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Hialmar

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About Hialmar

  • Rank
    1000+ Posts

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  • Location
    Sweden
  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
    Male
  • Orientation
    Bisexual (Male Preference)
  • What are your interests?
    Physical exercise, reading, writing, history, world's mythologies, punk rock
  • What are your stats?
    I'm just average, but I am gradually growing - slowly but steadily
  • What are you seeking?
    Reading stories, writing stories, reading good advice about exercise. I am open for other things to occur.
  • What are your dream stats?
    Whatever I am able to achieve. Let's see what will happen.
  • Favorite Stories
    My favourite stories and writing influences are listed under "About me", where you also will find a list of my own stories (with links).
  • Favorite Bodybuilders
    Johnnie Jackson, Ben Pakulski, Con Demetriou, Flex Lewis. I keep an eye on what's happening to the next generation – Alexey Lesukov, Justin Compton and Florian Poirson. The demise of Dallas McCarver was a great disappointment: May he rest in peace.
  • Got Any Fetishes?
    Muscle, army, skinheads

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  1. No. This is a short story on its own. I do write multi-chapter stories, too, but this one is not one of them. Lots of amateur authors on this forum regularly gets requests to write continuations to stories with endings intended to tickle the imagination of the reader. Such endings are quite fun: Every reader will enjoy making up their own continuations in their heads.
  2. Preface This is another one of the stories of mine, that had lurked unfinished for a long time in the suitably named Unfinished sub-forum. Now I'm stuck, and I have nothing to add, so I posted the final version here. The theft machine He wasn't sure, when he first began to imagine his future revenge: How he would find a way to rob Russo and MacKenzie of their american-football physiques, and turn himself into a teenager with comic-books muscles. A horny teenager with superhero-muscles, who was going to gloat over Russo and MacKenzie over their now pathetically powerless physiques. The tables turned. The bullies bullied. Magic doesn't exist. Impossible machines are impossible. When he originally began to have those fantasies, there was no realistic hope, to make those fantasies into reality. The chain of events was too good to be true, but had happened anyhow: Leaving college and getting a post-graduate degree simultaneously, all at once. The articles about the "young science-genius", as the journalists put it. The research appointment. The first invention. The grant that allowed him to continue his research independently from any companies or universities. His own lab. The unexpected inheritance. In his mid-20s now. He took it in: His own lab. The large power cables running to and fro The Machine. The equipment to cool down the machine. The matter-transference conductors. The brainwave transmittors. The DNA extractors. The respirator masks. And the idea, that had turned the entire plan even more exciting: The emitters for anabolic radiation. He shivered pleasantly at the thought of it. Anabolic radiation. His throat felt thick, and it was difficult to swallow. He cleared his throat. He could feel his dong go hard inside his boxers. Soon. He had intentionally designed the glass cylinders to resemble the imaginary growth-chambers in cartoons he had watched as a child. They had watched. Russo and MacKenzie had grewn up with the same cartoons, of course. The cylinders were taller and wider than any human being. They were placed, so that the feet end of each cylinder formed a triangle with the other two. They were neither entirely reclining, nor entirely vertical, but reclined at a 45° angle, so that each specimen was half-standing, half-reclining, and able to watch what happened to the other two specimens. He wanted to be able to watch. Able to watch. He swallowed. He could feel his boxers become wet of pre-cum. Russo was half-reclining in his cylinder, and unconscious by the drug he had been given. "Hey, Alberg!" The memories returned, faded, fragmented. Alberg standing with his back to the lockers. Russo standing in front of him, with his arms on each side, blocking any escape. Russo chewing gum, his brown eyes burning of arrogance and rage and contempt. His hair like black silk, artfully styled into a hairdo popular back then. The scent of Russo's black leather jacket. The repeated, monotonous, insults. MacKenzie standing in the background. Broad. Burly. Buzzcut. Blond. Baseball jacket (well, american football, actually). Not saying anything. Without intervening. Allowing it. Letting it happen. Smirking at the remarks. Silently encouraging Russo. Russo's voice. "Hey, Alberg! Prof! Where did you get that shirt? It sucks! Out of my way, dweeb! Want to feel these stud muscles? Feel them! This is how a real man is built, weed. You disgust me, you little fag. Don't look at me like that, I'll thrash you, shrimp. Come on, MacKenzie, we are out of here." * * * He checked the buttons in Cylinder A: Three to control Cylinder A itself, four to control Cylinder B and four to control Cylinder C, all of them gradated on a scale from Level 1 to Level 10. There were also the two red diodes in the end of each scale that would warn, if the treatment increased to forbidden and dangerous levels beyond Level 10. The effect of a 120% level o a human being would either be lethal or unknown, and even the Machine itself wouldn't be able to process a 120% level more than a very short amount of time. He checked the gas canisters. He checked the sockets. He felt a brief burning pain, when he injected himself with the serum he had given the other two young men earlier, but it quickly faded away. There was no return now: The serum would soon kick in, and require the treatment. He passed by the empty cages, and remembered the experiments he had performed on the lab animals: The rats that shrunk. The rat that grew. The hamsters that shrunk. The hamster that ballooned into muscle. The chimpanzees: Both the emaciated wrecks and the brawny one that beamed of vitality. It was a pity, that he had to put it to death, because it began to behave in a too aggressive manner after the treatment. The experiments had been necessary, in order to assure that it was safe to expose human beings to the same process -- that is, at least as safe as possible. There was no way to ensure a 100 % level of safety, and the small, but ineluctable, risk of bad side-effects caused butterflies to flutter in his gut. He took his trousers off, removed his boxers, and put a stretchy, but several sizes too large, posing trunk on, and then dressed himself in the trousers again. Then he put a pair of several sizes too large trainers from Converse on his feet. He had nicked them from MacKenzie. Scott. * * * His revenge fantasies had, by necessity, changed during College. Of all eighteen year olds, he could have been forced to share room with, MacKenzie was the second-last he would have preferred, but that was, how events turned out. The first days were awkward. Alberg avoided his new room-mate, but MacKenzie seemed surprisingly interested in talking, and he behaved surprisingly decently. His icy blue eyes were shining with a seemingly sincere will to be friendly and helpful. MacKenzie helped Alberg to put a few boxes with less necessary belongings on a high shelf. Alberg felt embarrassed when MacKenzie prepared for bedtime, and went to bed, only wearing a pair of jockstraps. It had become obvious after a few days, that MacKenzie had left American football behind, and now focused entirely on lifting weights. There were plastic jars of food supplements in MacKenzie's part of the room, which he punctually gulped down at certain times of the day or the week. Only a few weeks passed, until MacKenzie asked Alberg the unexpected question: "Would you like to keep me company at the gym? I could teach you to lift." It took considerably longer time, until they had been able to discuss the past. Scott seemed to be unaware of, how Alberg had felt, and it was like he had had no clue, that the bullying had been something else than "friendly banter". When the truth dawned, the broad, burly, buzzcut blond bodybuilder had become terrified by the thought, and he resembled a remorseful big St. Bernard puppy with an expression of sadness in his eyes, when he had apologized. The days following, Scott hadn't been his usual happy and confident self, but expressed his friendship and loyalty to Alberg by awkward pats on the shoulders. And then, later in the autumn, Scott had returned from a party at a sorority house very drunk. Alberg had been asleep, but awoke when Scott returned home to their room at the dorm. He was obviously drunk, and was more noisy than usual, when he undressed. Then something unexpected happened. Scott joined Alberg in the latter's bed, and Alberg wasn't able to interpret what was happening. Scott's broad, burly, buzzcut, blond presence laid there, with a breath revealing an intake of beer, and with armpits and a warm chest emitting whiffs of anti-perspirant. "Scott? This is my bed, not your own bed. What are you doing here?" Scott hadn't answered, at first. Scott's big index finger touched Alberg's ear, and then he whispered: "Do you mind, if I sleep in your bed? I like to be close to you. You are like a little smart angel." Yes. His revenge fantasies had, by necessity, changed during College. * * * NOW. It was time. All these years. The sting of Scott's words at their second break-up, hurting him: "I love you, Angelboy. I do. But I want to explore ... I want to find out, how it is to have sex with a bigger man." Scott's words when they began to mend their relationship again: "I love to be with you, and I love to help you grow bigger. That was true, when I coached you at your first workout, and that is true now. We will be together for ever." NOW. It was time. He glanced at Cylinder C, in which Scott half-reclined, half stood, his eyes drowsy after helping Alberg putting Russo in Cylinder B. Broad, burly, buzzcut, blond. Bigger, than in the past. The love in his eyes. And the URGE. They had discussed THE URGE, and found, that they, despite their dissimilarities, shared it: "Fuck, little buddy, if it was possible, I would love to grow IMMENSE, and I would love to see you grow bigger than me -- a hard fukker able to carry me." NOW. It was time. Fright fluttered in his guts. THE URGE grew, raising like a tidal wave, competing with the fright. He entered Cylinder A, closed it and put the respirator on his lower face. The risks. The possibilities. He switched the Machine on. It hummed. It hissed. Conductors working. Transference Level 1. DNA alterations. Transmitters working. Brainwave transmission. He shivered. His throat felt thick again. He cleared it. He could feel his hard-on grow inside his posing trunks. He readied himself for the impact. And then it happened. IMPACT. * * * IMPACT!!!! When he later looked back at the impossible and unexpected, frightening and delightful adventures they had encountered on The Day Of His Revenge, it was hard to decide which part of it had been the best, but the initial IMPACT was one of them: Pleasure enhanced by fear. It was happening, but what would it do to him? What would it make him into? What would it cause him to become? Uh! Yes! BECOME! Was there still any dangers he had overlooked? Any flaw, that would cause monstrous side-effects? Too late, now. Too late to stop. It had begun! TOO LATE! IT HAD BEGUN! THE IMPACT! His skin and his muscles buzzed, his brain entered a state he had never felt any time before, and an indulgent pleasure began to flow through his veins: A luxurious and tempting, tantalizing and inviting hunger for robbing both of the other two of all they got. Rob them. Of all they got. There was no reason to deny, that Russo was handsome. He always was. He remembered the handsome teenaged face of Russo in high school distorted by arrogance, staring at him uncomfortably close. The handsome eyes of Russo, like tiger iron, like mahagony, burning terrifyingly by adolescent rage. Like a piece of art disfigured by one single but flagrant detail. Russo back then: Still boyish cheeks, but trying to play tough and hard. Russo now: The cheekbones, that opened the doors for him to modeling. Russo, when they met again at a reunion a few years ago: Pretending that nothing had happened in the past. Behaving like he had never spoken those damning words in the past. Accepting Alberg's and Scott's relationship, as he had never cursed fags in the past. Being dude and bro with Scott, joking, playing. Even behaving friendly towards Alberg. Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? Who knows what is real change, real improvement in a man? Still cocky, but now for his modelling job. Had left American football behind. Didn't aim at Scott's gains. Seemed to lack THE URGE. The urge Scott and himself shared and share, despite the hardgainer size of his. Russo's olive-coloured torso exposed to the transference: Fit. Always in shape. Conditioned. Ready for next photo-shoot. But not ready for the transference. The transmission. Could probably place well in Men's Physique. Could never place well in a bodybuilding competition. Scott had removed Russo's jeans, but the latter was still wearing his Calvin Kleins. Discount because he modelled for that company in the past. Come on Russo! Wake up! Face the horror! Face my revenge! I'll drain you, shithead! Yeah, that's right! open your eyes, you fukking wanker! Level 2! This will teach you! Yes, open your eyes like that! You can't stay asleep now! Not now! "Wait? What's happening? I said I would let you show me your Lab. Let me out, Alberg! Don't smile like that, Scott! It isn't funny!" Yes. Level 2 will teach you. Or perhaps level 3! It intensified. THE IMPACT. He couldn't believe it. He had known theoretically. He had seen the lab animals. But he hadn't been able to guess how it FELT. How it messed with his body in a delightful way. How it messed with his brain in a way that didn't matter. All that mattered were the gains. THE URGE. He grabbed his left pec, and felt how it was growing bigger. Firmer. Gym-shaped hardgainer-physique turning into something more. Something else. More like Scott. He pressed the button for Cylinder C. Of course he would press the button for Cylinder C. The controls. Not for revenge, because they had overcome so many obstacles together. Just to feel. Just to feel how it felt to be like Scott. Just to feel how it felt to BE Scott. Level 2. Level 3. Russo's voice distracting him: "Hey Alberg! Stop that! It isn't funny." Scott's icy blue eyes widening. His mouth hidden behind the respirator. Scott's voice: "I told you before. I want to see you grow, even if I'll have to face some loss of gainz on the road. I can see how you grow. I love you, power-hobbit!" Russo's voice becoming squeaky and shrill, for a contrast. Not able to control himself. Losing his cool. He always avoided losing his cool. He now sounded like his voice was breaking a second time. "Shit, stop that for fuck's sake. I'm losing my condition! I'm fucking shrinking!" And he was. Alberg watched him. The fear in Russo's eyes. Russo in Cylinder B: Naked. Vulnerable. Scott in Cylinder C. Mighty chest exposed. Bleached denim jeans. A bulge in his jeans. Alberg knew what Scott was wearing inside his jeans. The gains streaming into himself. Scott shrinking. Russo shrinking. A smirk forming on Alberg's lips. Feeling smug. Too similar to the ways of Russo in the past to feel entirely comfortable. But he had got THE URGE. The hunger that flew through his veins. The luxurious and tempting, tantalizing and inviting hunger. Rob them. Feel Russo's level of condition combined with Scott's sheer mass. He shivered again. He couldn't control himself, when he pressed the controls for Cylinder B and Cylinder C. He wanted it so much. He wanted it so eagerly. Unable to control himself. He was controlled by THE URGE and the new Self that was emerging. Emerging out of the process. Level 4. His eyes widened. His jaw fell slack, as his lips and teeth parted to form a lustful expression, as he took the body transfer in, and became entranced by the brainwave transmission. He didn't know it, but his eyes were beginning to burn by the sort of arrogant gaze Russo had sported in the past. Level 4... Yes... it happened ... Better than he had thought ... He squeezed his left pec again. Russo's enfeebled complaints in Cylinder B didn't concern him. He was gaining. He was growing. He was slowly approaching Scott's build and Russo's former condition, combined. He reposed confidently in the experience for a while, and then he gathered himself enough to go ahead with the next step. * * * He decreased the transfer level to Level 1. His heart-rate returned to normal, and he took the sight of them in. The frail shape of Russo rested emaciated in Cylinder B, feebly pressing his small palms to the inside of the glass surface, and emitting a rueful whimper: "No. No. Not to me. Why? No." A rag-doll. A scrawny shrimp. Who called whom a scrawny shrimp in the past? He shuddered. He averted his gaze. The present sound and shape of Russo caused any remaining grudges to fade and go out. He felt a void in his guts. When he directed his attention to Scott, the process had affected the latter, too, though less severely. Scott's innate massiveness and persevering dedication to the gym had defended him against some of the onslaught, and he rather looked like a promising junior bodybuilder in an extreme state of exhausting condition the day before a competition. Not the burly bulking-shape he usually sported. Scott's icy blue eyes watched him with the most trustful gaze. Alberg shuddered. Trustful gaze. Scott was the best man among the three. The half-truths he had told Scott, in order to lure him into the experiment. Half-truths. Not the sincerity and trust Scott showed him in return. Love welled up. Love mixed with regret. Time for next step. Time to reward Scott. Time to reward Russo, the way he had promised Scott. Time to experience this together. Never done on human beings before. If he had calculated it wrong ... He would never forgive himself if he harmed Scott. No! Never Scott! He hoped for the results he had intended. Here goes. He activated the anabolic radiation in Cylinder B and Cylinder C, and braced himself for what he hoped to see happen. And it happened. * * * He was expectant to watch Scott resume his size. And Scott grew. His boyfriend's muscles slowly began to beef up. They didn't return entirely to the puffy and bulked state they had been, before he stole some his boyfriend's gains, but the added level of condition allowed them to look bigger than before. He shivered pleasantly, as he watched Scott grow. The respirator made it difficult to see any details of Scott's facial expression, but from what he could guess from Scott's eyes, the latter loved the feeling. Scott's jeans had hung baggy on his legs after the muscle-transference, but now Scott was beginning to fill his jeans again, and there was a bulge behind his fly. Russo was recovering too. His eyes stared in relief and disbelief, when his firm and fit model-body returned in shape, and he stared at Alberg's engorging physical shape. Staring. Almost admiringly. "Want to feel these stud muscles?", Alberg thought. Feel them! This is how a real man is built, weed. Time for the next mischief. Alberg increased transference level from Cylinder B to Level 2. Two things happened. Another rush of energy and pleasant heaviness filled him, and another groan rose from Russo's cylinder: "No! Not again! My gains! What game are you playing? It's not funny!" Alberg allowed a few seconds to pass. Then he increased the level of anabolic radiation in the other two cylinders, and swallowed in delighted anticipation. Scott moaned first. Then Russo. They must be feeling something similar he had felt, when the Machine transmitted muscle mass to him, earlier. He liked, that they liked it. He liked to inflict pleasure to them, especially to Scott, so he increased the levels of anabolic radiation to Level 3, then Level 4. Loud grunts from Scott, and he could see his boyfriend flex inside the cylinder. The hair on the back of his head bristled at the sight of -- and noise coming from -- his growing boyfriend. Russo grunted, too. Grunting, increasingly mixed with yelps of pleasure. YES! Inflicting them pleasure! He increased anabolic radiation to Level 5, and transference to Level 3. IMPACT! A nice buzzing feeling hit his body. The other two young men now grew faster, than he drained them. They shared a quite enjoyable feeling, growing together. Yes: Enjoyable feeling, but he wanted MORE. He knew that THE URGE raged inside Scott, and THE URGE raged inside himself, too -- now more than ever before, like the process had unlocked a hidden part of him: A cocky, virile part of him, ravenous for more muscle mass. MORE! Anabolic radiation Level 6, and transference to Level 4. Yes! Back to the earlier levels of transference, but now fed with high amounts of brawn born out of heightened levels of anabolic radiation. Scott gained. Russo gained. And Alberg robbed them of half of it. Scott's grunts turned into the sort of enraptured yelps Russo had emitted earlier, but it was hardly a sound of complaint. With a large amount of self-control, Scott shouted something in that moaning voice: "FUCK! YES! Bombard me! Bombard us all! I want ... Uh! Oh, shit ... so good ... I WANT BRAWN!" Alberg could feel the meat in his trousers tent in response to Scott's words. He shivered pleasantly, and then he increased anabolic radiation to Level 8 and transference to Level 6. Ecstacy. The raw, pure experience of adding mass. He could share Scott's and Russo's experience of energy bombardment. He felt ... He felt ... Then he felt how tight his trousers had become around his thighs. Painfully tight. So painful. His quads and hamstrings felt so powerful now. And then the fabric capitulated. His QUADS and HAMSTRINGS EXPLODED out of his trousers, and the shreds fell to the foot-end of the cylinder. He could feel the size of his traps and the massiveness of his lats and pecs, the power of his tricepses ... It could only be a matter of seconds until his t-shirt ... There it went. Tatters. Shreds. Because he was becoming A POWER HOUSE of muscle mass. EXPLODING out of ... Oh. It felt so good. He opened his eyes. It was happening to Scott now. He eagerly watched something similar happen to Scott: Scott bulgingly EXPLODING out of his sexy, but too small, denim jeans, causing his black wet-look posing trunks to show. Alberg looked down. His pec-shelf obscured some of the view, but, ok, his golden posing trunk was visible now. They both knew what they liked to watch, but it was something of a surprise, that Russo was taking in the sight of his bros' posers, too. Muscle -- clad in wet-look black. Muscle -- clad in gold. Towering. Fuck! Still growing! Couldn't have dreamed of ... "Wait! Too much! You are ruining my model body!" Russo whining again. Alberg and Scott were turning Russo into a eye-popping mass-freak, and he was an ingrate? Fucking boring ingrate, but if Russo wasn't going to cherish that amount of mass, Alberg knew someone who would. He smirked inside the respirator and fidgeted with the controls. Cylinder B: Transference Level 9. Dangerously high level, but if Russo wanted to return to his boring model-physique ... So be it. Bombarding the two hunks with anabolic radiation and FORCING them to grow. Inflicting pleasure. And then rob Scott of two-thirds of his gains. Rob Russo of ALL his gains, keeping him as before. To absorb all that brawny muscle mass. Absorb jock-strength. Absorb increased jock-strength. Absorb heightened jock-strength. Absorb the jock mindset. Yes! Crammed into his defenceless bulging body! Absorb! -BSORB -BSORB -BSORB -BSORB -BSORB What happened next surprised Alberg and Scott. * * * "Fuck! Yes! Rob me of it! ABSORB all that extra mass! I love to see you grow like that! That baby face on that jock body. Uh. Me restored. You perfect. Love it. Look at him MacKenzie! Your boyfriend is PERFECT!" A number of contradicting feelings rushed through Albergs mind. No? It wasn't possible? Russo? Admired him? But why? The surprise confused him so much, that he re-set all Levels to zero, and turned The Machine off. The humming slowed down and fell silent. After a click, they were able to open the cylinders and leave. Scott had a slightly disappointed expression on his face, when he removed his respirator. Scott hugging him, but whispering: "So good. I wanted MORE!" One warm presence comfortably pressed to his own warm physical presence. Russo standing there, legs shaking, some of his old confidence shaken, too. "Whoooah. Alberg! That's ... uh ... that's quite impressive." Russo reached out his hand and felt Alberg's left pec. "You say?" Alberg felt confused by the situation, but forced himself to smile, and he willingly flexed his pecs, which forced Russo to emit a quick moan. Something happened in Russo's eyes. And something happened in Russo's Calvin Kleins, too. Scott was inspecting his new gains, too, and the sight of the two gay muscle-studs obviously caused Russo to become uncomfortable and incredibly horny. The only of the three of them, who felt entirely comfortable with the entire situation, was Scott, who unprompted began a few highlights from his old posing routine. Double biceps. BULGE! Scott had placed second at bodybuilding competitions on a regional level twice: Big enough to draw attention at his own gym (and make Alberg crazy in bed), but not the cut above needed to become a winner, that is, in the past. The present Scott looked amazing. If he had reached that level by natural means, he had probably been able to turn pro. The same was true about Alberg now. Huh! Side chest. STEEL PEC! Hiss! Scott flexed his abs, and Russo stared at him with an embarrassed and mesmerized gaze. Uh! Most muscular. GRANITE BRAWN! Russo couldn't restrain another yelp. SPROING! Alberg felt proud of his boyfriend, but the sensations of his own new body divided his attention, and he moved his big hand over his pecs, his abs, his Apollo's belt, and then he cupped his improved man-meat inside his shiny golden posers. Russo's eyes widened, and there was a spot of pre-cum on Russo's Calvin Kleins. Alberg felt slightly confused. Confused and empowered, elated and disappointed. He didn't understand what he felt. It felt like he couldn't think clearly. He approached Russo, and became aware of his own waddling gait, as his thighs rubbed against each other in an unfamiliar way. Somehow, his changed gait and posture caused his self-esteem to rocket. He faced Russo, and looked down at him. Taller than Russo now. That realization sent a pleasant wave through his chub. Looked down at him. "If I remember correctly, Russo, fags disgust you, don't they?" Oh, how unusual that blush on Russo's cheeks. Wild-eyed, like a trapped animal in the presence of the Alpha predator. Pleasant wave through his chub, and a surge of confidence in his guts. "Whoooah, Alberg. Hey, dude, it was years ago. Years and years. I was a kid. I wouldn't have reconnected with you two after the reunion, if I had remained like that. Times change. Why bring that up NOW? Wait! Whooah! Hey! Why?" There were no clothes on Russo's upper body, otherwise he would have grabbed Russo's shirt. Pity. So he grabbed Russo's armpits and lifted him up, so that they could face each other. He noticed, how he could lift the frightened little model without effort, and that insight caused another surge of pleasure billow through him. "Yes, why WOULD you have reconnected with us? You have changed your mind. Good. It seems like you like what you see, eh?" He couldn't hinder himself from smiling. His smile didn't seem to calm Russo down. Good. Russo swallowed. He shuddered, and there were mixed feelings in his eyes: Terror. Embarrassment. Lust. "Fuck, yes. I ..." He shuddered and yelped. "Shit. I always felt so ashamed by how horny you made me. Stupid to blame you. I love how you lift me now, Babyface. And I love the muscle-machine you turned MacKenzie into. You ..." Russo shuddered again. "You are the perfect couple, you two. You are so ..." Russo's eyes widened, he instinctively held his breath, and then he gulped the air in breathlessly. His body became limp in Alberg's grip. "Fuck. Your display of strength caused me to cum. Sorry." Alberg put Russo down, and the latter sat down on the lab floor, and catched his breath. "Sorry guys." The turn of events caused Alberg to feel more confused. * * * Scott was probably the one, who handled the situation best. He approached his boyfriend, pressed his groin and chest into the latter's now considerably wider back, and began to feel Alberg's newly won muscles. Scott's body heat and weight pressed to Alberg's own. Scott's stubble to his own afternoon shade cheek. Scott's soft lips nibbling at his ear. Scott's big hands on his new meaty pec and hard abs. He shivered. Scott helped him take it in: His new heavier, sturdier, BULGING body. "I love it. I love you. Amazing. Just as you promised." Scott's big hand cupped the shiny golden fabric that covered Alberg's meat. Scott squeezed. Alberg shivered again. "But what if you added MORE? Why stop now? And if I understood you correctly, you didn't add those growth-ray things in your own cylinder, did you?" Squeeze. "The growth-rays are awesome. You try some growth rays. You don't need to absorb anyone else's muscles for that, do you?" Squeeze. "I