eric Breneth's airfield width wasn't fully revealed. What happened then, startled Mr.Branson junior, like a tsunami was coming to him, the musclegod was bending down. And inch by inch, he saw more of his monumental pectorals coming to his view, even for such a hyper-muscular torso, the monster's pecs dominated his chest. And now it obscured everything else but the thunderous thighs. Mr.Branson could only gulp at the titanic muscle cleavage. He could stick his arm between them. Mr.Branson gulped again at the rampant spam of the musclegod wrecking ball shoulders, filling the top of the doors, doors that would fit three men standing side by side with space to spare. With the giant bending down, those shoulders would be within reach of Mr.Branson's arms. He imagined himself touching them, feeling how hard they must be, trying desperately to pointlessly pinch such hardness with the tip of his fingers, punching them and only hurting his fists. Mr.Branson did not allow himself to breathe, he felt that if he released the air in his lungs, he would wet himself with an uncontrollable orgasm. Mr.Branson saw the traps coming down like a celestial event, holding a thick bull neck as wide as Mr.Branson's hips, and lastly Dr.Eric Breneth showed his face below the door frame, looking inside the room. Mr.Branson had vague memories of his ex-shrink, but few of those memories matched the god before him. Mr.Branson only whispered as he saw the seething green eyes looking back at him. He never noticed that the Dr.Breneth had green eyes. They seemed to shine. There were a clear maturity and wisdom betraying the facial perfection of this narcissistic god. Mr.Branson attempted to place the old face he remembered about the doctor, the inward chin, sunken cheeks, the hard lines of his forehead, the dark tired eyes and its bags, the unkempt beard. It was all gone. In its place, the doctor had the superhero jawline highlighted by a silvery stubble, framed by a dashing salt and pepper hairstyle that belonged to a red carpet. His handsomeness seemed out of Hollywood's Golden Age. He was Perfect, Mr.Branson's brain told to itself. He was Perfection. The spell of a Musclegod went in full gears into Mr.Branson's psyche, he could only stare like a zombie at the rollercoaster of muscles. The Musclegod doctor said something, perhaps his name, perhaps 'hello', Mr.Branson couldn't follow it. He could only sense the deep voice thundering and flooding into the room like a THX theater presentation. The double doors were too small for someone like an 8'5 feet, 2,50 meters tall Musclegod. This simple thought was giving Mr.Branson a small deceptive relief that he was safe in that room. He was not aware that the world has been adapted to Musclegods, and the doctor unfastened the heavy opaque windows above the door to pass. The sky seemed to open for Mr.Branson who got then the full view of the towering superhuman looking back downwards at him. "No one deserves to be this tall..." said a voice at the back of Mr.Branson's mind, "no one deserves such musculature, the manliness, the superiority." For a moment, the young shrink was able to take his eyes off the musclegod's magnificence and glance at the star-struck patient, "he is getting purple," he commented to Dr. Breneth. "I think Mr.Branson forgot how to breathe," he completed. Dr.Breneth took a strong breath expanding his ribcage, and his huge pectorals and lats inflated accordingly, "as expected," he replied with his booming voice reverberating over Mr.Branson's lungs. Behind the musclegod, the young female receptionist of the office was discreetly fingering herself under her working table let out a small orgasm by listening to his voice alone. Expected as well. His sudden presence would alter the entire mood and small habits of its workers for the whole week. A seven feet Musclegod would be distracting enough, an 8'5 ft one displaced their emotions like a nuclear battleship creating engulfing waves in its wake. Finally, the musclegod walked inside the room, turning his shoulder sideways to bypass the double doors entrance. He looked down at the tiny patient between his pectorals. Meeting people again that he knew before his transformation was fascinating to him. Mr.Branson junior had his mouth wide open like he had a dislocated jaw, dripping a bit from its corner. "I think you've broken him," said the young shrink. "Everything can be fixed," boomed the Musclegod with a Ph.D. Slowly, the musclegod brought his extended right arm downwards to Mr.Branson junior's face. The bicep mountain was larger than Mr.Branson's head and was still not flexed. The extended arm expanded his triceps, also larger than Mr.Branson's head. The cacophony of arm muscles was still enveloped in the skintight dark blue sleeve, following fixed to every millimeter of the musclegod's skin. Mr.Branson's eyes traveled to the musclegod's hand, a hand that could enclose his skull and utterly squish it like a grape, and the musclegod closed his fingers into a fist and the veins of his massive forearm could be seen in the relief of the tight sleeve. Mr.Branson was yet fighting a hopeless battle. Was he about to lose control in front of these men? Would he walk home in dump pants and shame? Or worse, was he a bitch for any Musclegod that crosses him? The forces Mr.Branson was struggling against were overwhelming, he knew he couldn't stop from spontaneously explode in his pants, but he couldn't accept it. His eyes outlined every single detail and peaks of Dr.Breneth breathtaking muscular arm like he was watching fireworks. He was unable to stop thinking that this single arm flexing in front of him weighted more than his two legs. That it would be able to lift this couch with everything inside of that room in it, including himself and the young shrink. Yet, Mr.Branson junior had still some resolve to defy his own body, he couldn't