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This is the first time I'm attempting to post in this section. I'm trying to improve my writing and I hope at least a few of you enjoy this. Yes, I know it's cliche. But I honestly had this idea pop into my head as sort of a daydream a few years ago. Please let me know what you think! ______ As a first year college student, 18 years old, I never knew what to expect from living in a dorm. I mean, I'd heard stories from various sources about what it was like, but the actual thing was nothing at all what I'd expected. I'd always heard about parties and constant shenanigans within college dorms. Some of the dudes in this dorm had some fun, but it was quiet for the most part. I knew I'd have a roommate. I was expecting some dude who'd be into partying, and being boisterous, but this guy was pretty tame. He'd often spend time reading and studying, or just watching Netflix, or even playing some video games. He'd rarely make the effort to speak to me. Not that he was rude, or anything! He was always polite. He just never tried to engage in any more conversation than was necessary. I was the first of the two of us to arrive on move-in day. I entered the dorm and surveyed the space, taking note of everything. I didn't want to begin unpacking my things until my roommate arrived, because I didn't want to dominate the place before he'd even had a chance to claim any space for his own. There were two beds, of course, one on either side of the single window. The closet was to the right of the doorway, and it was rather large. I opened the closet to take a look and I decided to put my bags on the floor in there just for the moment. As I was doing so I heard the dorm door open. At first I was thinking "what the fuck?" because it was my dorm, but I quickly remembered I was sharing it with someone. I moved the closet door so I could look at who was entering the room, and there he was. I assumed, anyway, that he was my roommate. He had long curly blonde hair that reached his shoulders, light brown eyes, and even a few freckles on his face above his nose and under his eyes. He was tan, his skin a nice bronze color as though he were someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. He had to be around 5'9." He was wearing a simple white T-shirt with some RCVA logo on the front, and tan cargo shorts with a lanyard bearing the school colors hanging out of his pocket. He had black socks on that went up to just below his calves, and red Supra shoes. He had sunglasses on top of his head, which were pulling his hair back a bit farther from his face than I imagined it usually sat. He didn't notice me at first because I was kind of obscured part way inside the closet door. "Hey man." "What the?! Fuck, you scared the shit out of me." He jumped backwards a bit. "Ah sorry, I wasn't trying to do that. I was just putting some of my shit in the closet. My name's Alex." "I'm Bryan. Good to meet you, Alex, dude. I guess we're roommates, huh?" He held his hand out, and I shook it. "Looks like it! This your first year, too?" "Yeah, but I took a year off from school. I'm 19, just turned 19 two months ago." "Oh that's cool, I kind of wish I could have taken a year off." I laughed. We then began unpacking our belongings and deciding how to divide up the space. He seemed like a nice enough dude. We were about two months into our semester when it dawned on me that Bryan never had any girls or friends in general come to the dorm. He really never left, actually. He only ever went to class, or to go eat. He'd brought with him some dumbbells when he moved in, and he'd sometimes do brief little workouts with them, but he never actually went to the school gym. At least not as far as I knew. I mean, I wasn't exactly one to talk. I rarely did much social stuff, either. I'd sometimes go chill with a few friends here and there, but it wasn't often. I was more of a "follower," so to speak, in the sense that I wasn't one to initiate social events. I usually waited til someone else invited me to do something. And I was no slouch, athletically. I'd worked out throughout high school, and I continued to do so in college. I wasn't huge or anything. I had abs, a decent chest that would show through a tight enough shirt, and decent arms. I liked being able to use the school gym since I didn't have to pay for a membership. I'd try to go at least 4 times a week. Bryan's little dumbbell workouts were always fascinating, though. I'd be reading or trying to do homework, and he'd bring them out and start lifting them in various ways. He'd always start with curls. I loved watching him lift them over and over, watching his biceps contract into nice little balls in his sleeves. He'd then do tricep extensions, and he'd lay down on his back and work his chest. He wasn't big by any means, and he really didn't ever gain any weight. But watching him workout, though, was something I loved doing. I'd always get hard watching him. I never mentioned to him that I was gay, and I doubt it was something I should ever bring up. If he had something against it, it'd be a rough time living with him for the remainder of our time in this dorm. I did find him super attractive, though. His hair had gotten longer since he moved in, and it was a few inches below his shoulders now. Sometimes he'd pile it on his head. He reminded me of a surfer. He'd always finish his workout by doing some sit-ups. He'd do maybe 10, then stop for a while. Then 