want to see you add MORE. You look like a bodybuilder now. What if you looked like an Olympia Pro?" Squeeze. "What do you say?" Scott felt good. What he said felt good. It was so hard to think clearly. Try some growth rays? Ok, why not. He began to walk to Cylinder C, and touched the lid. "Will you operate the cylinder, Scott? Did you understand what I said about the controls?" There was a boyish light in Scott's eyes and a bright smile on his face, when Scott crawled into Cylinder A to operate the next step of the experiment. Alberg stepped inside Cylinder C, and closed the lid. They were facing each other through the glass of the two cylinders, and they could hear each other through speakers. Two powerful bodybuilders with tanned muscles, one in gold posers, another in black wet-look posers, watching each other. The thrill in his guts began again. No need for the respirator now. All compounds were already in his system, still active, still changing them all three. Thrill in his guts. Scott's eyes. Scott fidgeting with the controls. Still changing them. Never felt the rays before. Seen what the rays did to the animals. Began to behave in a too aggressive manner after the treatment. But impressive. Scott's loving gaze. Scott's naked intimidating MASS in Cylinder A. Scott's encouraging gaze. Scott's mischievous gaze. The scent of Scott inside Cylinder C. Surrounded by the scent of growing Scott. Sweat. Anti-perspirant. Shower cream. Scent of jock body. Surrounded. The humming returned. Jock body ... Never felt the rays before. Never felt the. Never felt. IMPACT! The air surrounding him buzzed, nay, crackled with POWER that beefed him up. So THIS is what Scott and Russo had felt earlier? Yeah! So good! All his muscles twitched and felt similar to pump and soreness, but yet something else. Warm. Heavy. Hard. Warmer. Heavier. Harder. Buzzed, nay, crackled. ... couldn't remember the scientific name of the growth-rays anymore. Didn't matter. The only thing that mattered ... ... was THE GROWTH! Scott making him ... UH! Scott making him bigger. Scott turning him into ... UH! Scott turning him into a super-jock! Couldn't have dreamed ... Better, than he had imagined ... Dim knowledge of danger ... UH! Danger didn't matter. The growth-rays mattered. The growth-rays adapted him. UH! Adapted him. Caused him to take the brunt of it all. Enabled him to swallow MORE, take MORE of it. MORE than any other man. Causing him to grow MORE. UH! YES, MORE! Adapted him! He cupped his pec. Like an impossible medicine ball, and still growing. More like a big melon now. Warm beef. Heavy beef. He flexed. Steel-hard beef. Nothing mattered. BEEF mattered. His widening back grinded against his harder triceps, forcing his rougher, thicker arms to hang out from the sides of his body. The way Scott walked. Lats. Scott told him. The beefy part of the back. Causing the bodybuilder posture. The bodybuilder gait. Wobbling shoulders. Waddling legs. Arms hanging out to the sides. The way he walked now. UH! Adapted him! Jock scent. His own jock scent mixed with Scott's jock scent. So big now. Able to crush anything. Mmmmm. Crush. He cupped his biceps. Flexed. Felt so good. He let his biceps and his lips meet. Kissed his own biceps. Licked it. So hard. The fucking power making him even STRONGER. UH! Coudn't stop himself from licking his own biceps more. What happened to his biceps, happened to his entire body: Enhancing. The striations and the veins that emerged. The uncrushable firmness. Licking his biceps. Lost in this, now. Hard to think, but who needed to think, when they were becoming strong beyond human limits? UH! Scott's eyes. Scott's love to him, visible in his eyes. Scott's horniness visible in his eyes. Scott turning him into what Scott wanted him to be. Scott's URGE was awake. And Scott knew, that Alberg's URGE was awake. URGE to grow big. URGE to grow BIGGER. URGE to grow ... UH! Beyond human limits! Alberg closed his eyes and lost himself in the overwhelming experience. That was the reason, why he wasn't aware of what happened next. * * * "Yeah. I look forward to this!" Scott's enthusiastic voice caused Alberg to open his eyes, and what he saw caused him alarm. Scott was now resting in Cylinder B, and closed the lid after himself. Russo had entered Cylinder A, and was now in control of The Machine, smiling smugly. Cylinder B began to hum. Scott shivered. Alberg could see Scott's black poser fill out, because of Scott's expectations. No! How could Scott trust the unreliable little handsome runt? That smug smile on Russo's face. It was obvious, that he would steal the gainz from both of them, rob Alberg of his revenge, and turn Scott into a shadow of his cheerful, virile self. Now and then, under the impact of the growth rays, Alberg was writhing and wriggling – shrugging to adapt his posture to his increasing MASS, and Scott began to behave in the same manner. Also letting out little yelps of pleasure. Russo. Smug. Couldn't trust ... ... OH! FUCK! Yes, Russo was increasing the growth rays in Alberg's Cylinder. Hard to concentrate, when it increased like that. The experience of EMBIGMENT. Like a wave of STRENGTH endowing it's qualities to him in it's overwhelming billow. And then came the icy cold experience of terror he had feared. Another sound. Another protocol. He hadn't heard it from the robbed side before. Russo robbing them of their gainz! Weaker wasn't the word for what he felt: The growth ray now worked at an even more heightened level, than before, and Alberg actually grew faster than Russo was able to rob him, but it wasn't the eventual effect, that tuned his guts into ice, but the mere knowledge, that his former bully, of all people, was able to FEED on him. -BSORB -BSORB -BSORB Russo moaned, but then fidgeted with the controls. The sound of the absorbation protocol faded down. Without the absorbation to hold it back, the growth felt more intense now. So intense. Hard to concentrate. Hard to think. The runt speaking: "Sorry MacKenzie. Sorry Alberg. Just wanted to taste it. Feels awesome, but I can't ruin my present shape by going too big. The photographers are picky." Scott moaned in his even deeper voice, rather than spoke, when he answered: "You are welcome. Now, do what we agreed on. I want both of us to go testo-fuelled super-humans. No holding back, anymore. No holding back." "Ok, MacKenzie. I love watching you two. At the reunion, I realized that you two are the sort of gays I get on with. Feel at home with. Didn't dare to admit to myself before. Your hospitality helped me to become a real person, if you know what I mean. So glad that Alberg had been bit by the growth bug. Could relate to that. Now, when I am in command of The Machine, I will turn you two into my personal Terminators. Make space marines a reality. Make you into two living, breathing Hulks! Increasing level! It hit him. It must have hit Scott, too, because both of them let out roars. Uh! Roars! Roaring! Writhing! Wriggling! SO INTENSE NOW! If the growth rays had felt like a rain or a hailstorm of energy before – a rain of energy transforming him and Scott – it now felt like standing in a cascade of strength-inducing power now. An AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Russo and his cylinder looked like they were shrinking. He adapted his posture. He had to stand with his legs wider apart. Confidently wide apart. Thighs rubbing to each other. The shrinking size of Russo was just an illusion, because it was Alberg who was growing. He could watch Scott grow, too. The sight made him horny. Yeah: Jock boyfriend. Yeah: Muscle-god boyfriend. He could feel the rod in his golden posers tent, and he could feel it throb and expand. Scott stared at him, and was reacting in a similar way: Scott's wet-look poser was stretched, and revealed the root of Scott's bronze cannon. Alberg could feel his traps bulge, rougher, thicker, like the mountain ridge Scott had between his neck and his shoulders, and both their bull-necks were like baileys carrying their heads. Deep, deep ridges between their cannon-ball abs, now. Brief pain when his canines became more ... uh ... he felt with his tongue ... his canines became more canine. Something happened to his chin and jaw. More powerful now. YEAH! MORE POWERFUL! Scott was now bigger and more conditioned than any Olympia Pro, and, by the feel of it, Alberg understood, that he himself had transformed beyond that limit, too. An AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. BEYOND! Alberg flexed his biceps. That made Russo insanely excited: "Fuck! Shit! Yes! Alberg! You're amazing! Can't believe it! So ... UH!" Russo did something to the controls. An alarm went off with a bleering sound, and red rotating lights were lit. AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Alberg should have been worried now, but he wasn't. AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. The Urge turned into insanity, but it didn't matter. He was The Urge. He was Jock Power. He was Muscle-god BRAWN. He kissed his biceps. He licked it. He explored the new veins on the engorged and bulbous globe of strength. Licked it. Felt how it grew rapidly under his lips. Felt how the rest of him grew rapidly under the awesome influence of The Machine. The sound of Scott moaning. Jock-moans. The sound of the runt wanking, because the sight of Alberg was irresistible. Yeah, irresistible. Expanding. Adding MEGA-MASS. Becoming a titan, built by veiny boulders upon veiny boulders. The URGE for MEGA-MASS! Standing among mists of pure energy. Inhaling the mists of pure energy. Absorbing the mists of pure energy. Tenting. The stretchy fabric of his posers only able to cover his dick-head now. The head of his cannon rubbing itself against the inside of the poser fabric. Rubbing. Felt good. Touched his hip, where a thin band of fabric held his struggling posers in place. Pounding in his temples. Flexed his chest. Rubbed his own traps with his bigger hand. Most muscular. Felt his own impossibly hard quads. Standing in the AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Letting it rush into his insatiable URGE. Standing. Commandingly. Standing. Dominantly. Standing. God-like. Forced to grow MORE. Erupt into powerful, irresistible BRAWN. The impossible might. The impossible might increasing. Scott moaning. Standing in the AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. The difference between human flesh and crackling, buzzing power diminishing. Disappearing. Brimming of pure, raw, masculine strength. Becoming more than a man. BECOMING impossible might. BECOMING MEGA-MASS! BECOMING an AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. BECOMING mists of pure energy. Becoming a broad, burly, buzzcut power-titan of pure, raw crackling, buzzing, brimming, empowering, insanely intense, engorging, throbbing, surging, overwhelming, exploding ... STRENGTH! The feeling of becoming taller, harder and stronger mixed with the feeling of orgasm, and they both mixed with the feeling of becoming like a battery charged by the output of an entire power house. Charged. The. Output. Of. An. Entire. Power. House. YES! POWER HOUSE! BEYOND! BEYOND! BEYOND! POWER HOUSE! He didn't become unconscious, but he wasn't aware of his surroundings, and he didn't know for how long he had been lost in that ecstatic sea of pure strength and virility. * * * He slowly returned to consciousness. Fresh air seeped in from the open lid, and Scott and Russo was looking at him. He sat upright, and began to climb out of the cylinder. Yeah, felt bigger now. Impossibly big. The biggest. The unfamiliar feeling of his, now towering, physique, caused him to move clumsily. His naked feet rested on the floor. He cupped his left pec with his right hand, and squeezed again. The feeling caused him to emit a satisfied grunt. Russo watched him. "What are you looking at, Dweeb?" Alberg's powerful arm reached out, and pinned Russo against the wall. "Not so tough now?" Russo squirmed, pinned to the wall, with Alberg's big fist around his neck, but his eyes didn't express undiluted fear. Something with Russo's gaze and smile betrayed how much he seemed to like it. "No, not so tough when my beastially huge master dominate me. Sir!" The answer -- and the entire situation -- caused a wave of pleasure to billow through them both. Both were naked, and there was no mean to hide their physical reactions. Scott took the sight of his now titanic boyfriend in, and the sight of the latter dominating Scott's childhood friend. He couldn't stop himself from stroking himself. Scott's reaction drove the other two crazy: Alberg let Russo go for a second, then grabbed the back of Russo's head, forcing Russo's mouth closer to Alberg's steel-python. The model eagerly swallowed the titan's member, and the cavernous lab echoed of their moans and grunts, until all three reached relief. * * * They had showered, but before the first shower, Alberg had Russo take measures for Alberg's and Scott's new clothes. None of their old clothes did fit anymore, and he had expected that. Two companies had been warned beforehand about incoming urgent orders this day. It gave him a smug satisfaction to see Russo tremble of excitement when he took Alberg's and Scott's measures: "Whooah. You are 6'6'' now, bro, sorry, Master. Don't see the the scales, because of the pec-shelf? OK, it's 370 pounds, ugh. Your legs, ehe, they, wow, they are 35 inches. Your chest is, uh, it is, wow, it is 72 inches. Eh. Uh. Fuck! Will you flex your arm, while I use this measuring-tape? 28 inches... Oh, Uhnnnn, yes, Master, your arm is... ugh... is TWENTY-EIGHT INCHES! Uhn Uhn Uhn, sorry Master, I couldn't stop myself from..." The package with new clothes arrived with special delivery five hours later, just fresh out of the sewing machines. The lads had found satisfying ways to occupy themselves, while they waited for the delivery. The content was what Alberg had expected. He watched Scott step into the camo-patterned cargo-trousers, and button them. Then he became preoccupied with his own trousers: Black, glossy leather-trousers. He inhaled the scent of leather, and put them on, feeling the leather tightly hug his powerful quads and hamstrings, and his voluminous calves and glutes. He buttoned his trousers, and he could feel his manhood crawl down one of his trouser-legs, forming a discernable outline through the smooth, glossy leather. The sturdy, rather wide, belt followed. He stepped inside his boots: Not boots with lace as Scott had chosen, but biker boots. Glossy leather cuffs. His jacket. No need to wear anything else under the jacket. He wanted to show off. Russo behaved as an enthusiastic puppy, when he was allowed to follow his two new masters to the club. They knew, who would become the centre of the club this night. All three of them knew. Alberg's revenge hadn't turned out exactly as he had expected. It had turned out better.