accept to be a plaything at the hands of these musclegods. He held his breath harder, noticing his cock ready to shoot. And then, the monstrous arm started to flex. Slowly, the forearm bent and the inhumanly large bicep started to enlarge even more before his eyes. A large bowling ball with the strength of a dozen men inside it. The dark blue sleeve grew translucent at its almighty peak. That same almighty peak elevated more four inches splitting the first strands of the strong material barely capable to hold the terrifying wingspan of muscles. The young therapist watched the spectacle, his eyes transfixed on the two holy muscle spheres above his view, Dr.Breneth's butt. Boning up as well, he was fighting the instinct to jump over Dr.Eric Breneth's back and feel those enormous jutting muscles himself. Mr.Branson still tied to an attempt to save his dignity, nodded a desperate 'no', but his eyes were wide open at the musclegod's almighty bicep. Dr.Breneth kept his clinical green eyes down at his tiny patient. All of them were tiny. All tinies are unable to stop lusting after him. Some tinies still had troubles accepting it. With a little more effort, his bicep surged even more. Big veins emerged, the clear muscles separations of his arm became stark. The catastrophic failure of that sleeve was imminent. For Mr.Branson, was like witnessing a time bomb. He knew it was imminent, and there was nothing he could do stop it. R-R-R-R-Riiiiiiiip The colosseum of muscles burst free and Mr.Branson emitted an intense cry that could be heard at the street. His eyes turned around and he fainted over the couch overwhelmed by his runaway orgasm. His cock, even spent, kept its erect position as a homage to the musclegod. "Good lord," said the young therapist, "talk about repressed emotions. I bet he is not the first one to react over your body like this. Right, doctor?" Dr.Eric Breneth turned his huge muscular frame to the young man, not appreciating the lack of professional composure before his client. "Neither the last," replied the musclegod doctor with severity in his voice. The young shrink stopped laughing. The young shrink found himself buried in the shadow of the larger man. "Do you think you are better than him?" Enquired the Musclegod doctor bouncing his monumental pectorals with muscular authority. "...no..." This young man deserved a lesson for life, and Dr.Breneth brought his arms together in a most muscular pose, seemingly doubling his size before the stupified young shrink. With eyes wide as saucers, the young man flinched with his arms like a little girl at the musclegod's shirt collapsing around the gigantic shoulders and double-doors wide muscular back. Under the intensity of the musclegod's green eyes, the young shrink gasped at the shirt shattering apart exposing the full muscular glory of a super being before him. It took five seconds for the young man to convulse and wet his pants as much as Mr.Branson. "From up here, you are all the same," the Musclegod stated. He ripped apart the rags of his destroyed compression shirt around his waist and salient abs. And with the wings of his lats fully opened, the Musclegod tossed the ragged shirt over the young man, covering his head and the rest of his body with it. The musclegod ordered his smaller associate: "go clean yourself, and bring my chair here." "yes, sir." "And bring me another shirt from my truck." "right away. Sir," the young man said while still staring at the doctor's immense pectorals. "NOW!" The Musclegod elevated his voice to shake the windows. The young man fled right away in his stained pants. "It is time to fix Mr.Branson's life," the doctor said to himself while looking down at the pitiful unconscious tiny patient, whose tiny cock was still hard. . end of second part of the second part
  7. yes, I wrote the first therapy 'episode' when that got deleted I wish I could read again
  8. I did out of inspiration from Elongro! (or from the abstinence from a new elongro chapter)
  9. Therapy Session II April 3, 2019 The young shrink, a graduate in his mid-20s, offered Mr.Branson some cookies while munching a big one. He started reading Mr.Branson files on his tablet, "so, the last time you had a therapy session was six years ago, right?" "I thought it was five years." "A lot can change in five years. Who would tell that Trump would ever be president five years ago, right?" "…right. Where is Dr.Breneth? I thought he was still practicing, his name still appears here. My last session here was with him." "He only takes a few patients these days. Very wealthy or very 'healthy' ones. You know, the 'v' cases." "Oh, the 'v' cases…" "Yeah, you wouldn't believe the sort of dramas vHCG brings to the table, Mr. Branson. No family gets to be the same after one member becomes a Musclegod. Some people just don't know how to deal with a Musclegod at their midst." "Musclegod… my god. They're monsters, that's what they are." "Why so resentful, Mr.Branson? Do you have anyone on 'v' in your family?" "Like… my whole fucking entire family? Even my fucking uncles got hands on those 'v' some years ago." "You should be thankful that they got their share before vHCG got regulated, Mr. Branson. It was a lifetime opportunity." "Oh, you can still find it on black markets." "But not in the same quality. No one grows over seven feet anymore. And they don't work on everyone." "I know. First hand." The young shrink inspected Mr. Branson Junior's body. It was evident under Mr.Branson's baggy shirt that he developed a clear case of gynecomastia. "Did you tried to inject 'v' into your body, Mr. Branson?" "I… well… I felt I had no choice." "That was reckless, Mr.Branson. You are still not old enough!" "Yes… I tried to lower my testosterone levels for a year, but even then, 'v' didn't fire on me." "And now it never will. You had only one shot on 'v', Mr.Branson." "And I blew