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VRGoh

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Everything posted by VRGoh

  1. Arms so huge and defined that they resemble something you'd find in the Alps? Shoulders so broad and thick that they're fully functioning shoulder pads for playing professional football? Pecs so thick and massive they could swallow a quarter? Adamantine abs with all the hardness of fine marble? A back so wide you have to turn sideways to fit through a door? Granite glutes shaped like ripe melons? Quads and hamstrings as thick as oak trees and just as strong and unyielding? Calves that look more like bulls and are just as powerful? How can I possibly choose?
  2. You sit in the back of the bar, another lonely Friday evening accompanied by none save a bottle of beer that you've been nursing for the past few minutes. This bar is known for its decent drinks and good service, and ends up frequented by many from outside the gay valley in which it's located. The sign outside may name the place as the Ganymede, after Zeus's cup-bearer in Greek mythology, but it has another nickname, one known especially to those who come on Fridays: MGB: the Muscle-God's Bar. All of a sudden, the reason the bar gained its nickname entered the establishment. Bigger than any human male had a right to be and just as shredded, he more than earned his sobriquet. As usual, a white sleeveless muscle-shirt clung to his massive torso like a second skin, while a pair of blue jeans clung to his massive legs and spherical squatter's ass, not due to any custom tailoring, but rather the sheer size of his redwood-like thighs. He comes in every Friday night like clockwork, but never buys a single drink. Despite this, the owner doesn't seem to mind; the mere presence of the Muscle-God (as he is commonly known) is enough to bring paying customers into the bar every Friday evening. He had allegedly considered changing the bar's name to its unofficial nickname, but the name fits in more ways then one. Every time this anonymous stallion enters the Ganymede, another skinny guy swells with muscle, becoming another of what most call his Demigods. Friday nights find the Ganymede packed with skinny twinks of various fitness levels looking to be the one he chooses. Most end up rejected by him and finding solace in a beer or three. Some even hook up with each other, brought together by their mutual desire for muscle. The only thing that brought you to this bar was a recommendation from a coworker. You weren't sure why he wanted you to go today, but the worst you thought would happen was getting a bad beer. You never expected the Muscle-God to approach you, gracing your meager existence with his divine presence. You look up from your drink, eyes as wide as saucers at the sight of this pulchritudinous paragon of perfection towering over you. A warm smile spreads across his beautiful face, and you feel your cock becoming painfully hard. One massive pec bounces absentmindedly, causing you to nearly cream yourself at his magnificent glory. You try desperately to regain your composure, but there is precious little blood flowing to your brain. "Like what you see, little man?" he asks you, his resonant baritone rumbling through your slim body. Dumbstruck, you could only nod. He takes a seat beside you, bringing one heavily-muscled arm around your narrow shoulders. His forearm alone is bigger than both of yours. He effortlessly pulls you toward him, a move you are both powerless and unwilling to resist. Your hand finds its way onto his powerful pecs. Granite only wished to be as hard as his muscles. "Kiss me, and share in my limitless power," he said cryptically. In any other situation, you might have asked him what he meant by sharing in his power, but your mind was too fried by his presence to do anything but obey. He leaned in, aware of your abject submission to his power, and crushed your lips open with his. A tongue as muscular as the rest of him invaded your mouth, wrestling with your own tongue and proving its superiority. This was how it would happen: the Muscle-God would approach a small man and make out with him, transforming him right there in the bar into one of his Demigods. As he made out with you, you noticed your T-shirt and jeans getting tighter and tighter. As your lips danced with his, you saw