  3. Preface I worked on this one for quite some time in the Unfinished section. I haven't changed or added anything since April this year. There might be linguistic errors, that I haven't been able to spot yet, but there's no reason to hide this story over at Unfinished stories anymore. The prefix No sex is formally correct, but there is some sort of tension between the two male characters, so straight readers are warned. But he seemed so NICE? You felt betrayed. Or, expressed in a better manner: You didn't exactly know, what you felt, but you hadn't expected this from him. You had first got to know him online at one of those muscle-growth sites. He seemed to share your obsession and your fantasies, and, from what he wrote in the sub-forum about exercise, you had to conclude, that he knew what he was doing at the gym. It surprised you, when, after a few private messages, it turned out, that he lived in the same city, as you did. You agreed to meet at a rather average bar a Friday night. You kept looking for an average guy with any obvious signs of working out, but when THE MUSCULAR PRESENCE entered the bar and guessed correctly who you were, reality began to feel slightly unreal. HUGE wasn't a word, that was enough to describe him. THE MUSCULAR PRESENCE approached you, said hello and mentioned your name. It was too good to be true. If anyone would be able to give you the training-advice you needed, this was the one. Kindness and a sense of humour in his warm brown eyes. An air of teddybear over his face, with its brown buzzcut hair, chestnut beard and powerful chin. The scent of anti-perspirant mixing with the sweat from his revealing compression shirt, and with the scent of his leather jacket. Denim-clad manspread. Looming wide-shouldered presence. The lump in your throat. The outline of his pecs and his pec-ravine visible through the compression shirt. The outline of his abs through the compression shirt. His looming, wide-shouldered presence ... The living embodiment of friendly, confident masculinity. Present. Close to you. Hard to think. You, answering his questions and remarks with "yes" and "no". You had to gather yourself. What did he say? Showing you something? Well, yes, of course ... Perhaps three stations with the Underground. Not the most tidy part of the city. He had got a key to some backdoor into a non-descript brickwall building. A grey and sparely lit corridor. Another door: Robust door of metal plates. Two locks. Dark. Brett switched the electric light on. Revealing the Contraption. A feeling of alarm. What if he was a weirdo? What if ... a violent pervert? The dangerous-looking Contraption. One part Pec-Dec machine. One part torture chamber, perhaps? One part horror film equipment. What could he possibly ... Your jacket on a hook. He taking your shirt off. But ... No! Wait! You didn't agree to ... And then, the dizziness. Your trousers. Changing your underwear into something ... something tight, glossy, with metal threads woven into the fabric ... Dizziness. Big hands. Helping you down. Sitting in the Contraption. A glass of water. Or not water. Dizziness. Or not water. Brett saying something. "Told me, you would like it." Brett. Big. Tall. Close. Present. Those eyes. Kindness and a sense of humour. Why would he ... Why would he be doing this? Brett's big powerful hands on your naked shoulders. Dizziness. Arranging your body. Hands? Your hands in ... gloves? Inside each side of the Pec-Dec handles. Arms ... to your sides ... your chest ... protruding ... Brett's big powerful hands. Putting your feet into ... into too big high-neck trainers ... Why? Dizziness. Brett plugged the cable connected to your underwear, the cable connected to your new high-neck trainers and the cable connected to the Contraptions into some ... hard to think ... some Machine ... You were sitting in the Contraption. Connected to it. Your hands, your feet and your dick connected to it ... FEAR. You felt betrayed. Or, expressed in a better manner: You didn't exactly know, what you felt, but you hadn't expected thisfrom him. Not from him. Not Brett. "Have you read about pheromones and similar bio-chemicals inside the human body? A group of women who meet regularly, at work, at home or a group of close friends, have their periods at almost the same time, because their individual physiologies adapt to each other. Similarly, if a man join a group of men with high levels of testosterone, his body will adapt and raise the levels of his own testo. Scents, we aren't even aware of, are able to cause changes in our internal chemistry. Now: Take a whiff of this!" Brett pressed a breathing mask over your nose and mouth, and in your vulnerable position, strapped to The Machine, there was nothing you could do to stop him. You inhaled. Nothing. At least, you weren't aware of any scent in particular, but you became aware of a nice tingling feeling in your skin. Inhaled. The tingling became stronger, and blood rushed to your dick. "You see, people in this Project has harvested the scents from countless prison-gyms, hardcore gym-lockers, marine baracks, fire-stations and similar places, where the average testosterone level is presumably high ... and then they have distilled the potent transmittor-substances that affect a man's own production of androgene hormones and growth-hormones ..." You found it hard to think now. Tingling skin. Tenting underwear. Pounding temples. Brett put earbuds in your ears. A strange sound. Waves. The deeper you go, the better you feel. The better you feel, the deeper you go. A wave of fear: Fear of losing yourself. Fear of eradication of your Self. Fear of the unknown feeling, stirring in the depths of your soul. Inhaling. Willing to transform. Eager to transform. Adapt and raise the levels of ... Excitement, but fear of losing who you are. Tingling. Embodiment. So physically present now. Brett's big hands assuring you of comfort. Yeah, present. Embodied. Tingling body. Some sort of brutal anger crawling in the deep recesses of your soul. Crawling. Rising to the surface. You tugged at the straps that held your wrists and ankles in place, in some inarticulate will to free yourself, but another part of yourself enjoyed the feeling ... Yes: Enjoyed! Fear of ... the stirring feelings. Your muscles changing. Transforming. Warm. Hard. Pumped. Involuntarily flexing. Harder. Bigger. Real jock. Who's an Alpha? YOU are an Alpha. Becoming an Alpha with an Alpha mindset. Becoming an Alpha with an Alpha body. Becoming Brett's Alpha. Becoming the Alpha you always wanted to be. Becoming the Alpha you always had deep inside. Becoming Alpha brawn. Becoming Alpha beef. Becoming ... Is someone messing with you? Fuck, no. If anyone try to mess with you, you will show them, that no-one mess with this real thug bro. Yeah: Real thug bro. Feel so good. Feel so confident. And brawny. And horny. Would be fun to teach some of the idiots from the past a lesson. Yeah, feeling so good! Look at you! Look at this bruiser! Look at these arms! And these pecs! And you didn't skip leg day. Inhaled. More. More of it. More like Brett. FUCK YES! More! Eagerly inhaling. Eagerly listening to the ... the waves. Eagerly receiving the strange, voluptious and empowering energy that streamed into your electronic gloves, your electronic trainers and your electronic underwear. Eagerly BECOMING what Brett turned you into. Uh! Uhhhhh! Fuck, yeah! You moaned in excitement, when your shoulders became bigger than volley-balls and your trapezius changed to a size adapted to your new shoulders. You could feel your back feel like a mountain-side. Mountain-side! Brickwall! The power! Your thug-power! Filling your trainers now. Not too big trainers anymore. Filling them. Big feet. Big hands filling the gloves. Big ... Uh ... Your hands breaking free. Breaking the steel. Muscle against metal. Muscles winning. Your bullneck of corded steel. Your dick tenting inside the underwear. Power rushing into you ... into your body ... into your hands, into your feet and into your boner ... Conducting this ... POWER ... into you. Rushing. Connected to. Power current. Growing you. Growing BIG! Your mind ... Drowning in the sound of waves which turned you into ... into the real bruiser, who are YOU. Brett, yes! More! Give me more! I need it! I crave it! I lust for it! For all this engorged, powerful brawn. For all this engorged, powerful, conditioned and dominant muscle mass. You couldn't believe it: So good, so much. Almost too much, but there is no such thing as too much. All there is, is the craving for more ultra-masculine, virile, steel-hard FLESH. And you are becoming that ultra-masculine, virile, steel-hard FLESH. Becoming FLESH! Your hands must be bigger now. You touched your abs with your BIG hand: Deep ravines had formed between your abs -- a packet of pétanque balls of steel above your navel. Your shoulders widening. The incredible feeling when your chest became barrel-sized. The incredible feeling when your height increased. The incredible feeling when your quads turned monstrous vein-covered BEEF. Inhaling your new Self. Waves. Forming the new you. Intruding from outside. But also ... also stirring. Stirring from within. Rising from inside. Surfacing. Erupting. Yes! The hidden You: Erupting into existence. Erupting out of you. The embodied, heavy, muscular you. Your Jock-you. The mind of your Jock-you. The true you. No longer repressed. Who's a good jock-boy? YES! YOU are a good jock-boy! Jock-boy strong! Jock-boy brawny! Who's a dumb jock? YOU are a dumb jock, and you love it. "Brett! Yes! Good! More!" And Brett increased it. Your mind sunk into incoherent chatter, your immense and massive body writhed in pleasure and buzzed with growth-power, and, distantly, you could subconsciously hear yourself moan, but you were too overwhelmed by the bombardment of stimuli to take notice. Brett was making this fucking bruiser an even bigger fucking bruiser: Bulging all over of power-mass! Yeah: Power-mass! Steel-brawn! Huge! Make me! MAKE ME! Yes! Love it! Big feet conducting power. Big hands conducting power. Boner conducting power. Engorged and throbbing. Not just the boner. Your entire body: Engorged and throbbing. Every. Single. Muscle: Engorged and throbbing. Huge! Uh. Yes! Huge! Make me! Uh! Make me! Uhhhhh! Make me!!! Uhhhhh!!! BIGGER!!!!!!!! Brett smiled, when he saw, what you had become, and you could see on his smile, how proud he was of you. It was then he turned up the dial to maximum.