it, I know." The young shrink could only agree. On these days, men were eager to reach the 'v' age. Especially now that the 'v' fever was becoming wide-spread between women, and for too many, an average husband couldn't satiate them as an older Musclegod could. "You didn't just lose your opportunity to be a Musclegod, it is not just about strength, height, stamina, energy, acute senses, dexterity, endless sex drive, but also better memory, concentration, and life expectancy, and an overall happier, fulfilling life. You'll fall behind everyone you know." "I know…" "How old are you? 42? Every one of your friends will get their 'v' dose and have the time of their lives, taking every woman of their dreams to the bed, and you? They'll be all Musclegods but you. At least the majority of them. Not as big as people were getting on the first years of the drug, but get to be Seven Feet Tall Musclegods nevertheless." "Could you stop saying this word?" Mr.Branson Junior sounded exasperated. "Musclegods? What's the problem with Musclegods, Mr.Branson? Everyone knows a Musclegod. Everyone has a Musclegod in their families. And everyone lusts after a Musclegod. Musclegods are in our everyday lives. Do you think I can stop my girlfriend from craving the size and muscles of a Musclegod? Like I could stop a Musclegod to bed her? I wish I could join her. To be openly honest, I too, personally, crave their size and muscles as much as she, and I'm not even gay. At least I thought that I wasn't. Every time a Musclegod puts his big hands on her and gives her the ride of her life, she would later describe to me in painstaking detail every moment, every body part of him, how big, strong he was, or how deep was his voice, of how many times his dick was bigger than mine. Of how many times she orgasmed with him. The volume of his cum. Once she even brought a condom full of Musclegod jizz for me to see. I couldn't even hold it with a single hand. And I love it, we both are hooked on Musclegods porn, we watch those huge muscles together every night. Lately, we get the whole night watching them teasing their insane muscles on that new Netflix show, showing off their unbelievable packages and their boundless virility, and we watch them on repeat until we are both spent and sleep together dreaming of them. Their muscles bond us together as a couple. Things can change a lot in five years. You should accept the way things are and embrace them. Musclegods are on top and everyone is happy. But you." "Are you sure Dr.Breneth can't attend me?" "Dr.Eric Breneth became, let's say, quite expensive, Mr.Branson. $2000 an hour. Nonnegotiable. Do you want me to try to schedule a date, I mean, a session with him?" "Two thousand dollars for a single session?" "And Dr.Eric Breneth doesn't take just any patient, Mr.Branson." "Well then, forget it. I don't have that kind of money anymore." "What made you decide to come back to therapy? Mr. Branson?" The young shrink saw Mr.Branson's expression freezing slowly, his eyes dead set on the front double doors of the room, as if he saw a ghost. "Hello? Something wrong, Mr.Branson?" Mr.Branson had felt a slight seismic tremor beneath his feet, giving him the PTSDs. Like in Jurassic Park, he saw the glass of water over the table near him, noticing the concentric rings on its surface intertwine with the slow rhythm of the deep vibrations on the floor. He knew a Musclegod was approaching outside. He developed a sixth sense when it comes to their massive weights, and with the vibration of the musclegod's concrete bursting strides, he felt the frisson on his skin, every strand and pore straightening up. Mr.Branson's eyes were still locked on the front door. Thump-Thump-Thump, he wasn't sure if it was the floor shaking or his heart was coming out of his throat. Afraid, aroused, excited, by just feeling a Musclegod treading his colossal mass on that same ground, Mr. Branson junior felt his cock getting hard but his balls to recede out of fear. He knew right away the giant approaching outside the door weighted at least 450Kg, the same as his father when he last saw him. Or nearly 1000 pounds. Over the door, there were large opaque windows that went the way up all to the tall ceilings of the room, and Mr.Branson Junior saw first a very blurry face approaching over the door. Another step shook the couch, made the water glass to jump and the undisturbed young shrink held it in place. Mr.Branson was just paralyzed, his mouth wide open, his eyes with horror and wonder. And he saw the creature's traps over the blurry opaque windows above the door. Two anvils holding a face with a trimmed short beard. While the almighty traps were fully exposed, the dark blue Musclegod shirt covered his basketball-sized delts and arms. The impressive 'v' beast was familiar, but the vHCG change their faces, making them overly manly, and reinvigorated youth that made Mr.Branson look the old man. At times, unrecognizable. Who could be the Musclegod outside? His mind went a thousand miles per hour, looking for clues. His mind was also numb as he noticed the Musclegod's head barely hitting the 2 meters, 50 centimeters, or 8'5 feet tall, ceiling. Again, the same height as his father, as the last Mr.Branson junior saw him. With another, and yet, louder step, the top of his globular pectorals nearly filled the opaque window's width over the double doors. His knock hammered the door rudely, making Mr.Branson react like he got a shock out of the couch. The young shrink watched Mr.Branson recoiling, slightly amused at his reaction, he pointed with his thumb to the mountain of muscles whose hot massive breath made the opaque glass whiter, "you are lucky, he rarely comes to this office, it became too small for him" and he shouted to the giant waiting outside, "please come on in, Dr.Breneth." . end of first part of the second part