10 more. Then he'd stop for another while. He never took his shirt off, so I wouldn't be able to actually see his abs. I always kind of thought he did things a little weird. But at the same time, I just enjoyed watching. Discreetly, though. I'd be behind my laptop or reading a book or something so I could steal glances without him noticing. Many times when he was done I'd have to run down the hall to the bathroom to take care of myself. There were times when I'd considered asking him about his workout plan. I mean, he wasn't going to gain anything if he used the same weights all the time and did the same exact basic exercises. I was curious about what he was hoping to achieve. But, at the same time, I liked watching him. I didn't want to ruin it! It was a dilemma. If I asked him about it, maybe I could motivate him to go to the gym and start making some gains, which would be so hot. But then I'd never get to see him workout in front of me anymore. He was so confusing to me. At some point I would have to actually ask him about all of this. If nothing else, it would get him to hopefully open up some more and actually talk. My curiosity was getting the better of me one Friday afternoon. I'd finished up my last class of the day and was heading back to the dorm. The whole trek back I kept thinking about Bryan. I couldn't get him off my mind. I opened the door and he was sitting at his desk, on his computer. He looked up and said "Sup?" and I greeted him back. I went to sit at my own desk and pulled out my laptop. I had some homework to do and I figured I could at least start it. Bryan continued tapping away at his keyboard. I couldn't tell what he was working on but it didn't matter. He stood up from his desk and went to the closet. He opened the door and pulled out his dumbbells, and I couldn't take it anymore. I had to finally ask him. "Bryan, can I ask you something?" "Yeah man, what's up?" He looked at me, standing there with a dumbbell in each hand. "Well, I've noticed you working out with those dumbbells for months now, and I can't help but notice you're not exactly gaining any weight. What's your goal?" The corners of his mouth only slightly upturned. It was the faintest of smiles. But I saw it. "My goal? I don't know man, I just wanna stay in shape." "I guess that's as good a reason as any. Have you ever thought about trying to gain some size?" "You think I should try to get bigger?" Fuck. Yeah I wanted to see him get bigger. My dick hardened a bit in my shorts when he said that. "Welllll... that's entirely up to you. Strive for your own goals, don't let me decide for you." He turned his eyes upward, like he was thinking. His golden hair was down today, most of it tucked behind his ears with some strands hanging over his face, and he was wearing a blue and white plaid button-down shirt and tan cargo shorts. The guy had style, for sure. I mean, to me he could wear the fuck out of anything, really. "Well, what's your opinion, Alex? What do you think I should do?" My breath caught in my throat at that question. How do I avoid answering that one? If I'm honest, he might get the hint that I'm into him. But fuck, I'd love to see him start getting bigger and bigger. I'll have to finesse the language of my answer. "If you want to get bigger, then I think you should go for some size. I think the chicks would start lining up at the door for you if you do that." "You're a pretty fit dude, and you've never brought home any girls." Ah shit. Where do I go with that? He has to know. He said that with no expression on his face. He was looking into my eyes, and it made me uneasy. I opened my mouth to respond but I couldn't make any sound come out. He tilted his head like he was waiting for me to say something specific, but I couldn't even figure out for myself what I wanted to say. Then he smiled. "I've noticed you tend to watch me when I use these weights. And then more often than not you disappear from our dorm when I'm done. I'm guessing... you're not into girls, are you, Alex?" "I... ummm... no... I just..." He chuckled a little. "It's okay, Alex. I don't have a problem with it. I've known you watch me for a while now, and I've liked it. I like that you're into me. It's kinda hot. And I think you're pretty hot, too." I was completely shocked. I mean, this is a great outcome, but still, I never imagined he'd be gay. He looked like the kind of dude that'd never be into other dudes. I just couldn't bring myself to talk, still. I couldn't figure out what to say. "So, you think I should get bigger, huh? Would that make you more into me?" He was still standing in the same spot, still holding his dumbbells. I was finally able to find my voice. "What? No! I mean... Yes, I do think you should try to get bigger. But I'm already into you." I blushed. I could feel it. "Haha, cool. I'm glad to hear that. But, I will say, now that we've decided my goal should be to grow, I will grow. I won't just try. I will grow." He smirked at me. "How big do you want me to get?" He started curling his weights when he said that. He kept his eyes on me, his smirk turning into a kind smile. I saw his biceps contracting into balls as he lifted. It was making me hard. "Uhhhh how big do you want to be?" "No Alex. I'm asking YOU. How big do YOU want me to get?" "I guess... I don't know, dude! Like, ten minutes ago I had no idea you'd ever even consider the idea, much less that you were gay, AND into me!" He stopped curling the weights. One arm was contracted while the other stayed hanging by his side. His smile faded. "Whoa, man. I said I thought you were hot. I never said I was into you." I felt my mouth drop open as my mind just shattered. The disappointment that shot through my body was astronomical. Even my boner started to soften. "BAHAHAHAHA!" He busted out laughing, and I was really confused. I was even starting to get annoyed. "Oh you should have seen your face, Alex!" More laughing. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. "Fuck off, Bryan." "No, bruh, I'm just messing with you! Dude you were so tense I had to try to make you laugh!" His laughing faded. "I uh... guess you didn't find that funny, huh?" His face was more serious now, but still had a faint smile. His hair was a bit disheveled, more strands of curled golden locks in his face. "Wait, you were joking? So, you really are into me?" "Well, yeah, man. I think you're hot. I've been attracted to you since the day we met. It's why I never wanna go anywhere. I'd always rather just be in here, with you." He smiled again, and I felt myself blush again. He put the weights down on his bed. "You never did give me a real answer, though. How big do you want me to get?" I decided I'd give him an honest answer. "I love muscles. Nothing turns me on more. So, I guess I'm saying you should get as big as you can possibly get." "Well then. I guess I'd better get started, huh bro?" He flexed his arms, and I saw two nicely shaped biceps pop up in his sleeves. They weren't huge, or even all that big, but they were beautiful. They'd be so fucking hot if they were bigger. My dick was back at full mast, throbbing in my shorts. He smiled at me again. "You uhhh, know any good workout plans? Heh." He dropped his arms and I finally got to see him blush. "I can help you find what you need, man. It'll be easy, I think. You look like your genetics have you set to grow pretty easily and quickly." "You really think so?" He flexed his arm again, and looked at it. He ran his hand over it. FUCK my dick was so hard. "Y-yes. I do." I was trying so hard not to touch my dick. I had to look away. I looked back at my computer screen where I had some schoolwork pulled up. From behind me I heard Bryan say "I can't wait to start. I think it'll be fun to get big. For you." Did he really say that? He's really going to do this for me? I mean, it'd be so fucking hot, but he's way ahead of himself. There's no telling how much work he'll need to put in to even gain the smallest amount of weight. I only told him it looked like he'd have an easy time because I wanna motivate him. "Uhhh, Bryan, I already said you gotta do this for yourself. I can't be the reason you--" My words were interrupted by the force of my chair being spun by an unknown source. Bryan's face came into my view and I saw he had the back of my chair in his hand. "Oh no, dude. There's no better reason than to do it for you." Then he bent down and kissed me. I saw fireworks in my eyes when his lips made contact with mine. He reached a hand behind my head and began running his fingers through my hair, and kept his lips locked with mine. I closed my eyes and kissed him back. It felt amazing to finally have this amazing guy kissing me, which I never thought would ever happen. It was like a dream. He broke away, pulling his face back, and he used his other hand to sweep some of his curls out of his face and behind his ear. He was smiling, and his white teeth were shining in the light. I always thought he was hot, but now I'm finally seeing he's just plain beautiful. He was angelic. "I'm gonna grow for you, Alex. You wait and see." I gasped as I felt my dick throb. Bryan giggled a little, and reached down and grabbed my crotch. FUCK. "Wow, you're really fucking hard!" "Fuck, Bryan! What do you expect?" I closed my eyes and my head went back as he squeezed my cock through my shorts. "Unnnghh" I moaned a little. "Wow. You're gonna be fun to play with. But we can't yet. Not just yet." Was he really going to tease me like this?! "Bryan, you can't tease me like that! It's cruel!" He continued squeezing me through my shorts. He even started to jerk me off a little. "Oh, I can jerk you off if I want. But that's the most we can do for now." He winked at me. God he was so hot. "You wanna cum?" I nodded rapidly. The pressure I was feeling was insane. I wanted him so bad. He started jerking me off with more speed and energy, and he was squeezing every few seconds. "Ohhhh..." I moaned again. And then he removed his hand. He unbuttoned my shorts and pulled the zipper down, and then tugged my boxers down with my shorts. All 7 inches of my dick popped out, veiny and hard as steel. He mouthed the word 'wow' when he saw it. I felt some pride that he was impressed, but then I was wracked with jolts of pleasure when he grabbed me again, this time skin to skin in his hand. Oh it felt so good. He began jerking again, and squeezing. He was squeezing hard, too, making me writhe in my chair. He increased his speed, and continued squeezing. His hand was becoming a blur, and my mind was in a constant state of explosion. I couldn't even see clearly anymore, the pleasure was too great. The pressure at the base of my dick was growing, and soon I could feel the sharpness of an imminent ejaculation. I was gonna cum, and I was gonna cum hard. He squeezed hard once more, and that was it. "OH GOD I'M CUMMING!" He didn't stop jerking. He kept going, and I felt the amazing sensation of cum