  4. The story begins: here. Part Six is found: here. Descent into growth Part Seven You had come into your own. Rob, too. You loved your new, short mohawk haircut, and Rob's haircut was inspired by the military, too: Shaved sides, shaved on the back of his head, and a flat, platinum blonde buzzcut left at the top of his head. The faded denim cut-offs suited Rob well, but his continued growth threatened to burst the cut-offs at the seams soon. You wondered why you hadn't chosen to wear jockstraps before: They were your number one choice. Mr. V. had stepped out of his camo-patterned army trousers, and revealed a black, glossy leather jockstrap. The words "silly", "fun-fair" and "charade" floated through your mind from somewhere, you couldn't remember from where, anymore. Actually, the leather suited Mr. V. well, and he seemed to like it. You felt like a big dumb jock boy now. Uh! The Test Chamber was buzzing. Crackling. Humming. As it ought to. Minutes ago, you had been worried over, what would happen, if no one was left outside, taking care of The Process, but you had forgotten Arngrim, your A.I. You had named him after a beefy berserker in Norse mythology. Uh! Berserker! You like that. You must have unconsciously longed for this day since the beginning. At least, that was, what Mr. V. told you, before he pushed you inside the Chamber to join Rob and himself. Nate wasn't far behind Mr. V. Now you were all becoming... Becoming what you were programmed to. All four of you. Felt great. Jock boy. Uh! You took turns at the training bench and by the barbell. Deadlift. Bench press. Squat. At first, the amounts and size of weight plates seemed ridiculously exaggerated. But now you realised: Not exaggerated at all. Not at these levels. Yeah. Felt great. Jock boy. Uh! You glanced. Nate was curling dumbbells. Two hundred pound dumbbells. TWO HUNDRED POUND DUMBBELLS! You felt horny. There was a bulge in your jockstrap. Just as Mr. V. wanted. Jock boy! Uh! Mr. V bellowed, and watched himself flex his bicepses in front of his chest. He grimaced involuntarily in a mix of triumph, amazement and pleasure, and emitted a growling moan. The next moment, there was the sound of a snap, and Mr. V’s leather-jockstrap was no more, because it couldn’t withstand the strength of Mr. V’s manhood anymore. His cock bounced out of its former imprisonment, liberated, throbbing and wet of pre-cum. Mr. V shuddered in pleasure, and his eyes incomprehendingly gazed at one of the katodes, from which the hypertrophic power came crackling into his abs. With a surprisingly dumb smile, he stepped outside the octagon marked in yellow-and-black-striped tape in the centre of the Test Chamber, approached the katode, bent his knees slightly, and pushed his cock into the opening of the katode. Watching Mr. V’s action, a smile lit up in Nate’s face, and he, similarly, left the centre of the chamber, and, still wearing his red glossy boxing shorts, rubbed his groin and abs against the opposing anode. The power level in the middle of the Chamber immediately sank considerably, although the remaining anode and katode relentlessly bombarded you and Rob with their hypertrophic power. Grunts of disappointment came from both Mr. V. and Nate. You and Rob watched each other, and nodded. Rob stepped outside the tape-markings, and approached Mr. V. ”Why doesn’t it work, bro? I want the growth-power, Rob. I really want it!” The sound of Mr. V’s voice had changed. It was deeper, of course – you hadn’t expected otherwise – but the former arrogance had faded, and there was a tone of a sulky teenager in the voice of the middle-aged businessman. ”It doesn’t work that way, Mr. V.” ”To hell with that Mr-V-shit, dude! Call me Van, Rob. But why don’t I feel a piss of that nice, really great growth-power? Turn me into a Hulk, Rob!” Meanwhile, you tried to reason with Nate. With a feeling of regret, you left the centre of the Chamber, and felt the hypertrophic power die in your body. There was anabolic radiation in the Chamber, lots of it, and your body still raged of visible growth, but the feeling of hypertrophic power was cut off. You put your palm on Nate’s melon-sized shoulder. ”Come, Nate. Come back to the centre of the Chamber.” ”But I want it so much. I want the Power! I want to feel it! I want …” ”It doesn’t work like that. The current connects, when a metallic object or a man is there in the centre.” You tried to drag Nate back to the centre, but there was no way to reason with him. For a second, it felt tempting to try to force Nate back to the centre, but remembering Nate’s MMA credentials, you decided against it, despite your newfound strength. You closed your eyes, and felt your muscles growing. Newfound strength. NEWFOUND STRENGTH. You returned to reasoning with Nate. It was hard to think. Hard to make him understand. ”But I want more! I want the Hulk-feeling! Don’t stop me!” He rubbed himself against the seemingly lifeless anode. You sighed. It was hard to think during the growth-process. So good. But it would return to even better, if Nate and Van stopped behaving like morons. You glanced at Rob, and catched his eye. You both nodded. You laid your hand on Nate’s lower back, and took a step away from him, your arm stretched outwards. Your right foot was inside the striped tape, but just barely. Rob was grabbing Van’s left hand, against the latter’s will, both arms stretched, and Rob was standing entirely within the marked area. The other katode-anode pair bombarded him now, and the influx of hypertrophic power caused Van to accept Rob’s firm handshake more willingly now. Rob bit his lower lip, trying to control himself, took a deep breath, and you could see him lay his eyes on the barbell in the middle of the chamber. He lifted his end of the barbell with one hand, pushing it, so that the other end of the barbell was close to your reach. So close. You tried to maintain the touch of Nate’s back, leaned carefully deeper inside the marked area, and then you and Nate lifted the barbell together. The effect was immediate. POWER. Hypertrophic power rushed into you from Nate and from the end of the barbell. Nate and you, Rob and Van formed a circuit. Circuit. A fucking circuit of power. You were shaking. Nate was shaking. Rob was shaking. Van bellowed: ”Fuck, yes, dude! The power streams through my cock!” It was hard to will yourself to the next step. It felt so good, but you had to do it. You and Rob nodded at each other, you laid the barbell down on the floor, and then you let your hands go. ”What the fuck, dude?” It was the disappointed voice of Van. You couldn’t blame him. You felt disappointed too, but Van and Nate were keeping the process back, by blocking the anode and katode. ”I said: Come back to the centre, where we will allow the circuit to close.” ”I don’t understand a word you say, bro. I want to get huge.” ”If you want to get huge, stand in the centre. That’s where you will connect the current.” Van and Nate hesitatingly began to move, but it was only the latter who joined you in the centre. ”What the hell, bro? I’m stuck inside this thing!” You couldn’t help yourself from laughing. Your laughter sounded different now: Dark, deep, rich, like chocolate. Nate and Rob laughed, too. ”You are what?” ”My dick is stuck inside this machine. It isn’t funny!” Rob laughed again. His laughter had changed too, and become similar to your’s: Leisurely joyful, but also with a deep, warm, assertive timbre. ”We have to find a way to help you out of this situation, then? I suppose, that you wouldn’t allow us to cut your dick off?” ”Shut up, Rob. It isn’t funny.” Van sounded unusually sullen now. Rob towered behind him now: Tall, built, confident and attempting to help. ”What if I do this?” ”Doesn’t help. Too painful.” ”And if I do this?” Van moaned. ”Doesn’t help. Got harder. More stuck.” ”So you have to shrink to get loose?” ”Shut up, Rob, as I said, it isn’t funny.” ”Let me see.” Rob opened his denim cut-offs, removed his jockstrap, and pulled something out. He stood with his back to you, and you were unable to see, which was a pity. ”If I do this …” ”Oh fuck, this is so hot, Rob, so hard, this can’t gonna work …” ”And slightly tug like this… ” ”Rob! Fuck! So… You are so masculine now… Can’t… Oh fuck, your amazing muscles … I’m… Oh wow! Uhnnnn… I …” There was a squishy sound. Half a minute later, Van was free. Leaning on Rob, he returned to the middle of the Chamber. The anode and the katode flared to work. Bolts of hypertrophic power was bombarding all four of you, again. Yes, bombarding you all again. You inhaled more gas. More. Feeling like a good jock boy. Jock boy. Uh! ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” It was the metallic voice of the AI again. When the intensified anabolic radiation hit you, all of you shivered and let some noise out. Nate moaned. Van let out a grunt. Rob’s eyes widened: ”Fuck, yes!” The AI continued: ”Adapting morphogenetic field to alternative sketch. Activating SKETCH NUMBER 2137.” Incredulity rose inside your mind. What the hell is Sketch number 2137? It can’t be the ridiculous sketch Rob and Nate had been playing with a few days ago? I couldn’t be… And the sketch was activated. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” Yelps. Helpless yelps from men overwhelmed by irresistible tranformation. Yelps of pleasure from victims of forced growth. Yelps of power from jocks turning into musclegods. Yelps from Van, from the lads, from you. Their bodies convulsing. Your body convulsing. Rush. Body rush. Your body rushing into the height. Taller. Wider. Unfathomable. Taller. Wider. Brawnier. Forced by the field to conform to the pattern of the sketch. Forced to become… To become… Fuck! Uh! Become… So good… So good… To become… 6’9’’ To become… 330 lbs To become… Wider! Heavier! Harder! Fuck! The feeling! Becoming… ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” Your chest was growing. Your pec shelf made you feel like an ice-breaker. What was this? 7'? 360 lbs? What sort of man is able to count or keep numbers straight in this state? This state of GROWTH. MUSCLE GROWTH. Your abs were growing and becoming harder, more defined … chiseled. Your abs made you feel like a brickwall. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” BRICK WALL. The sight of the other lads growing… Nate still his energetic plucky self, but four times as big. Van obsessed with his own growth, but looking younger and happier. Rob… BIG Rob. Towering. His platinum army-haircut contrasting against his bronzed tan. His ice-blue eyes shining of confidence and assertiveness, but not entirely like Van in the past: More personal warmth, more consideration for you and the others, more protectiveness… Rob closing his eyes in abandon, flexing his arms in front of himself… Rob bellowing like a human bull. BRICK WALL. You could feel it yourself. The power consuming you. Charging you. Building yourself up. Transforming. Your muscle fibres multiplying. Becoming thicker. Becoming harder. Unyielding. Your brawn. Thicker. Harder. Unyielding. Your testo. Higher. Flooding your system. Flooding your physique. Filling your body with testo. Ultra-charged testo. Filling your nuts and rod. Filling your muscles. Filling your mind. Charged. New being. Jock-being. Jock boy. Uh! Jock man. Jock beast. Jock god. Jock titan. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” Yes, more! Nate groaning, but not in disappointment. Van staring into the void in disbelief, his powerful rod throbbing and drooling, as his body underwent metamorphosis into impossibly virile and powerful masculinity. Rob moaning deeply with a lustful and smug smile on his powerful lips, achieving the impossible looks of some super-soldier character out of a computer game. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” YES!!! Could have been you. Could have been any of you. Someone – or all of you – bellowed your approval when the Process amplified your growth. You could see Rob stagger to the training-bench… reclining there… lifting the barbell… dislike how light it was… rise… add several thicc heavy plates… recline again… lifting… grunting in approval… and push… push… benchpress… push… Rob’s pecs growing… blood rushing to his pecs… anabolic power rushing to mend Rob’s pecs instantly, causing them to grow… grow… all four of you… grow… yourself staggering to spot Rob, well aware of the power streaming through the barbell between Rob’s hands… grabbing the barbell, to spot… CONTACT!!! Rob’s irradiated body and your irradiated body connected by the barbell, the hypertrophic power rushing through both your bodies: From your body into his. From his body into your. Crackling. Both of your bodies crackling. Surrounded by hypertrophic sparks and power bolts. Feeling the power current. BEING the power current. Yes! Bigger! Double the amounts! Both of you crackling of strength-inducing power. Crackling of muscle-growing power. Both of you! Glowing. Van realising it. Coming closer. Kneeling in front of Rob’s knees. Rob still lifting. Pushing. Bench press. Van swallowing Rob’s cock. YES! Connected! Three of you! Not thrice as much… FOURFOULD! Nate’s mouth agape of bliss. Closer. Kneeling under the barbell, between Rob’s head and your knees. Swalling your manhood. All four of you. Connected. FUCK! Not eightfold. SIXTEENFOLD, uhu sixteenfold, uhu, sixteenfold, Uhngh, so… So good. Yeah, suck me, musclegod! Connected. All of you. All the bros. All happy big jockgods. Jock titans! SIXTEENFOLD! Couldn’t take much more now… So much… ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” No! Not more now! So good, but almost too much… It… ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” The instincts and the power. Yeah. Strength. Raw powerful muscular strength. The only thing that matters. Watching Rob bench press 2000 lbs. TWO THOUSAND LBS!!! Raw powerful muscular strength. Instinct. Power. Strength. Bulging. Engorged. Everything engorged. Engorged cock. Engorged quads and hamstrings. Engorged calves. Engorged glutes. Engorged lats and traps. Engorged Pecs. Your abs, obliques and serratus burning. Burning. Bigger. Growing. Burning of power. Engorged. Van engorged. Nate engorged. Rob engorged. All of you burning. Throbbing. Engorged. Power levels. Uh. SIXTEENFOLD. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” YES! Brute-Beast big! Brute-Beast good! Jock-god so good! It… The feeling… Pure strength… Becoming strength… Flood of energy… Becoming energy… It’s… It’s the strength. Power. Energy. Power. Presence. Expanding. Throbbing of power. Presence. Raw power. Mass. Power Mass. Power Mass present. Power Mass throbbing. Connected. The lads. Power mass. Raw. All of you. All of us. Power Presence. Raw. Intense. Intensifying. Increasing. Enhanced. Enhancing. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” The strength. The… Uhu… YEAH! Huge! Bulging… Uhu! Ungh! Yeah, huge! Power flood. Beast. Raw. Brute. Power-Beast. Power-Brute. Godlike. Titanic. Titan. Power Titan. Brutal Power-Titan. Throbbing of Power. Good. Uh. Bigger. Huge. Huge Power-Beast. Huge Power-Titan. All of us. Huge Power Beasts. Huge Power Titans. So… Power-throbbing… Uh! Mass! Yes! Yeah! Strength-power! Power-stream! Power-current! Power-wave! Nnnn! Power-being! Nnnnn! Power-house! Uhu! Uhu! Can’t believe… POWER HOUSE! Yes! Look at us! Power-house! Can’t… So… Oh, fuck! It’s… Ungh! Uhu! POWER HOUSE! Huge! I… We… The Power! Can’t… So… It’s… Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck… It’s… ALL OF US… YES! What we are becoming… Oh! Yes! Let it happen! Let it happen to all of us! Let us become… Let us… Let… Uh. Power. Let… Uuuh! FU- !!! * * * To be continued.
  5. The beginning is found: here. Part Five is found: here. Descent into growth Part Six You weren't sure if it had been the unknown after-effects, or if he had used the Test Chamber again, while you were suffering from the temperature, but Mr. V had probably reached somewhere around 280, 300, perhaps 320 lbs now. It was hard to guess, because he was obviously very cut and chiselled without much fat. In your terrified state, you were probably prone to exaggerate, but he could be 6'2'' or 6'3''. It was in the middle of the night, but Mr. V's taste for showing off wasn't asleep. His chest was entirely naked, but he was wearing army trousers with a city-camo pattern and very glossy boots. Treating your Lab like a fun-fair. Yes, indeed. You had to stand up against this charade, come hell, come high water. "You owe me an explanation, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen. What exactly is happening?" There was a lozenge of moonlight on the wall. Not enough to see his facial expression. "It's Mr. V now. I told you. Before you passed out." There was a dawning realisation beginning to take form. Your head felt strangely cold. "That came all of a sudden. On the order of whom was I given an IV, while I suffered from a temperature? I'm the medical expert here, and even I am not a practitioner." "Little Rob share some of your background. A few courses in medicine and several courses in physics make a good combination, don't they?" His voice was like dark chocolate slowly trickling over ice cream. Rich. Dark. Trickling. What was wrong with you? You hadn't felt any attraction to Mr. V in the past, and you certainly hadn't any reason to, now when your employer might have gone insane, and might be a threat to everyone at the compound: You, Rob, Nate, the two nice cleaning women, the kitchen staff, the two hunky guards... Hunky? You had never used that word about... What was happening? You felt strange, but the dizziness had faded, and your legs felt more stable, than just a few minutes ago. "So I asked Rob nicely, and he gave you some nutritional drip, while you were asleep. We have taken turns to tend your bed during your illness." You became aware of the elastoplast taped over the crook of your arm. Nutritional drip? But the only nutritional drip available was the same one, that had been administered to Nate and Mr. V. And why was your head feeling so unusually chilly, with all that hair of yours? Mr. V purred: "The second bag was an easy way to inject you with your personally tailored serum. When I asked nicely, Rob told me, that it wouldn't be possible to give you the injection in your glute, like you do with roids, so it was best to use an IV while you weren't protesting." "I'm not one of the test subjects. And what have you done to Rob?" Mr. V grabbed your armpits, lifted you up, and began to walk, while he continued to chat: "I wasn't a test subject, until I told you, that I wanted to be one. In your plan, there was only one original test subject: Nate." Panic rose inside you. You had several biochemical compounds running inside you. Chemicals not intended for you. Not intended for use, unless the test subject was soon entering the Test Chamber. You feared to enter the Test Chamber. You... "That's in your plan, of course. In my plan, which none of you seemed to anticipate, I expected myself and you to grow all along, eventually, when the transformation-process had proven stable and reliable, and I hoped, that Nate would become the plaything I need. Initially, he turned out to be overconfident, too overconfident, but that was enjoyable too, for a little while, when I was still a weakling, before my exaltation into my new state. I hope to rectify that mistake, soon." He carried you down the stairs. The corridor. The fear. Chemicals inside you. Already changing you. Priming you for the Chamber. "Rob needed some encouragement. I had to force him, threaten him (but I suspect he liked that bit), and dangle a carrot before him to do as I commanded." He interrupted his walk, changed his grip around you, so that you dangled from his left armpit, his powerful arm held under your belly. His right hand was searching for something in a walnut-wood drawer. "Now when I think of it, you could be of some assistance this very moment. Will you please lock these earbuds around my ears, will you?" He showed you a pair of strangely-looking earbuds, and put each of them in his ears. He put you down. You considered running, but that was a risky choice. You locked the earbuds around his ears. "You seem to hear well enough what I'm saying, so I suppose I will hear your answers, too. Doesn't it feel good to share the same sort of earbuds with me, jock boy?" You couldn't believe your ears. Jock boy? You? No one had called you jock boy. The most ridi- ... Jock boy. You shivered. You had to swallow. It actually sounded quite fierce. Mr. V pushed you before him down the next couple of stairs. Into the Lab. Your Lab. The Lab where you grow Nate and Mr. V. The way they want to be grown. Grown into Alphas. Grown into what they like to become. Grown. That was strange. You felt horny. You had felt terrified just a minute ago, but you felt... at ease. Yes. Felt at ease. The Lab. Then you remembered: You were worried for your friend Rob. Little Rob. "What have you done to Rob? If you have harmed him, I swear, that I will give you what you deserve!" The lighting was considerably better here. The stairs were lit, and the safety doors outside the Lab were efficiently lit. You could see an amused smile on Mr. V's timeless unaging masculine face: "There's a warrior-spirit inside you Doc. I like that. I like some resistance. And as to your question about what I have done to little Rob, I will answer that question." Mr. V pushed a number-sequence into the lock, and the safety door opened. Both of you entered. You could smell the usual familiar scents. Nate was there – bigger than before, and only wearing red silky boxing shorts with yellow stripes this time. The Test Chamber was humming, which came as a surprise. You turned your head, and for a second or two, you were unable to understand what you saw. Mr. V continued his speech. "I fulfilled his innermost dreams, even if he wasn't necessarily aware of these dreams before tonight." The unknown man inside the active Test Chamber was a towering giant at perhaps 6'4''. His shoulders were wide and melon-sized. Volleyball-sized pectorals voluptiously hung powerful from his chest, exuding terrifying power. His arms were proportionally sized. Something was wrong with the Chamber. Someone had put training equipment inside, in a ridiculous gesture, and the giant was performing deadlifts inside the Chamber. Nate said something in a tone of admiration, and you could see his glossy red boxing shorts tent, as he said it: "That's almost 1000 lbs!" The man inside the Chamber was a platinum blonde giant of a man. Slowly it dawned to you: The man inside the Chamber was little Rob! But he wasn't little Rob anymore. * * * Part seven is found: here.
  6. Thank you for your kind remark. There are worse ways to handle insomnia, than writing MG stories.
  7. You've got the growth of Mr. V. now. I even borrowed his new nickname from you, for which I hereby express my gratitude.