  10. from HarbieBoys: "all this is due to variant human growth hormone, vHCG, or as we like to call it, ‘v’. This stuff, v, works in combination with steroids and other supplements to produce not just muscle, but body growth – the science is complex, and I won’t bore you. But because it has a complex relationship with naturally produced testosterone, v doesn’t work in those who have high natural testosterone levels, such as teenage and adult males. On the other hand, for older men and females, it works extraordinary well, as was the case with me. V came onto the market to help older men build up muscle bulk to avoid falls and injuries, and it’s certainly done that. Men in their sixties, seventies and now eighties are able to become more muscular than the doctors and scientists ever anticipated. " Therapy Session October 14th, 2012 “How old are you, Mr…” Dr. Breneth, the shrink, had to flip the pages to remember his name. “…Branson Junior?” “37” “Does your family know that you are here?” “No…” “Do you have a job?” “Yes… I think… I’m a manager, in theory… it is a family business. I had a great success of saving it from bankruptcy, everyone used to recognize, well… everyone but my family. To tell the truth, no one remembers it anymore. I’m just the Tiny Branson now.” “Describe me the last time you felt true happiness.” “I guess that was three years ago when I broke a deal and took over our biggest rival in the field… it was our most lucrative year. Branson & Branson, do you know it? ” “Oh yes, B&B, I bought my table there” the therapist pointed to a massive desk at his side. “It was expensive and damn heavy…. It needs four people to move it around.” “And it will last forever. We are the biggest seller of ironwood furniture in America, perhaps in the entire world… by now. He rebranded our company, it’s now just Branson, not B&B anymore… it is all about him now.” “Him? Who’s him?” “My father… he just jostled me aside from the board... and no one cares. He can do whatever he wants, and doesn’t matter how unfair he became… people will not just accept it, they will honor his wishes like he’s the President. It’s insane the power he has over people now. People fear him and love him at the same time.” “And do you have a good relationship with your father?” “We used to have… now it is different, terribly different.” “Let’s focus on before, when it was good, how would you describe him?” “My dad was a kind of always passive, avoiding confronting anyone, he’d always compromise. He was just terrible in giving bad news. Totally unable to fire even the most reckless employee, instead he’d always give a hand for people with more problems than him… and that left our company to near bankrupt.” “And you came to rescue the company, I guess.” “It was an intervention, we had to forcibly retire him. I personally fired many of his dearest precious older employees because their salaries weren’t compatible with our reality. And after a single year, we were able to pay all our debts and build a new distribution system to the entire country and abroad.” “How your father felt about your success?” “Not well… he got depressed, resentful, in denial that I was right… It kind of hurt him. He was passive but never humble. He would buy a new Mercedes every year. Spending money we didn’t have in Italian suits. My father loved to be the boss and getting people to do things for him, and that’s the worst kind of passiveness, he let many problems to roll and would buy a new car instead. He never coped very well that he was getting old, and the older he got more he need some material compensation. He just stopped talking with me while I directed the company, until…” “Until what?” “Well, he didn’t tell me, but I could see some Changes. Suddenly was not as passive either… Since my mother died a decade ago he was living with my family, we have a very large house. It was a surprise to find sets of weights on the garage. My dad never had the energy to do any kind of exercise.” “What exactly you mean by Changes?” “They were very subtle in the beginning, as his posture, his hair was growing back, but it was his attitude that changed faster. From complete depression, he got more disposition than me…” “Are we talking about vHCG?” “…yes.” The therapist took a time to fill a coffee and to grab a cookie; quickly he grew more interested in Branson Junior’s story: “For how long is he on vHCG?” “Two years…” “How big is he?” “His biceps are around twenty-seven inches, at the last measurement…” “How do you feel near him?” “I feel like an imp. He weighs more than three times than me. The muscles in his thigh are wider than my waist. He was taller than our doorframes… but we fixed that.” “How your family reacted to his transformation?” “They… not only supported him, but he also convinced them to take vHCG too, my wife, my sons, my daughter…” The therapist grabbed another cookie while writing ’27 inches’ on his notes. “How old are they?” “My sons are 11 and 12, my daughter is 14… they are all taller than me already, much stronger than me. I have no authority over them anymore. They only obey my father.” “And your wife?” “She took his side too.” “How is your sex life? Healthy?” “Not well, my wife only has sex with me to subjugate me. We have sex less frequently, and each time she gets more violent on me. Sometimes getting off on how weak I am near them... one time she spanked…I mean, got angry… because I didn’t have the stamina to get her off.” “You don’t look any weak…” “Her arms are bigger than my leg, more than nineteen inches, a real amazon. Nothing close of my father, of course.” “And how she acts around your father?” “She adores him now, spending the entire day on the gym together and doing everything he asks.” “Do you two argue about him and the time she spent with him?” “Not anymore, at first when I discovered that dad was on vHCG she seemed to know already. Speaking positively