your forearm swelling with power. That was when you realized that your clothes weren't shrinking; you were growing. You reveled in the change as you made out with the Muscle-God, feeling your biceps and triceps fill your sleeves to capacity before growing further. Your back, once narrow and featureless, suddenly widened with linebacker traps and wing-like lats. Your narrow shoulders inflated like balloons with powerful muscle, widening your silhouette even more, as your burgeoning pecs shove you away from his magnificence. Beneath your ripping shirt, you can feel your once-flat stomach etching itself into a six-pack of rippling muscle. Your glutes lift you higher in the seat, giving you that coveted bubble butt, as your quadriceps, hamstrings, and calves expand beyond the confines of your jeans. A chorus of rips and tears signal the end of your clothes, and the end result of all of the Demigods of the Ganymede. Everyone blessed by the Muscle-God walks out of the bar a stallion, as naked as the day they were born bur gifted with mass, beauty, and virility. That last part was making itself known as your package swelled in your crotch, reducing your boxers to shreds alongside the rest of your clothes. You wanted the kiss to never end as he pleasured you with just a kiss. At last, his lips left yours and he gazed at you for the first time since sitting beside you. "Stand, and behold my gift to you," he intoned. Obedient, you stood, facing the full-length mirror. Where once was a scrawny man whose size caused him to be mistaken for being half of your 30 years, there now stood a heavyweight bodybuilder with the kind of equipment seen only on porn stars. Football-sized traps buttressed a taurine neck, sweeping outwards to a pair of cannonball shoulders. Descending from those shoulders were a pair of arms bigger than your average guy's legs. You flex your biceps, and a pair of massive boulders, chiseled to a peak worthy of the Rockies, erupt from the arms of the beast before you. As you place your hands behind your head and crunch, a cobblestone set of abs becomes more defined on the beast's titanic torso. As both you and the beast in front of you flex a single quad, it dawns on you that what you're seeing is your reflection. The massive monster of mega-masculine muscle, whose own physique is second in awe-inspiring beauty only to the Muscle-God himself, is you. You are now a Demigod of Muscle. The thought of what you are now capable of causes your cock to swell with blood. "There are many who would wish to have you here," he said, his thunderous voice giving life to your lust. "Find one you wish for, and show him the capabilities of my children." "Yes, Master," you respond. You turn to the crowd, their eyes fixated on the newest Demigod, wishing for them to be chosen. This was the other part of the bar's Friday festivities. When the Muscle-God made his Demigod, that special man (though he was more than a man, but not yet a Muscle-God) would take a patron and plow them right in the bar. None could stop you as you fucked a lucky twink, claiming him as your fucktoy, even if they wanted to. You were now part of why they came to the bar that Friday night. One lucky twink was going to be the one thing he wanted to be almost as much as being a Demigod of the Ganymede: a Demigod's fucktoy. Your foot-long fuckpole stood at attention, its slit weeping pre-cum and you strode to a random guy, his eyes drinking in your glorious beauty. He stood, knowing that he was chosen by you, blessed to become your fucktoy and willing to be so whenever you desired him. Bending down slightly to compensate for your increased height, you pulled him to you and claimed his mouth with your own. You felt him moan in your mouth as he quivered in orgasm. "I'm yours, Demigod," he moaned in lust as he stripped. "Take me right here." You smile, glad for the tinted windows as you prepare his hole for your ramrod. Elsewhere in the room, the Muscle-God watches as your partner proclaims your glory and his for all to hear. He makes a mental note to fuck the owner senseless as thanks for his service.
  3. Great idea for a story. This is definitely the kind of college that I would want to visit if it were real. Does the school have Greek life? I'm curious to know if they have fraternities and, if so, how much like Greek gods their Greeks look.