  8. Part one is found: here. Part four is found: here. Descent into growth Part Five Uncomfortable. You felt uncomfortable and soaked in sweat. The air felt hot – too hot – and suffocating, and your face felt too warm. You couldn't move, and another nauseous wave of too warm and stuffy atmosphere surrounded you, tossed you around and carried you away: into sleep, into your thoughts, into reality – you didn't know. You smelled the scent of shavings and guineapig droppings, methylated spirits and cleaning solution. You were in the Lab. Hadn't this already happened once? You approached Rob and Nate, who sat watching the screen of the computer, which controlled the field. The morphogenetic field. Rob was free to study the diagrams, the 3D sketches consisting of translucent outlines of real persons' physiques. You hadn't given that particular aspect of experiments much thought: Your predecessors in that field of study had gathered and collected a bank of statistic data about human anatomy and physiology. You recollected the stray reports about accidents, when the symmetry protocols and functionality protocols had been disregarded in the past, and you had tried to instill into little Rob the importance of basing any morphogenetic field on real people with functional physiques. You came closer. Little Rob must have heard the sound of your feet, and turned his head. You could see him blush, and his ruddy cheeks contrasted against his platinum blond hair and his innocent ice blue eyes. "How's Mr. Vanderwesthuisen?" "Still recovering from his DNA-programming infection. What are you looking at?". Nate turned around, his friendly and confident smile flashing from his youthful face: "Hey, Doc. Rob is showing me how the machine works. You've got data about most of my heroes, and then some." "What do you mean?" "Look here: You've got stats and some sorta drawings on the computer, and not just the competitors from the mid-2020's, but also a lot of vintage athletes. Take this one, for instance: Lee Priest, famous back in the 90's. Short, but built like a brick wall! Or that one, did you ever watch Game of Thrones? I was too young, but I've watched the re-runs. That's Hafthor Bjornson. The Mountain? And you have drawings ... what did you call them, Rob?" "Three-D sketches." "Three-D sketches, then. You've got 3D sketches of Cutler at Olympia in 2009, and you've got sketches of Markus Ruhl at the height of his career, and you've got Morgan Aste and Mariusz Pudzianowski." "Who?" "It's your data bank, not mine." "I have never been much into sports. I do work out irregularly, but I don't remember the names of athletes." "Rob didn't recognise half of them either. Most of them are bodybuilders, but Bjornson is a Strongman comptetitor. Mariusz won World's Strongest Man five times, but went into MMA after that. Now, the thing is, Rob showed me, that it is possible to combine data from all these drawings." "Yes, it is. How so?" "Well, I've sometimes imagined what would happen, if anyone of Bjornson's height got the same physique as Lee Priest. Lee's even shorter than me or Rob, but look how WIDE he was back then." "I suppose it could be done, theoretically, but no scientist would attempt to combine two physiques as different as those two." Nate looked smug. Rob blushed. "Actually, I asked Rob to fuse the, eh, 3D-sketches of Lee and Bjornson, and then mix that sketch with all the others here: Jay... Ruhl... Aste... And he did it! He actually did it! Take a look at this sketch!" They had actually "did it", indeed: The newly added SKETCH NUMBER 2137 in your data bank depicted a man looking like something out of comics or computer games, but with one important exception. If you had placed comics characters or game characters in real life, they wouldn't be able to move. Since the sketch was based on existing men with functional muscles, a person looking like that in reality would actually be able to have a life that worked. "Put it in the Archive, Rob. We will not use it. Not this week. Probably never, but put it in the Archive." Something was wrong with the scene. Rob and Nate. Both short lads. Wrong with the scene. Wasn't Nate taller and bigger when this happened? Not happening now. Happened. In the past. Memory. Strange. Something wrong. Uncomfortable. Darkness. You struggled. It felt like an invisible being wrestled with you. Too hot. * * * You smelled the scent of shavings and guineapig droppings, methylated spirits and cleaning solution. You were in the Lab. Hadn't this already happened once? You were standing in front of the Test Chamber, and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen arrived in the Lab. You turned your head. Your employer had a taste for making scientific experiments into fun-fairs: He arrived, wearing a gown of some sort of silky fabric, like the ones some boxers wear. Then he tossed the gown over a chair, revealing his almost naked body. His days spent at the beach had given him an even tan, and, although no one could call him a bodybuilder, it was obvious, by the way he looked, that he worked out seriously. All the marks were there: Pecs, including the beginning of a pec ravine, but not beefy ones; A faint outline of abs; Biceps, but not bulging ones; Visible lats, but not enough to give any exaggerated V-shape. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was wearing black high-neck trainers – no, rather boxing boots, you corrected yourself. And he was wearing posing trunks. Minimal, metallic green posing trunks of the sort European bodybuilders wear. ”I’m ready. An injection wasn’t it?” You had to clear your throat. It felt like you had a lump in it. ”Beg your pardon?” ”Injection. I have to be injected before I enter, haven’t I?” ”Uh. Yes. Of course. And this is what you are going to wear inside the Test Chamber, Sir?” He smiled. Smugly. Arrogantly. His rather handsome eyes had a glint, that revealed, that he knew that his playful approach to your work irritated you, but that you knew your place in the hierarchy. It was obvious, that he enjoyed how you served his whims, even when it irked you. Smugly. Arrogantly. Expectant. ”Yes, this is what I am going to wear. Unlike Nate, I don’t take pleasure in ripping out of clothes. The injection, then?” Rob was there. He had fetched the serum designed for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s DNA. The scent of alcohol. The syringe. The sting. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes. Blue eyes, but another hue than Rob’s icy blue ones. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes were blue like a welding torch, and burning now. ”Will you repeat on me what you did to Nate?” ”We were considering two different options. On one hand, it would give us more comparable data, if we repeated the settings of Nate’s go at the Chamber, but, on the other hand, it could be interesting to see what happened, if we increased the hypertrophic power a few percentiles and intensified the anabolic radiation to the same degree. In that case…” You were interrupted by Mr. Vanderwesthuisen: ”I’ll go for the second option.” ”But…” ”That was not a question, Doc. That was a command. You will increase the levels.” You could see Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s posing trunk fill out. Something was growing before the Process in the Test Chamber had begun. He eagerly stepped inside the sluice. The two atmospheres switched place, and he entered the Chamber. You and Rob activated the machines, including Arngrim, the AI, that assisted you in your work. ”Gas saturation, Arngrim?” The metallic voice of the AI answered: ”Eighty-five percent and increasing.” You sneezed, and had to find a package of tissues in your pocket. It was obvious, that you had a sore throat now. Your usual luck… just in the middle of an experiment… ”Ninety percent and increasing.” You could see Mr. Vanderwesthuisen stand in the centre of the chamber inside the octagon outlined by black-and-yellow tape marks. He was inhaling deeply, with an eager expression. ”Ninety-five percent and increasing.” ”Time to warm up the anabolic rays, Rob. I’ll activate the hypertrophic coils.” ”Anabolic emmitters warming up. Hypertrophic coils activated. Ninety-nine percent saturation: Full saturation level.” Bolts were beginning to hit Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s body. He shook. It was hard to distinguish the bolts through the thick protective glass panes. In the green hue from the lamps Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s skin looked almost green. Tanned and green. Silly comics-based fun-fair whims. ”Initiating irradiation.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. You activated the interior microphones and speakers. ”Everything well, Sir?” ”Fuck. Yes. Well. Yes. More than well. Love this. This feeling. Better than I thought. Nate, if you are out there: I’m joining you now. Now I understand, what you talked about. The feeling. Fuck. So good. Becoming like you.” ”Intensify radiation.” ”Intensifying anabolic radiation.” ”FUCK, yes. I don’t know what you are doing out there, but I loved that.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was shivering, nay, shuddering inside the Test Chamber. His fit but small physique had begun to change, as Nate’s had a few days before. To fill out. To become taller. To become wider. ”Increase power.” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” ”FUCK! YES! More! Watch me! Watch me grow! Look at me! Look what I’m becoming now! Look at me! These muscles!” The test subject was correct. He was growing, and his muscles were more visible, more full. He looked like a short lightweight bodybuilder, or perhaps a bodybuilder of average height. The signs of middle age in his face were fading. It was now hard to guess Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s age. His chest protruded proudly. He stood there, the increasing volume of his quads and hamstrings pushing his legs wider apart. The outline of his abs was much more visible now: Six hard bronze-coloured hemispheres glistening of sweat. His manhood was growing inside his metallic green posing trunks, and his two proud bicepses were not the only growing steel-bulge of his. His shoulders looked like grapefruits – no, small melons, now, and there was a beefy trap running behind his neck, causing his neck to look beefier. You felt a mild feeling of dizziness, but recovered within seconds. ”Intensify radiation.” ”Intensifying anabolic radiation.” ”Increase power.” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes widened again. Voluntarily or involuntarily he flexed all of his muscles. And again. Flexed. And again. Two or three conflicting feelings shone from his eyes: Fear. Pleasure. And confidence. He did a crab pose in front of himself. Then he flexed both biceps, his mouth grinning confidently. Then his head arched back in abandon. His mouth opened, and he let a moan out. His muscle mass expanded outwards. His bone-structure re-structured with an ugly sound, and in a split-second you briefly sent a grateful thought at the analgesics flowing in Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s body. A sick wet sound, like stuffing a leather sofa full of raw meat, was heard through the loudspeakers, but that sound was almost drowning in Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s more and more loud moans of pleasure. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s penis was stretching his green metallic posing trunks further, and the root of his tanned manhood was now visible. Pre-cum drooled through the fabric of the very elastic posing trunks, and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s right hand blindly thrashed in the air, until his big, powerful hand cupped the head of his rod through the fabric of the poser. His left hand sqeezed his right pec. By now, he must have grown from 5’7’’ to 6 feet, and he could accurately be described as ”barrel-chested”. Metallic green was a suitable colour-scheme for a man beginning to look like a powerful machine. ”FUCK! YES! Look at me! All this mass! Behold your Alpha! I’m the Dominator! I’m coming! I’m huge now, and I will dominate the world! I’m… Uh, fuck, fantastic…” You became worried for his sanity, and the safety-script had run to it’s end anyway, so it was best to finish this test session. ”Deactivate radiation and power!” ”Deactivating hypertrophic power. Decreasing anabolic radiation.” ”NO! You can’t stop it now! I want more! I want EVERYTHING!” It was 266 lbs of powerful beef that stepped out of the Test Chamber. It approached you, and that fast. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was angry now, and the welding-torches in his eyes were burning hot. Absent-mindedly, you noticed that Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s posing trunks were too small now. Obscenely too small. The dizziness returned, and you coughed. He grabbed you by the collar of your lab coat, and you found yourself dangling in the air, while veins crawled over his 24’’ arms. ”Now, you little science geek, I want you to switch that Chamber on again. I want Alpha godhood, and I want it NOW. You have no idea how it feel to… Oh fuck, I’m still growing! You didn’t tell me about the after-effects…” There seemed to be after-effects. You hadn’t expected that. You were still dizzy, but you could see the impressed expressions on little Rob’s and Nate’s faces. You still dangled in the air. ”Now, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, you have to calm down. Put me down, and…” ”Feel so good. I’m not Mr. Vanderwesthuisen anymore. I demand, that you call me Mr. V. now, and I tell you: Switch that Chamber on.” The dizziness. Black dots floating before your eyes. You felt uncomfortably warm. The dizziness. And then everything blacked out. Far, far away, you were dimly aware of a huge presence carrying you like a little child to somewhere else. Darkness swallowed your consciousness, and you fell into heat and the smell of sweat. * * * You felt uncomfortable and soaked in sweat. The air felt hot – too hot – and suffocating, and your face felt too warm. You couldn't move, and another nauseous wave of too warm and stuffy atmosphere surrounded you, tossed you around and returned you to reality. You could remember it all, but you must have become unconscious. You woke up, and found yourself in your own bed. You had wrestled with the sheets, and they were a damp mess. Something felt wrong about your ears. You touched them. Some sort of earbuds, but they were locked around your ears. Strange. You opened your eyes. Dark, but the outline of the window was visible. You rose. Still slightly dizzy. For how long had you slept? Moonlight outside the window. Moonlight over the tropical sea. You turned around. In the moonlight you could see the outline of an IV pole. You became suspicious. An empty bag was hanging there. No. Two empty bags were hanging there. What was going on? Mr. V’s insanity. Somehow, you had to call the authorities. No sign of your mobile phone anywhere. You had to go to the office room undetected. You were still dizzy, as you navigated the unlit nocturnal corridors of the compound. There it was. The office. You lifted the receiver from the old-fashioned stationary telephone. Not all equipment on the island had been updated. Your legs were shaky after the flu, and you felt exhausted. You dialled 112. Silence. "Hello? Anyone there? Can anyone hear me?" You felt a BIG warm presence behind you, and a BIG powerful hand pulled the receiver out of your hand, restoring it to its place, while a deep voice – a both pleasantly and threateningly deep voice – growled behind you: "What did I say about contacting authorities? Remember, I pay your rent, but don't worry: Welcome back from the sickbed. You are needed in the Lab." You turned around. It was Mr. V., and he was bigger now. * * * Part six is found: here.