about it and defending him. I didn’t really care much then, but at that time we didn’t know how monstrous huge he would be, with pecs bigger than his face… all I could think was that it would distract him from our business, how wrong I was. After some months he started to lose all modesty at home, and my kids asked to feel his new muscles. I was disgusted. We had a huge fight, me and my wife… it was when she decided to support him by taking vHCG herself.” “How tall she grew?” “Around a foot, maybe more, she’s 6’3 now, packed with muscles like my sons.” “Under who’s decision?” “Obviously it was my father had a part in it. When I discovered it was too late, they were already stronger than me and started threatening me physically if I said one more word over the issue. They never really did anything but their muscles are intimidating enough. They shut me up by just flexing their guns.” “They knew what you thought of it?” “Of course they already knew what my opinion was… and they took it anyway, always saying that if I could, I would be on it too. Sometimes they imply that I’m just jealous of their muscles… fucking nonsense. They force me every day to see that their muscles are bigger than the week before… holding my arm to compare with their constant development.” “Would you take vHCG if you could?” “Maybe a bit. But it is almost a religion thing for them and each day is harder to get it out of their minds. For them being muscular and strong is all that really matters and bigger they become, more it brings resentment towards me, the runt. They lost respect not only for me and anyone else... sometimes I feel they will lose all respect for normal people like they are superiors or something.” “They have greater stamina, they can concentrate harder and more focused, they hardly get tired… in some ways do you think they are superior to you and me?” “They think they are… maybe in some aspects they are. But who’s counting? Who really cares that they have muscles over muscles?” “Maybe you do.” “Are you defending them?” “Maybe seeing things in their own perspective might help you. Do you have dreams with them? About their muscular bodies? Could you describe them for me?” “I’m not very comfortable about talking about it…” “Why did you come here, then?” “Because I’m getting crazy! I need help, my mind is all messed up… sometimes I think that they all are getting off on how stronger they're getting than me. I’m getting paranoid. Thinking that they are all plotting against me, to make me smaller, to make me insignificant, to toss me in a bin at the end of it…” “How do you feel when they show their muscles to you?” “I… I… it’s awkward, they don’t realize how big they are getting… that is not normal…” The therapist noted the sudden excitement on Mr.Branson Junior on his notebook: ‘classic case’. “But how do you react when your father shows them to you?” “I don’t know, I get paralyzed… it is beyond my control, each day he seems more cut but bigger, I can’t describe, my brain can’t take all his muscles at once, when dad walks shirtless inside our home, with his pecs of size of toasters, I start to sweat and my vision tunnels, like there was nothing else in the room but his pecs… he would bounce them to wake me up sometimes, only to get trapped again as he flexes his uncanny quads… most of the time wearing nothing but his compression tights, and even with each leg rounder than my waist it does not have one ounce of fat, I would marvel at the machinery of it, its godlike form…” “Do you have dreams about him?” “Why is that so important? Yes… I have some dreams… some days of the week, always in the morning.” “Did you have any of those dreams today?” “yes…” “Describe to me any details that you can remember.” “All right… it became a recurring dream… that I became the family’s dog. It was still me, but they treated me like a pet. And I was begging for my huge owner’s attention like a good dog… and… well, that’s it.” “Please tell me all the details, Mr. Branson Junior.” “I… well, I… do you know when a dog humps someone’s leg…” “Oh, I see. You dreamed about embracing your father’s muscular thighs. Did you got punished?” “yeah, but I woke up at that… I’m not attracted to him… that would be so gross, but his muscles, so perfect, so strong, his cock… I mean… shit…” “I imagine that he has evidently a remarkable sized one.” “Even soft that thing would be bigger than mine ever has been hard. You have to see it with your own eyes… sometimes we can see it pulsing, engorging with blood in his tight worn-out jeans. He wears custom made pants to fit that thing in… I can’t imagine how he can fuck someone with that thing.” “I also imagine that presently he has a vigorous sex life.” “He gets hard with a cheerleader bouncing on TV… It is like a fist forming in his pants. When he scratches his balls in his tight pants, his balls fill his big hand, overly heavy too, many of his gym clothes ripped right there.” “Do you ever invade his privacy?” “Like what?” “Like opening his wardrobe, peaking up his clothes or underwear?” “I… I mean… for some time he was using my black shirts, when he got to be tall as me, his torso filled them like a second skin, he destroyed all of them. He would buy me new ones and would use them too. I found a box where he deposited all the clothes ripped apart by the growth of his muscles, on the very bottom of the pile I found my shirts… on the top I took the last one ripped apart by his pecs, I put over my body and it covered down to my knees… one time I found a condom completely full, it was inhuman the size of that… like a small grapefruit or a very large orange, and then I found another…” “He dates many women?” “I’ve lost count. He has a drawer full of trophies, he bangs all types of girls. He became quite a beachgoer too, at least since he reached 300lbs. He would pack his newest truck with women of all ages, and guys