leaving my balls and entering my dick and surging to the tip. The first blast was a big one, hot and thick, and shot across the room and hit the window! And then the next one, another big one. It hit the wall right next to the window. I could hear the splatters as they made impact. And then another shot, this one not as strong but still big, hitting the floor. A few more spurts were launched, leaving a mess on the carpet, until there was only a little bit dribbling from the tip and onto Bryan's hand. He brought his hand up and licked it, cleaning up all of my cum from his hand. He chuckled a little. "You taste good, brah. Can't wait to do that when I'm bigger." I sat there, my head tilted back, breathing heavily. My chest was rising up and down with each breath. My dick was still feeling the residual effects of the massive explosion I'd just experienced, still exposed to the air as it slowly softened. I looked up and noticed Bryan was still standing there, looking down at me with a smile on his face. He was just standing there with his arms at his sides. I wondered if he was even hard. He gave no indication that he wanted to cum, too. I suddenly felt self-conscious, and sat up and started tucking myself back into my shorts. Bryan just chuckled. "What?" I asked. "Nothing. I just like looking at you." He crossed his arms. "I'm gonna run down and get something to eat, dude. You want anything?" "Ah, no thanks. I'm just gonna chill out for a bit. You really wore me out..." I slightly laughed. "I guess while you're gone I'll try to look up a good beginner's workout plan. Should be plenty to find on the internet." "Dude, that'd be awesome. I can't wait to start." He winked at me. "I'll be back in a bit." He put on his shoes and walked to the door, opened it, and only stopped ever so briefly to look back at me and grin before exiting and shutting the door. 'What the hell just happened?' I wondered to myself. It was fucking great! I just couldn't believe it. I was so very much looking forward to spending more time with Bryan. I wanted to lay in bed with him, and hold him. I wanted to kiss him, with him kissing me back, arms around each other. I wanted our tongues to dance around together while we feel each other all over, our hands exploring everywhere. I wanted to run my hands through his beautiful hair and look into his beautiful eyes. I also wanted to see him flex. Fuck, muscles get me so horny. I mean, I built some of my own, sure, but it wasn't as great as seeing another dude's muscles. I liked to flex for myself. I liked looking into the mirror and flexing my arms, watching my peaks rise into baseballs. I liked flexing and bouncing my pecs, and tensing my abs. I liked to run my hands over them, feeling each brick. I especially liked wearing a tight T-shirt and seeing it wrapped around my torso, with my pecs pushing out and the sleeves completely filled with my arms. I'd get hard appreciating my own body, but nothing compared to seeing another dude flex. That made me harder than anything else. Just watching Bryan workout made me hard as fuck. I wanted to see him flex every muscle he could flex. I wanted him to start with his arms, and flex into a double bicep pose. I wanted to put my hands on each one, and squeeze. Oh fuck that'd be hot. I wanted to see his abs tense up. I wanted to run my fingers between each brick. I wanted to see his quads and his calves bulging. I wanted to run my hands all over his body. Fuck. I was so curious about how he was so confident he'd start gaining muscle. I was excited for it to happen. I couldn't wait to see him come back to the dorm each day after a workout, seeing him all pumped. I wanted him to get bigger and bigger. I was getting hard again thinking about all of this. I decided I should just actually look up some workout plans for him. I should have that done before he gets back. Going to the internet, there was no shortage of possible plans. Most are pretty similar for beginners. I picked one that looked promising for his build. He wasn't too far off from my own build, especially before I started getting bigger, so I picked a plan that was very similar to the one I'd started with. I put it together so it would fit on as few pieces of paper as possible, and kept it organized so it was easy to understand. I printed it out and placed it on his desk. And then I went back to working on the homework I'd tried to start earlier. It was probably about an hour later that Bryan made it back. I got distracted from my homework and wound up catching up on my current Netflix binge. I was laying in bed with my laptop watching Raymond Reddington being a badass when I heard the door open. I glanced toward the door and saw Bryan walk in and shut the door softly behind him. He had his sunglasses on his face still, but once he shut the door he lifted them up so they sat on his head. He looked at me and smiled that smile. "Sup?" He greeted me. He walked to the edge of his own bed and sat down. I smiled back at him, blushing uncontrollably. He was so beautiful. The sun was getting low in the sky, but was still shining enough light into the room that seemed to make him glow. "I got distracted when I was trying to do some homework. Just watching The Blacklist. Oh and I was able to find a workout plan for you. I printed it out and put it on your desk." My laptop continued streaming Netflix. "That's so cool man, I can't wait to get started on growing. Are you excited to see it happen?" Fuck! He had a