  4. Very intriguing story, as well as a cheeky reference to "Brave New World." Great job!
  5. Amir walked along the beach that sunset, lost in his own thoughts. It was a beach like any other but for the special meaning it held to him and the love of his life, Tomás. It was the two-year anniversary of his passing, and for the 20-year-old college student, the pain of his death was especially bad on this day. Tomás was tragically killed by a group of racists who were not too keen on sharing their small town with someone they thought was an illegal immigrant. The fact that he was Puerto Rican and, thus, a U.S. citizen, did not occur to them as they screamed at him to “go back to Mexico.” His body was found, beaten and bloody, two miles from campus by local police. Amir knew that, had his killers knew Tomás was gay, his murder would have been much worse. Amir knew that Tomás would’ve put up a hell of a fight if pushed to defend himself. The young Latino was always the more athletic of the two of them. At 5’8” tall and weighing only 135 pounds, Amir would not be able to put up a fight with one average-sized person, let alone two. However, Tomás carried 200 pounds of ripped, rippling muscle on a 6’ frame, making him more than a match for them. If only it could make him bullet-proof… Amir tried desperately to keep from losing himself in grief and despair. He was so wrapped up in his sadness that he almost didn’t see the glass bottle sitting in the sand. Curious, he picked it up and inspected it. It looked elaborately decorated, like the kind Tomás’s abuelita had on her dresser for perfumes. Sealing the bottle was a simple cork stopper, just big enough to keep its contents, if any, inside. On the side of the opaque glass bottle was some writing in Arabic. He couldn’t make out the words, as the writing seems to have faded with time. Something told him to open it, but he was unsure of what he would find inside. His curiosity won the day, and Amir uncorked the bottle. Almost immediately, a thick cloud of reddish smoke erupted from the bottle, surrounding him and clouding his vision completely. Sputtering and coughing, he dropped the bottle in the sand and tried to make his way to fresh air. As he cleared the smoke, he turned around and watched in awe as the smoke was replaced by something he could not believe. Out of the smoke emerged a figure who stood at least seven feet tall and was impossibly massive. He looked like a Photoshopped morph of a heavyweight bodybuilder with a red tint, as his skin was a bright scarlet color. His traps reached high towards his ears, while his broad shoulders and back made him look too wide for most doors. A few veins ran down each of his massive biceps, and his hands and forearms would make Popeye jealous. Thick pecs bounced absent-mindedly, protruding from his ribcage and providing just the right amount of shade for his obscenely defined eight-pack abs. What must have been an impressive set of tree-trunk legs were concealed by a pair of linen pants that look like they came out of the closet of a male belly dancer. What hair he had on his head was concealed by a white turban, accented by a red-orange gem. The red-skinned muscle-god stretched and smiled. “Do I have you to thank, little one, for my freedom?” he asked in a resonant baritone voice. Amir was slack-jawed as he drank in the sight of this scarlet behemoth, barely able to put two words together coherently. Dumbly, he nodded. The beast of a man embraced him joyfully, picking him up as one would a five-pound bag of rice. “A thousand blessings upon you, little one,” he said, overjoyed at his savior. “I thought I would never be free of that accursed bottle. As a token of my gratitude, I shall grant your deepest desire.” “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Amir said, trying to make sense of what just happened. “Who or what are you, and how did you get into that bottle?” “Surely you know of the jinn?” he said incredulously. “I am Qadir ibn Qarim. As for how I became trapped in that bottle, I was trapped inside of it by a powerful, um… What is the word? Ah yes, sorcerer.” “This thing looks like something from an antique shop,” Amir responded. “How long have you been in there?” “Let’s see,” Qadir mused. “The last thing I remember was news from the West about an explorer sailing to the Indies by going west. I believe his name was Columbus or something like that.” “Columbus? Christopher Columbus?” Amir exclaimed. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in that thing for over 600 years?” “Has it been that long? I thought it had been longer.” the jinn responded. “You must understand, my friend, six hundred years seems shorter for me than for you because of my immortality. But anyway, onto your wish.” You thought long and hard about what your greatest desire was. “To be honest,” Amir began, “I want to wish that my lover, Tomás, could be brought back. He… died two years ago today, and it still hurts to be without him.” “I am truly sorry for you, my friend. Unfortunately, I am unable to bring back the dead. Such a thing would defy the laws by which all jinn must abide. But, I sense there is something else that you want. Something related to your lost love.” Now it was Amir’s turn to turn red. “Well,” he began, “I’ve always wanted to be built like him, if not bigger. Tomás was always into lifting weights and getting as big and muscular as possible. He talked about growing to 300 pounds of muscle. It was a fantasy of ours, but I never had the nerve to start working out. Hey, maybe I could wish to have the kind of muscles you have, sort of as a way to remember him.” Qadir ibn Qarim smiled. “As you wish,” he said as he snapped his fingers. Amir immediately felt a warm sensation spreading throughout his body from his chest. This warmth increased in intensity as he began to sweat profusely. A tightness begins manifesting across Amir’s body, centering on his muscles. No, not a tightness. A feeling of… growth, expansion. Looking at his arms, Amir saw that his clothes were not shrinking, but rather he was growing. He watched as his thin arms ballooned with muscle, filling the sleeves of his black T-shirt. His hands explored every inch of his swelling body that he could, reveling in the growth. His pecs began to inflate with brawn beneath his hands as his shoulders and lats spread his arms out wider and wider. His sweatpants soon started to feel more and more like tights as his swelling thighs and calves expanded with power. The sensation of every muscle in his body becoming more massive and stronger was intoxicating, almost like a drug in and of itself. So enthralled was Amir by the feeling of his muscles swelling with power that he almost didn’t notice the loud chorus of rips and tears emanating from all over his body. His shirt, once two or three sizes too big for him, not burst into pieces from being far too small, while his jeans suffered the same fate. The young man groaned as he hulked out of his clothes, his cock rock-hard as he did. His growing soon started to slow, signaling that he was nearing his final size. Amir thought that he had cum when he burst through his clothes. As his growth stopped, he looked down to see that he, in fact, had cum all over himself. “Most impressive, my friend,” Qadir said, as a teacher would say to student who had shown him a project that would earn him an A+. “You should see the new you.” With a snap of his fingers, a full-length mirror appeared in front of him from the same white smoke that brought the jinn from the bottle. There in the mirror was a massive beast of a man. The beast had Amir’s face, though it was more filled out with muscle. The body beneath his head, however, was a caramel-colored clone of Qadir. Amir raised one arm and flexed his biceps. The beast did the same, causing a mountain worthy of the Himalayas to erupt in the space between his shoulder and forearm. Wide-eyed, Amir did the same to the other arm. The beast in front of him copied his movement, creating a twin peak to the first as iron-hard as its brother. With a beat and a blink, he remembers that he’s staring at a mirror. “Woah,” Amir exclaims. “That’s me?” He blinks as the realization sets in. “Oh my God! How-- How did you--? This is unreal! I can’t thank you enough!” Amir embraced the jinn ecstatically, completely elated that his biggest fantasy has come true. “You are quite welcome, my friend,” Qadir responded. Amir pulled away as he heard the hint of loneliness in the jinn’s voice. “What will you do now?” Amir asked. “Visit family or friends or something?” “My family have probably forgotten about me by now, and I never had many friends,” Qadir responded as he caressed Amir’s newly muscular pecs. “But I would like to become closer to you, my muscular young prince.” “I’m not really a prince,” Amir said. “Is that not what your name means?” Qadir asked. Amir nodded, silently admitting that the jinn was right. “So, my large prince,” Qadir said, his eyes shining with lust as he tweaked Amir's sensitive nipples, “let us see what that body can really do.”
  6. To add to this one, I have a question of my own. Can I get away with sweetening the coffee? I can drink it black, but I usually have my morning cuppa with some sugar.
  7. Whenever I get a chance, I make a meal that's a mix of rice, beans, and some kind of meat (sausage as often as not) to keep things simple. This is a common meal in many Caribbean homes (I'm West Indian on my father's side) and can easily be put in Tupperware bowls to reheat as lunch. Would this be optimal for muscle gain, as it has two sources of protein and the rice as carbs, or should I change something? It can be adjusted to include, say, ground turkey or beef that's been seasoned.
  8. One thing I did was give a muscular main character psychic powers. Telepathy is a good one, especially for sex scenes. I once did that and had the character do what I like to call an "emotional echo-chamber," bouncing his lust and that of his sex partner back and forth with it building each time.
  9. Put me down for the 4th. This gives me plenty of time, and a few recent RPs gave me some ideas.
  10. This journey of mine to muscle-godhood will not be easy.  It helps that I can use the inspiration of the people here as a fixed point.  In the meantime, I think I should find an avatar for my profile.