too. All adoring him like some sort of a God. One day he convinced me to go to the beach with him, it is an hour drive in his Hummer H2, the only one in town big enough for him… you need two parking slots to fit that. Before he went ‘v’, he only cared about a car’s luxury and eco-friendly. Now, his new four-wheeler consumes four or five times more than any normal car. It is like he doesn’t care about the environment anymore, he doesn’t even read the newspapers anymore. He only cares about lifting, eating, fucking and barking orders… while I was working overnight… well, anyway, even big as the Hummer was, his body takes up all the space, it was really distracting his bare arms so close of my view, I couldn’t not look to the side without his mountains of muscles slapping into my vision, they were becoming obscene and yet he is casual about them, talking about them, flexing them, all those muscles jumping and sliding one over another, like a masterpiece opus of muscles, all muscles at their limit fighting for space and my attention… sometimes I just stare at them losing track of time, like a trip… and he talks about them like the weather. Anyway, when we arrived there and he peeled out his tank top that was glued on his skin, showing his abs like twelve oranges, the people all around stop to gawk at him. His other ‘v’ friends would come along and parade over the beach, owning it. He presented me to them, all of them well above six feet six inches high already, my father was the biggest of them all. And we were surrounded by their ‘fans’ as my father called them. They were groups of noisy big boobed blondes and tanned men all wanting a piece of him, eyeing his package and his muscular bubble butt, like dogs staring hungrily at meat being cooked... I was startled by how far they went to please him, always pressing their breasts against his back, daring to feel his muscles, caressing its curves…” “His growth didn’t mature yet?” “I think that is might be slowing down, but I’m not sure, he always get bigger here and there, one month he decided to pay extra attention to his pecs and they doubled their size, then they would get too big, he’d sculpt other muscles bigger to compensate… and then those pecs were already too big, bigger than my wife’s cleavage, and that's a big statement, they are now wide as volleyballs, very deep, veiny, monstrous. So he goes like this, each time he picks a new target, like his quads, or his delts, or his triceps, and grows them, gloating and flexing for all my family to cheer, my wife would take his measurements and speak them out loud enough for me to hear. I became a joke in my house. They all want my father to flex those mountains of muscles in my face to see my reaction.” “Does he bring women to your home?” “At the beginning yes, but nowadays not so much. His fucking sessions were getting too noisy… He brings those muscular women to fuck with him and they scream all night, waking up dogs and our neighbors. One time the police came by and dad moved his fuck sessions somewhere else.” “How is his relationship with your wife?” “I don’t know. I don’t want to know…. I know her smile, that one after fucking all night. She’s always touching his muscles, sometimes in front of me, sometimes to make a joke about his package jutting out of his shiny blue compression tights, forcing me to see how ridiculously large they are. And she gets to sit on his lap all the time, giggling and trying to cover one pec with her both hands, always finding some excuse to touch his muscles, like cleaning a sweat drop with a napkin and then polishing his cannonball biceps. One time I just came home from the office and saw they both moving out of the couch, his cock was hard like baseball bat forcing his sweat pants to rip apart, lucky for us he was wearing more resistant compression shorts beneath.” “He does like form-fitting compression clothes.” “He thinks of himself as a superhero, I think. Those clothes are not made to hide anything, on the opposite, the new ones he’s buying, which cost more than my business suits at the end of the month… it needs some advanced material to not rip apart around his mass, and not be so thin and transparent to not use in public. But mostly his clothes have a very short life, when he flexes some body part... or even boning up, no material can withstand so much stress for so long. ” “Do you have any pictures of him?” “Do you want to see them?” “No. I’m asking if you keep pictures of him with you…” “Oh, yes… I mean, I have some. They are family albums… nothing incriminatory.” “Can I see them?” “Sure. Here’s on my phone.” “Ouch… he is damn big, he must weight…” “427lbs… for now. He’s planning to make a huge party once he reaches 500lbs.” “He is indeed… breathtaking. Never see a ‘v’ with such huge quads and pectorals…” “Yes, he has focused more on his biceps and calves now, one day he convinced me to the gym with him to see the absurd size of the weights he uses and…” “Is Convince the right word? Is the second time you use this word… do you fear him?” “I… no, of course not… only sometimes I do. I mean, you don’t know how strong he is. We had a big emergency with the delivering of a large reunion table, it needed six big men to lift it and it got stuck in the entrance hall of our client’s building. If you don’t know, Ironwood can’t be cut with a chainsaw, and we faced to break an entire wall to remove it… until one of my employees called for my dad to help. After two years of his absence, the do-gooder Mr.Branson and his new big muscles, 350lbs at the time, could maneuver that mass of furniture without a sweat, but it was too stuck and we had to sacrifice the table, and he broke it in half with a single blow… with that, I understand that a single slap from him could shatter all my bones, and he grew six inches taller since then. I had a new efficient generation of employees… they