knack for asking questions that instantly made me start getting hard. "Yeah man, I wanna see you grow. I wanna see you get big and outgrow your clothes." I tried to focus on Netflix so my dick wouldn't harden any further. "You want me to outgrow my clothes?" It was an innocent question; a response to my response. And yet, just the way he asked it made me harden further. I swallowed, and yet my throat was starting to feel dry. I looked at his face, and he had this quizzical look. "Uh, yeah. I want your gains to be enough that you need new clothes. It's a positive thing." "What about if I'm still wearing them? Is that something you'd like? You wanna see me flex an arm and make the sleeve rip?" Fuck, he knew which buttons to press. My dick was fully hard now. And throbbing. "Umm yes, to be honest I'd find that super hot." He grinned. "Cool." I don't know how he was so nonchalant about this whole thing. It made him that much hotter. But then he stood up from his own bed, took his sunglasses off and put them on his desk, and walked right over to mine. Several locks of his hair fell out of place, falling into his face, without the sunglasses holding them where they were. He was still wearing what he was before. He didn't even say anything, he just lay himself down right next to me in my bed and started watching Netflix with me. My face was so red, I could feel it. But it was awesome. I scooted over a bit so he had more room, and he scooted with me. He had his left arm behind his head, and took his right hand and grabbed for my left hand. I felt his fingers entwine with mine, and I felt like I was in heaven. He turned his head and looked at my face, and I turned to look at his. He smiled again, and moved his face closer and kissed me lightly. I hummed softly when his lips touched mine, and I felt my dick throb. He kissed me again, and I felt his hand squeeze mine. He moved his arm from behind his head and put his hand on my chest. Our lips remained locked, and the sounds from my laptop were fading so far into the background that I didn't even hear them anymore. His tongue entered my mouth, and started dancing with my own. I engaged his tongue, dancing with it, fighting for dominance. He took my left hand and brought it to his crotch, and placed my hand on his dick. I felt him through his shorts, and wow. He was hard. And getting harder. I felt him swelling through the fabric, and it was incredible. I wrapped my fingers around his dick as well as I could, and squeezed. I felt him gasp through my lips while we continued to kiss. He was so thick! His dick felt at least as big as mine, maybe bigger. I squeezed him again, and fuck. His dick seemed like it was still growing and getting harder. I wasn't sure, but with his lips on mine, it sort of felt like he smiled. He broke our kiss, and our noses touched. He whispered "It's finally time for us to play." He reached over and grabbed the bottom of my shirt and started pulling it up. I sat up a bit and let him remove my shirt, and he tossed it to the floor. He mouthed 'Wow' again when he looked at my body. My abs and chest were on full display, and I had to admit, I looked pretty fit. I kicked my laptop off to the side so it wasn't in the way, and I grabbed at the bottom of his shirt. He stopped my hands, though, and I looked at him, confused. "No, not yet. My shirt will come off soon enough." He grinned, and it was almost an evil grin. He took my hand and placed it on his crotch again, and his dick was... wow. He was so hard, and he felt so big. He had to be bigger than me down there. He then reached down to his shorts and undid the button and pulled down the zipper. His dick popped right out, and FUCK. It was gorgeous. It was straight as a steel rod, and thick, covered with veins. I also noticed he wasn't wearing any boxers or anything. But I'd say he was bigger than me, he had to be close to 8 inches. It was my turn to say wow. He turned my head towards his face and kissed me again. I grabbed his dick and wrapped my fingers around it, and squeezed. He gasped, and continued kissing me. But then something insanely hot happened. I felt his dick throb, and then my fingers were forced to spread apart. I broke away from his kiss to look down, and his dick had grown even bigger. I heard him snicker. "It's time for some fun," he said. "Wha--?" I couldn't even finish saying the word as his dick throbbed and grew again in my hand. Holy fuck, what was happening? My own dick was so hard and leaking pre. I could feel the wetness in my shorts. "Come on, brah, make me cum." I squeezed his dick, and he moaned. I started jerking him off, sliding my hand up and down his shaft. I moved my face to his and kissed him again, shoving my tongue into his mouth. I was so turned on by all of this and was feeling a little aggressive. I wanted to make him cum, especially after he made me cum harder than I'd ever cum before. He moaned again, with my mouth on his. His lips tasted so good. I squeezed his dick again, and it throbbed hard. Again, it grew in my grasp, spreading my fingers farther apart. "Ah!" he gasped again, and I even moaned some. Feeling his dick pulse and grow was one of the hottest things I've ever experienced. I started jerking him faster. He moaned again, and I knew what I had to do. I broke our kissing, and sat up. He looked up at me, at first with disappointment, and then with intense desire. He also almost looked like he was in pain. "I need to cum, dude! I'm so hard!" "You