  11. There are three words, especially, that shock me about this whole situation: Latinos for Trump. I understand that people are entitled to their own beliefs, but a Latino/a who supports the actions of a man who called Mexicans rapists ("and some, I assume, are good people...") boggles my mind.
  12. I don't know if this was suggested or not, but maybe it's a muscle-god avatar that we can customize. I doubt the site has the software to pull that off, but a guy can dream.
  13. Music can clearly influence one's emotional state, from relaxing in the evening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to releasing pent-up anger with many heavy metal songs. So I figured I'd pose this to the community. What are some of the songs you listen to while lifting?
  14. Videos like this tend to attract three kinds of viewers on Youtube: 1) gay muscle-worshipers, 2) people who, while not necessarily a muscle-worshiper, appreciate the work that was put into his physique (e.g. other athletes), and 3) people who are quick to accuse the bodybuilder of pumping themselves full of steroids, HGH, synthol, etc. The down-votes likely came from camp number 3.
  15. growth

    Very well-written. The ending does seem to imply a sequel; is there one in the works?
  16. There was one (I think it was in the unfiltered section) about a massively muscled, anthropomorphic hyena who ended up getting worshiped by the cheetah principal before filling her to capacity with his cum.
  17. It's easy for me to write about someone growing the kind of muscles that stretch clothes and bulge in the right places. But for me to morph myself, not so much. The two things that limit me are finances and motivation. The first will take a lot of work, but I can start on the second. Well, here goes nothing...

    1. flamedelft

      flamedelft

      Hey, I'm sure you'll do great, remember that the guys here will cheer you on :)

  18. I know it's three whole months until Halloween, (I work in retail, so I blame them) but hear me out. Likely some will start making their costumes from now, while some will buy it at the last minute. I figured the muscle-heads who make their costumes can get some ideas from here and get started early. Besides the generic costumes for muscular guys, (togas, Conan, superheroes) what are some ideas? The only thing I have is Machoke, since Pokemon Go is now more popular than porn and there's likely to be an upsurge of Pokemon-themed costumes.
  19. If only I were five years younger...
  20. Very nice start. I never thought of using nanites as a plot token, but, if you don't mind, I just might borrow this idea of yours.
  21. I recommend Skyrim, since its character creation system is quite extensive and you can shape your gameplay based on the skills you choose to master. Spell-casting archer? Sneaky assassin? Armor-plated juggernaut? Go for it!
  22. Here's the rough translation for those who don't speak Spanish. The title says "I'm looking for this story almost desperate." "The story deals with) a little guy who knows a gigantic muscular adonis in the office where he works. They talk a while, and the giant invites the little guy to dinner. In the restaurant where they have dinner, the giant eats two entire chickens by himself and much more food and even bringing the waitress to the bathroon where they have sex. Later, now calm, he returns to continue his dinner with the smaller man. Then they go to the smaller man's apartment, where he lives alone with his cat. The big guy submits his ass to the little guy." As compensation for the one who points him to this story, he's offering "a part of my collection of all kinds of muscular images."
  23. It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one in that metaphorical boat. I'm still not sure about my sexuality at 33 years old for... personal reasons. When I see a guy with impressive muscles, I'm not sure if I want to be *with* a guy like that, or if I just want to *be* a guy like that. A good example is my current job (one of them) as a 1-to-1 para-educator (similar to a teacher's assistant) in an elementary school. The teacher is a guy who, despite being about 2 inches shorter than me, (I'm 5'7") is far more muscular than I am. On one hand, I want to ask him about workout tips and the best routines for putting on muscle, but on the other I'm kind of ashamed about liking the look of big muscles. Long story short, I'm the one obstacle that stands between me and having the kind of body that I would be proud of showing off.
  24. The Greek gods are as simple as a toga, although statues of Hermes have him looking a bit twink-ish. For Apollo, a toga with a laurel wreath works; for Hercules, you would need either a faux lion skin or a club with the toga. Of course, if you're ripped enough, just go as one of the Spartans from "300" and get used to being constantly asked, "What is your profession?"