all became his ‘fans’ after that visit… all of them asking when he would come back… just to gaze out at those muscles every day.” “Do you think his muscular size affects everyone around him?” “Of course it does, especially people who never came close of a ‘v’ before. And there aren’t many ‘v’s in this city yet, so people at the supermarket, at the mall and anywhere open space for him. Usually taking pictures, some middle-aged women would bite their lips when he passes by. Many men become speechless, like some kind of short circuit inside their heads. And he knows it, he uses that for his own gain, and it justifies him to be more muscular, to get even bigger, to turn even more sea of heads as he walks. In the office, his word is sacred now, an order from him is basically writing in stone…” “So you think he controls others with his muscles?” “Awe and fear of them, with that he became a bloody dictator at my company.” “And everyone accepted him as their natural leader.” “Exactly. He even started to hire more women for the staff and all directors agreed. They were obviously there for him to fuck, all taking vHCG as their boss. He fired most of the staff that didn’t accept right away his orders.” “So the women in your office entered the ‘v’ religion too.” “Yes, it is a cult around him and he wanted strong women. Ms.Nillis was our secretary for twenty years, mother of two kids, the typical church lady, became another muscle amazon for him to fuck, she even divorced her weak husband. And all women in the office are taller than the guys and they are starting to give me orders. My father granted them authority over me. Just to make me feel smaller yet.” “And how’s the business? It seems that your father is not the most suited for the job, far as I can see…” “That’s the other problem, while reckless, always blaming other people for his mistakes and going over their necks. All the guys are now so afraid of him that they blame themselves first, and even then they don’t leave. In terms of efficiency and profitability, we are nose down. No question about it, but… he got a miraculously a very cheap line of credit. Don’t ask me how. There is this other company now wanting to buy us out for a few hundred million… we don’t deserve a fraction of it… now he is dealing with more money than we ever had, and I can’t explain how. It’s just unbelievable.” “He acts like a boss at home and like a father at the office?” “Yeah, both, what suits best. You know parents… they all treat you like a kid, doesn’t matter that you are 36 and married with three children. The biggest problem is when he treats me like a kid in the office, the major effect is that no one sees me seriously anymore, that I’m just his kid son playing with the computer, who hardly one would pay attention. In reunions, he cuts me off and gives me dull tasks like recounting the inventory.” “Why do you think he wants to keep controlling the company?” “To teach me a lesson. To show that he is better than me. To take everything I own.” “And do you think that it is all because of you?” “Of course it wasn’t… of course not. Who wouldn’t like to be treated like a god, of course, that he wanted this more than anything else..” “You lost your job to him, you’re not the provider for your family anymore. Your kids respect him more than you and your wife is certainly sleeping with him… so what’s left?” “I should leave that house… I know… but I can’t…” “Why?” “Because of the kids… even if I’m not their role model anymore.” “Fair. But there is any other reason?” “Because of my wife… I would miss the sex. She’s got rougher, but I started to like the feel. Weird, isn’t?” “She became dominant.” “Yes, and her sex drive over any scale. It really blurs the line between sex and rape, do you know?” “You could report her.” “No, no… it is not that bad. Is that I’m obviously incapable to satiate her as before, bigger her muscles, more sex craving, so she gets exasperated when I come too fast… I can’t control it, it's like she developed new muscles down there. Then she gets infuriated when I can’t get hard again, so I spend some hours pleasing her, orally.” “You still could report her.” “I know, but I don’t want to. At least I can feel the hardness of her body.” “So you are attracted to muscular size.” “Yes…” “And you have one of most muscular men on the planet living by your side, which you can’t touch because it is your father, do you have phallic dreams with him?” “Excuse me?” “Do you dream about his cock?” “Did you see his pictures? That package could fill a helmet, did you see that? And it gets bigger than that. Everyone knows how a ‘v’ cock looks like, but looking in person, supported by legs so muscular that looks like two huge anacondas, makes you re-think life. That thing hard is monumental, like a closed fist, with fat veins like his biceps. His whole body looks like a giant erection like I said… his muscles, every inch of him is obscene.” “Do you think that your father at his present state is changing your sexual orientation?” “Not only mine… everyone around him, everyone that he calls a runt has that stare over his muscles, trying to comprehend how much muscle could be packed into one person. On the beach I saw him mostly ignoring the big boobed girls touching his arms, he wanted the runts to feel him up too. He grinned at some ‘runts’ with their wives or girlfriends, those were he liked to torment the most, dad let them look, over his absurd pecs, or over his legs, or his package, to suddenly flex to them. I was sure that one or two did wet themselves as he laughed at their contorted faces. And everyone glances at him constantly. There is always something to see, like a world of itself, a world of pure muscles and strength that people get lost in. At the office, we had walls for everything, but my father wanted all of them down… and used his own fists to demolish the weak