will... ohhh you will," I replied. I maneuvered myself so my face was closer to his dick. I grabbed it with my hand and squeezed it, then released and brought my lips over the head. Bryan moaned pretty loudly. Just with his head in my mouth, I started licking at the tip. I ran my tongue all over it, circling it. He started to writhe on the bed. I took some more of him into my mouth, and sucked. I sucked him like it was a lollipop, and allowed my tongue to roam all over. He was moaning almost nonstop now, sighing, and breathing hard. I could tell he was really enjoying this, and I wanted him to explode. Then he grunted, and I felt my mouth forced open wider as his dick grew even more. Holy shit. I really hit the jackpot with Bryan, because I'm sure any gay dude out there would kill for a chance to suck a dick that's literally growing bigger and bigger. And not just getting hard. I brought my left hand to his dick and grabbed it at its base and started to jerk him in time with my sucking. He was too big now now matter how much I tried to fit into my throat. Another throb, and my lips were forced wider again. FUCK! How big was his dick gonna get?! "OHHHHHNNNGGGGGG!" He was moaning so loud now, nonstop. "FUUUUUUCK! I'M GONNA CUM! ALEX MAKE ME CUM!" I squeezed him hard with my hand, and sucked hard. He was bucking his hips, fucking my mouth. Another pulse, and his cock grew yet again. My mouth couldn't widen any more. My throat kept swallowing, trying to take in as much of him as possible. I sucked harder than I'd imagined I could, and I used my right hand to start squeezing his hamstrings. "I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING ALEX!" And he was. I felt his dick throb, and it suddenly felt so hot in my mouth. I then felt the first shot hit the back of my throat. FUCK it was powerful, like a jet. "AHH!" He yelled. Then another hard and powerful blast, long and thick. I kept swallowing as each shot erupted, another, and another. Each one was just as powerful as the last, until the 6th shot. It was slightly less forceful, and then the next one was even less. Eventually I'd sucked him dry, and could no longer taste the salty sweetness. I pulled my face away from his crotch and let his dick pop out of my mouth, and holy SHIT. He had to be at least 12 inches long. And still fucking hard! He wasn't even softening! He lay there, panting, unmoving. His eyes were closed but he had that evil grin on his face, and his head tilted back slightly. His hands were gripping the blanket on the bed hard enough that his knuckles were turning white. I saw cords and tendons of his forearms standing out, he was gripping it so hard. "Thanks, Alex. That was the best orgasm I've ever had, brah." "Dude, you are unreal. How are you still hard?" He stayed how he was, still panting, still grinning. I thought for a moment that he didn't even hear me. But then he opened his eyes and looked directly into mine. "You think I'm unreal?" His dick was quivering, and still hard as ever. I was letting my eyes roam over his entire form, and he was so fucking hot. That hair of his was sexy as hell, too. I'd never met a guy whose hair made this much of a difference, but Bryan's surfer hair made me so hot for him. Well... MORE hot for him. He relaxed his hands and released his grip on the blanket, but his forearms maintained their tensed appearance, now with veins protruding from the skin. He started to sit up and put his weight on his elbows. "Yeah... you're unreal. How... just... how did you get your dick to grow like that?!" "Hmph." He grunted out a short laugh. "It's just the beginning, bro." He sat up all the way and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed my hands and pulled me to his side so we were sitting together. He turned his face to mine and kissed me passionately, and then stood up. His huge dick was still sticking out from his open fly of his shorts, which still clung to his hips. What a sight to behold! "What's beginning?" I asked him. He turned and faced me as I sat in front of him. He tilted his head a bit to the side and was looking into my eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore. His face was intense, but otherwise neutral. But then he spoke. "I'm sorry you went to the trouble of finding me a workout plan." "What... Bryan? What do you mean?" "I just wanted this to be a bigger surprise, is all. I wasn't lying when I said I was gonna--unghh--grow." He grunted, and I saw his dick grow about another inch longer, and even thicker. "Holy fuck..." was all I managed to say before the real surprise started. I started to hear a faint stretching noise, and the smile returned to his face. I saw movement, and I noticed his shoulders were spreading. I blinked a few times, and yes, they were broadening, pulling his button-down tighter across his chest. But they weren't just getting wider, I could see them swelling under the fabric, too, becoming rounder and more bulbous. And then I saw his neck starting to thicken, with his traps beginning to rise up. "Dude, this feels so good." The stretching noise was getting louder. He brought his arms up, and his forearms were starting to thicken as well. "This is what you--ahhh--wanted, right?" His chest bulged out when he said that, pushing his shirt out and making the cloth pull at the buttons. His forearms were still getting thicker, but he pulled back his sleeve on his right arm and flexed his bicep. And holy fuck. It swelled into a tennis ball, bigger