  9. That decision is a better writing-choice in most cases.
  10. Thanks for following me. I suffer from insomnia tonight, so I wrote a few chapters.

  11. This story begins: here. Part 3 of this story is found: here. Descent into growth Part 4 His grunts weren't just noises. They were the sounds of an assertive Alpha establishing his place in the submissive surrounding pack. His moans weren't just noises. They established the undeniably pleasurable nature of suddenly becoming a six feet tall bodybuilder. Especially, if you had been a 5'6'' fighter, just half an hour earlier, as Nate had been. The morphogenetic fields hummed. The anabolic radiation buzzed, and the hypertrophic power crackled, as Nate's vulnerable body became the target of relentless bolts and currents of hypertrophic power, again and again. Power. Hypertrophic power. Bombarded. His Adidas tracksuit bottoms had lost the struggle twenty minutes ago. The seams had bursted, and revealed Nate's powerful quads, and when his calves had reached a new level a few minutes later, the tracksuit was no more. "Yes! Hulking out!", Nate had shouted, but just a few minutes later, Nate had left the ability to say something coherent behind. From then on, there were just the grunts and the moans, the growth and the mass, and Nate standing there, his legs wide apart, just wearing his jockstrap and his stretchy Under Armour shirt. A few minutes later, Nate crossed the outer limits of the shirt's stretchiness. The fabric fell to the floor of the Chamber, and Nate was standing there: Shining of sweat, throbbing of power, ecstatic of the feeling of GROWTH. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen had also lost his usual chattiness, and he stared in awe at the Test Chamber. You weren't entirely aware of Rob's whereabouts. This was more than enough. This step of the experiment had to end now. It had to be evaluated. You pressed a few buttons, and gave Arngrim, the Artificial Intelligence, a few commands. You could hear Rob switch the gas off. A shout came from the Chamber: "NO! Don't stop! I want MORE!" Mr. Vanderwesthuisen turned hesitatingly his face in your direction, and asked: "Can't we go on with the experiment? These results are -- uh -- fascinating." "Unfortunately, the results have to be evaluated. There are blood samples and urine samples to be tested. We need to check Nate's heart, in order to ensure, that he hasn't suffered any consequences." Mr. Vanderwesthuisen shivered in excitement, and his words stuck in his throat: "But you heard him say it himself. He is ready to continue." "Nothing hinders us to give him a second and, perhaps, a third try in the Test Chamber, but not until this first growth spurt has been evaluated. I don't want to repeat all those accidents, that happened in the past. You care for Nate's safety, don't you?" "Yes, of course I do, but I'm also very interested in the project. That it delivers. That you go through with it. That you explore all the possibilities." Nate's commanding presence stepped out of the sluice. A scent of sweat and precum spread in the Lab, with the dominating scent of MAN. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's eyes glazed, and his murmur became incoherent. * * * It was just a few hours later. You were called to Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's office. He was sitting behind his writing desk. "Your experiment earlier today was successful. I have no reason to beat about the bush, any longer. I want to become your next test subject -- no, I DEMAND to be your next test subject. I want you to continue your experiments on Nate and on me, and I want you to make me bigger. Time flies: I'm not young anymore. There are some things money can't buy, or couldn't buy until now. I want you to grow me and rejuvenate me. I want to transform from a short and middle-aged man into a tall, muscular young man. Now I know, that you are able to do it, Doc. Do it to me. Hrrrm. I want it to happen soon. I want you to take a blood sample from me, and turn it into that serum, and I want to be infected by that DNA-altering virus this very evening. I demand it. I can't imagine how it must feel to grow in that pace, to transform so fast, so fast into such a strong, powerful -- uh --- so strong and powerful bodybuilder physique, a giant among men, and -- uh -- feel the strength growing and -- uh uh -- feel how you become TALLER and -- uh, oh my God -- and feel how -- uh uh, fuck, uh -- Doc, I need it, I really need to become A TITAN (uh!): A titan of steel brawn, able to --- uh uh uh -- feats of strength beyond --- uh, fuck, oh God, ugh, fuck, the strength Doc, THE STRENGTH ..." Mr. Vanderwesthuisen closed his eyes. You couldn't avoid the smell of semen, which spread in Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's office. You had a bad feeling about this. There was no way to refuse your employer's wish, even if he gave the impression to be somewhat unstable. Later that evening, you infected Mr. Vanderwesthuisen with the desired DNA. Step 2 had begun. * * * It was late. On your way to your own quarters, you passed Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's bedroom. One of the drawbacks with the living quarters was, that not all doors were sound-proof. It wasn't your intention to eavesdrop, but it was hard to avoid. You could hear Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's voice: "You are magnificent. Those powerful meat-slabs ... so hard ... so warm ... do you like this? And those biceps ..." Mr. Vanderwesthuisen moaned: "Do it again!" Mr. Vanderwesthuisen moaned again, and you could hear a deep growl in the now deeper, but familiar voice of Nate: "You like this?" "Oh, yes!" "What do you like this?" "Oh. Wow. I'm not sure ..." Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's voice suddenly turned into incoherent grunts, but you could hear Nate moan happily: "Yeah. That's a good boy. So good. Yes. You know, that you want to do it, Sir. You want to feel the boner of a real jockboy, don't you? You envy this, don''t you, Sir? You want this. You want to be a jockboy, yourself, don't you? Want to have a jock boner, just like mine, don't you? Want to join me in the Chamber, don't you? Want be like me? Hanging out with your bros? Becoming big like me? Having arms like these guns?" The grunts and moans of Mr. Vanderwesthuisen became loader and wilder, but Nate's growling voice continued: "Yeah, that's good, Sir! Don't stop! Don't stop! Fucking good! So good! Can you feel how hard, I become? And can you watch these pecs dance?" Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's inarticulate noises became louder again. You had heard more than you needed to know. You hurried to your own quarters. This had turned into something unexpected. * * * Part Five is found: here.
  12. The story began: here. Part 2 is found: here. Descent into growth Part 3 When the day came, everything seemed so normal, and so matter-of-fact. The four of you were sitting at the breakfast table, the kitchen-staff and the cleaners suitably preoccupied somewhere else. You, little Rob and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen were eating the usual high-protein breakfasts you had all become familiar with in the last few weeks. Nate wasn't eating anything. "How do you feel after a night on nutrition-IV?", you asked Nate. The sinewy little fighter beamed of restless energy, and the scent of shower gel and anti-perspirant steamed from his tight and hard little body. "Feels weird to not eat breakfast with you, but I feel ok. I'm not hungry. Actually, I'm full." "And how did this morning's workout go?", Mr. Vanderwesthuisen asked, with an eager voice. In the last days building up for the main experiment, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen had become restless. Restless and eager. His, sometimes arrogant, eyes now burned with curiosity. Nate smiled, unknowingly allowing his smile to hit you all like a flash. His golden brown eyes glittered in mischief and cockyness: "Feel pumped and sore, in a good way. Loved the full-body workout Doc prescribed before the experiment. Wasn't sure if I would follow through till I reached the last exercise, but I did, prolly 'cause Doc's super-nutrition. Lifted more heavy, than I thought possible without a pre-workout." Nate returned to addressing you: "Now. What's next?" You swallowed your scrambled eggs, and cleared your throat. "As I told you before. I had to assess, that you had recovered from the virus, that spread your new improved DNA. It seems like you have. Then, you had to spend one night with the nutrition-IV and follow that up with a full-body-workout schedule, in order to ensure, that all your muscles will be in a state receptive for ultra-enhanced recovery and hypertrophy, which they now are. Next step is to inject you with a formula, which will increase your production of beneficial hormones and decrease your myostatin. It will also ..." "What's myostatin?" It was Rob who answered: "It's a chemical in your body, setting a limit to how big your muscles become. We are removing that limit." Then he fell silent and blushed, because he might have had spoken out of bounds. Your protective instincts rose again. During the months together, the short and portly lab-assistant had gradually revealed a bright intellect and a witty sense of humour under the surface of shyness. He had once described himself as "belonging to the repressed middle-class" and Nate "belonging to the oppressed working-class". He had also confided in you, that he felt of two minds about working for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen: "Am I a hypocrite, because I now work for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, when I protested against the 1% as a student? This income. That insurance. Free accommodation. The beach. The gym. This job is too good to be true. Thanks for coaching me, by the way." The enthusiastic voice of Nate brought you back to the present: "No limits. Exploding testo. Ultra-enhanced recovery. I love this." You took up the thread where you had lost it: "The formula will also contain an analgesic, specially designed to remove any pain from growing bone tissue and muscle tissue. You will remain awake, and you will retain your sense of touch and temperature." "Analgesic?", Nate asked. "Painkiller.", Rob prompted. When you left the dining room for the laboratory, Nate gave Rob an encouraging thump in the back, in a gesture you had seen jocks use at your gym. Rob returned the gesture with a few awkward pats on Nate's back. You had seen the relation between the two young men improve. In the first weeks, Nate had avoided the fancy-talking lab assistant, and Rob had shyly avoided working out in the gym when Nate was exercising. More recently, they had warmed up to each other, and found some shared ground in films and computer games. Nate had even, unexpectedly, taken over your role as Rob's coach at the gym. Three of you had the access code to the Lab. There were emergency doors made of armour-plating and lead-plates connected to detectors, in case any dangerous substance or radiation would begin to leak. When you entered the Lab, several different scents greeted you: Shavings and the scent of rodents from the guineapig cages, cleaning solution, methylated spirits and the indescribable dry sort of smell present in areas where high-voltage equipment is running. You switched on the computer, on which you stored and ran the morphogenetic fields, and you switched on the computer, that controlled the levels of anabolic radiation and hypertrophic power. Little Rob checked the gas canisters and the hose connecting the cannister and the Test Chamber. "Will you write the present stats down, Rob, will you?" Rob did: "Height: 5'6''. "Weight: 145 lbs "Chest: 36 inches "Waist: 27 inches You were too preoccupied with the preparations to notice the size of Nate's firm, but apple-sized, bicepses. The Test Chamber was warming up, and you were fetching the serum in the refrigerator. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was watching the procedure with great interest. You had tried to advice him, not to attend something, that was purely a scientific pursuit, but he had insisted. Your scientific instincts disagreed: A medical experiment isn't some sort of entertainment. The tacky green interior lighting lit up the Test Chamber, and you remembered Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's flippant comment: "You have to cheer the test-subjects up. They will feel more Hulk-like, in that illumination." You dabbed the crook of Nate's right arm with alcohol, and then gave him the injection. This was the point of no return. The chemical compounds and the altered DNA had now begun to interact inside the wiry little fighter. No-one knew for sure, what the added effect of the gas, the anabolic radiation and the hypertrophic power would lead to, but if the guineapigs were giving you any clues, the result would be rather sensational. You and Nate watched each other in silence, and you fell short of words, because of the gravity of the situation. Nate gave little Rob a hug, and entered the sluice. The interior atmosphere was pumped into the sluice, and Nate was able to enter. You were ready to begin the experiment. It was Mr. Vanderwesthuisen who broke the silence: "And so it begins." * * * Part 4 is found: here.
  13. Oh. Thank you. I'm glad you could relate. The story-idea emerged from reading about the controversial points where Reichian therapy diverge from Freud: The concept of Orgone opened up for some sci-fi, suitable for this website, but I've taken the general idea, re-interpreted it and run away with it, for the sake of entertainment. I read some bits and bobs of Freud, Erikson and Fromm (also some Jung and Frankl) many years ago, but I wouldn't call myself knowledgeable, and, to be honest, I know even less about Adler and Reich (and Rogers and Maslow). I just needed a suitable setting for the story. Don't expect too much realism in the continuation.
  14. There exist stories of that type both at the present forum and the old story archive from several authors, but it's easier to remember my own stories. For that reason, I'll mention these: Champions of Lernath (I began this short story, that was intended as a sort of sword-and-sorcery parody, during Christmas 2017. I intended to extend it considerably, but I've never felt the inspiration to do so, so I suppose this will remain the final version) Some of my stories would either be classified as urban fantasy, magical realism or horror, depending on how you define these terms: The cult of Crom (finished short story. criminal investigation of cult) With a little help from magic (finished 4 chapters, setting: school aged 18-19, setting: gym, American magic in Scandinavia, subcultures, gay) Professor Schnackenburg's mistake (Unfinished, nine chapters finished yet, will explore straight, bicurious, gay, fetisch, muscledrain and wetplay themes, with a predominant sword-and-sorcery theme. It's a hommage to H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard.) What qualifies as sci-fi is open for discussion, but I think these two belong under that label: Project Defender : Chapter One (Unfinished, which leaves the reader at a point where the antagonist of the story has become dangerous, and the plot is unresolved. I've found it hard to get the inspiration to finish that story as I intended it. Setting: Earth in a Not-so-distant-future, Setting: Military) Unit 246 : Prologue (Unfinished, Setting: Space in a distant future, Setting: Military)
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