concrete, like it was made of foam. He said he wanted to supervise us from the high of his desk, built like a black leather office throne. After a week after his reform, he abolished the suits so he could use his gym clothes at work and lift his absurd weights in a rented room next floor. He constructed a gym for the company that no other employee can use but him. I can’t lift a single piece of his iron discs, it had many weights heavier than my whole body, we all feared that it could collapse over our floor. Yet no one said no.” “I bet he made similar changes at your home…” “He did transform our home into his private gym yet but that’s not the problem. He can’t see nothing that is just mine for too long… I didn’t receive any bonuses this last year, and my bills exploded with my entire family getting into the ‘v’. Do you know how much they’re eating now? My wife alone consumes five or six thousand calories to maintain and grow her body, and it is always more than before, there is never enough food at my house, and my dad alone can eat more than the rest of them. Tens of thousands of calories.” “He doesn’t help you with these expenditures?” “I don’t need his help… at least he paid for fixing our doors after he got 350lbs, he busted three doorframes, everything gets too frail on his touch, he already had broken half-a-dozen doorknobs thinking they were unlocked, he ripped one door off its fringes one time while I was pissing in the bathroom. We decided to not lock any door because of this, the bathroom even, sometimes he enters to take a bath without caring that I’m using it.” “How is your communication with him? Do feel that you can speak your mind?” “More recently it became mostly ‘yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, but it is mostly because I can’t think properly when he crosses his arms under his pecs, he must think that I’m utterly pathetic.” “Our time is up. The last question for today, what do you think he would do if you disobey him?” “I’m not sure if I want to know…” For unknown reasons, Mr.Branson junior didn't come back for more therapy sessions.
  11. hey guys, I used to have the penname TheEd since I lost the recovery email for that login, I'll post with this new one This story is for the ones who are into Role Reversal and Humiliation (so hot right now) Not exactly a story but a 'transcript' of a therapy session. The first part was posted at the older forum far back in 2012 (so old right now) I'll paste that first part, and I'll continue from there It is based on HarbieBoys 'Outgrown by Dad' (I hope he doesn't mind... again) And also loosely based on another continuation of the first part of my story done by ploder4
  12. I loved how easily these beautiful giants are flirtatious, feels like they're always seducing anyone around two things: one, looks like the Giants love a worshiper around to spice things up. I wonder if they had already other worshipers around, or that Trev was their 'first'. In private, those worshipers enable the giants to reveal their true domineering personalities (that on a visible social plane would be frowned upon). Which is a very interesting turn of events. They all know that dominating the small ones should be 'wrong', but what they want to say instead is that it is 'damn right'. If Trev is their 'first worshiper' he might have opened a pandora box here. If not, he's just one more of a long line of people at their feet, and his submission has little to no consequence to them. two, we crossed a natural human barrier here. Above seven feet high, normal human bones, tendons, and muscles start to fail at the stress of such mass at those body ratios. At nine feet, and to keep those mega-Thor proportions of Seth and Jack (and not like the giant from GoT), bones need to be tough as steel, muscles and tendons to have the specific strength of Kevlar. These guys should be able to punch a brick wall as easily we can break a sheet of plywood. The writer doesn't need to address such things, but because of that, they have to be a different (evolved?) species by now. Isn't the overall population and society scared of them yet?
  13. Against the opinionated majority here, I hope Jack keeps being the entitled prick that he is. For me, the hyper level of emasculation is hot. It could even go some unexplored places by Jack soft-bullying Trev relentlesly jack could even throw a line 'sorry little dude for winning the lottery and rub it on your face, but it just too much fun to mess with my girlfriend's little ex like you. I hope you understand. It is nothing personal' I mean, these giants could even give full acknowledgement of how unfair is the whole affair, but it really matters to them? For them, the sky is the limit. They're on a journey to greatness.They're on cloud nine. Trev is just not on that train. In the end of the day, for any of them --but Seth, showing a better character than Trev's ex-- Trev is mostly an after thought to them. Actually, mostly everything is an after thought to them. They're 'high' on elongro, they just don't really worry about smaller things (that keep getting smaller), they only wonder about their stellar present and future Until their growth stops, these giants will be unbearable, only talking about how larger, how bigger, how many inches, how many pounds and getting too horny on it. I love how they're always celebrating their growth, and how they sexualize it One element I'm missing in the story is more reactions from ordinary people, like the bar scene going silent as Seth enters. Things like that help Trev to normalize his perspective. That he is not that tiny, it is them that are getting too big Did I said already i love this story? I hope it doesn't pressure the author
  14. Well, at least big Jack have not noticed yet how Trevor is hopelessly attracted to muscle and size.
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