than it was before. He took his right arm and pulled back the sleeve on his left arm and flexed both at once. "You like this, Alex? I want you to enjoy the show." He winked at me, those beautiful blonde curls bouncing as he moved his head. My dick was throbbing hard. So fucking hard I wish MINE would grow bigger just so it could get harder. "Unnghghh" He groaned, and his arms bulged bigger. They were baseballs now. He started pumping his arms, flexing and unflexing. Each time he flexed again, they were slightly bigger. "Fuck, this feels so good. Come on, growwwwww!" And then I noticed his legs. His calves had begun to swell, forming bulges on his lower legs. They were flexing and unflexing, like his arms, but this seemed involuntary. Each time they flexed they'd grow some more. Soon they were baseballs, too, and still swelling. His dick was starting to leak precum, drooling onto the floor. FUCK. Oh my GOD this was so hot. His arms didn't stop growing, they were starting to get to softball size, right in time with his calves. But then I heard some creaking noise, and noticed his shorts were tight in the thighs. They were skin tight. The material of his shorts was so tight it was straining and squeaking a little, and I couldn't believe how thick his legs had gotten. "Oh fuck." I whispered. My dick felt like it was going to explode. "Yeah, fuck yeah, this is what you like, right? You wanted this to happen, so watch closely." He said it softly, but with a strong amount of authority. He lowered his arms and flexed his quads, hard. And then RIIIIIIP! Both legs of his shorts ripped wide open on the sides, starting in the middle and moving in both directions. The seams split wide open. "FUCK! OH FUCK!!" I wasn't even touching myself and my cock exploded, shooting cum all into my shorts. It was everywhere. I wasn't even touching myself!! The wet spot forming was unmistakable, as Bryan once again made me cum harder than ever before. "OHHHNGGG" I kept shooting into my shorts, and I noticed Bryan had an amused look on his face. My jaw was wide open as I looked into his face. He looked kind of proud of himself. "Dude. I'm not even done yet," Bryan said in a low voice. His own dick was still drooling onto the carpet, forming a small puddle. FUCK his dick looked hot. My dick exhausted itself, but as soon as I looked back up at Bryan, he took his hands and tucked his fingers under the waist. He began pulling the waist of the shorts in opposite directions, his arms bulging into striations and clear tendons, until RIIIIP, the remains of his shorts tore apart, leaving his lower body completely bare. My dick immediately started getting hard again. His quads had gotten huge, and each head of the muscle was visible. His legs were touching together, and he widened his stance a bit. They were still fucking swelling, too. Holy shit. I scanned up his body and noticed something else. His lats were growing. His body was taking on that sexy V shape so many dudes wish they had. And his shirt was getting tight, too. His shirt was starting to pull at the buttons, causing gaps down the front. More stretching noises began emanating from his body as his shoulders widened and grew some more, and his lats continued swelling under the fabric. The shirt was becoming skin tight, and the buttons were struggling. "I think it's the perfect time, don't you?" he asked. My mouth was still hanging open, and it wasn't until it registered within my brain that he'd asked a question that I realized how dry my mouth had become. I had to swallow a couple of times before I could answer him. "Wha... time for what?" He chuckled, and got that evil grin. "Time to make some sleeves rip, BRAH!" My dick throbbed hard in my shorts as I realized what was about to happen. And that surfer persona he had was so fucking sexy. I glanced at his arms and wow, they had gotten really thick. The sleeves were skin tight around his upper arms now, and perfectly midway so the edges were right on the highest points of his biceps. He slowly brought his arms up, raising them carefully, until they were straight out from his body and parallel to the floor. He clenched his hands into fists, and then immediately brought his arms into a mind-boggling double-bicep pose. His arms exploded with size, easily surpassing softballs, and the sleeves shredded all the way past his shoulders. "AH FUCK!" I shouted as my balls purged themselves of cum once more, adding to the mess already in my shorts. "Ahh! AHH!" I yelled with each spurt. FUCK! My balls had an endless supply of cum for this dude! I never took my eyes off him, though. He laughed at me, I assume for blowing yet another load. Then he looked like he was taking a deep breath, but I realized his pecs were swelling again, and his lats were still growing. "Fuuuck yeah, Alex. Here we go." He flexed his pecs, and POP POP POP his top three buttons snapped off, flying across the room in different directions. The cloth separated and I could see his enormous chest, huge and defined with amazing striations. Then another POP as the next button popped off. "Fuck waiting!" He grabbed his shirt and ripped it apart, allowing it to fall to the floor in two halves. HOLY FUCK. "Ohhhhhwwwahhh" I tried to say the words but that garbled groan was all I managed to say. He was a god. Standing before me was an actual god. His chest was huge, his abs had become an 8 pack of super defined and pronounced perfectly rectangular bricks, and his lats made him look like he had wings. There were his legs; tree trunks bigger than my waist and calves bigger than melons. And then of course there was his huge dick, still standing hard as a fucking steel rod and leaking pre onto an ever increasing puddle on the carpet. And of course, my favorite muscles, his arms. They were gigantic. Covered in veins, his arms were huge and sexy as fuck. He had stopped growing at this point. My shorts were all wet and sticky, my dick was throbbing hard again, and my mouth was hanging open, practically drooling, as I stared at the specimen before me. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or hallucinating, but I was becoming convinced that none of this was real. He kept that grin on his face, and started flexing his huge arms, gazing at them lovingly. He would run his fingers over their peaks, prodding them. And then he looked directly at me, into my eyes. "Told ya I was gonna grow for you. How into me are you now?" He chuckled with that question. He grabbed a hair tie from his dresser and pulled his locks up onto his head, and in raising his arms to do so, he made sure to flex his arms, making me drool. He tied it so it sat there like a pile of curly golden hair. "Well?" He asked. I felt paralyzed. I'd never in my wildest fantasies imagined this type of scenario, and yet it was a dream come true. "Hmmm, I'm gonna go ahead and say: you like. The drool hanging from your mouth is all I need for confirmation," he laughed. He flexed his pecs, and ran his fingers over them. He stepped toward me, and grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. FUCK! He'd gotten taller, too. He was shorter than me, and now he was at least 3 inches taller. "Let me make you more comfortable, dude." He put his hand into the waistband of my shorts and ripped them right off. My dick sprang up, hard as ever. After cumming so much today, I couldn't believe it was so hard. "That better? No more soggy shorts." I nodded in agreement. He placed his hands on both sides of my face and kissed me. "Relax dude! You're too tense!" He took my hand and placed it on his chest. Holy shit! His chest was hard as steel. So warm, and just so goddamn hard. And then he guided my hand to his bicep. He flexed it, and it bulged up huge. FUCK! His arm was a fucking mountain! "Oh my god Bryan," I finally managed to say. "You're fucking huge. Just... How? How?!" My dick ached. "My body can grow from the right sexual stimulation, as long as it's from the right person. The day I met you, I knew you were the right dude, too. I never knew how to bring any of this up, or even if you were gay, but when you finally said something after all this time, I decided to have some fun with it." He smiled. My hand remained on his bicep, and I didn't wanna move it. The warm stone under my hand was amazing to touch. I took my other hand and ran it over his abs. I felt him shudder as I did so. His dick was still rock hard, standing out, drooling pre. I reached down and grabbed it. "Ohhhhhnnnngyeah" he moaned. Then he grabbed my dick with his strong hand. His forearm rippled with muscle. I damn near came again. What he said next, though, made me want to pass out. "We haven't even had sex yet, and I've still got some growin' to do, bruh." Part 2

First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/ Previous Chapter: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12351-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-fourteen/ Author’s note: This is the final chapter of Part 1. Waaayyyyy late. As a reminder, the story takes place in 2011 with flashbacks to 2001. CHAPTER FIFTEEN The air was thick with nervous anticipation as the rumble of the low-flying passenger jet faded. I wondered if Manhattan had ever been so quiet. If it was maintaining the same direction we had observed, it flew south along Fifth Avenue. I wondered how long it would take it to reach 34th Street and then how long the sound of the feared impact would take to return to Sheep Meadow. I felt Matt looking at me and turned to face him. His face was completely white. “Now,” he said without emotion … and right on cue, echoing up the canyons of Fifth and Sixth Avenues, rolled the distorted, metallic and seemingly inevitable … BOOM. Cries. Shrieks. Disbelief. Confusion. Already I have failed to protect them. I watched as the vast and closely packed mass of people grew restless. Some turned to me, I assumed for direction or to see how I would respond. Others were pushing toward the east, presumably to look southward on Fifth for visual confirmation of what we all feared. Matt was furiously poking at his iPhone. I still had no idea what to do and looked at Hank. “If they start to panic, you gotta shut ‘em down,” he said as if sensing my need for direction. “People will get trampled,” I said. He nodded slowly. “You worried ‘bout that?” His question almost hurt. “Of course I am,” I said defensively. “I’m probably the most compassionate person you know.” “Not when that switch flips in your head.” He was right but I had no answer for him. I ignored his observation and had decided to make my way over to Fifth Avenue when Matt announced what everyone had most feared. His face twisted with desperation, he held up his iPhone so that I could see the screen and looked at me. “It hit the Empire State Building.” Thousands of voices filled the air as people began shoving in all directions. …the air filled with screams and shrieks. A woman very near me was yelling “Oh my god! Oh my god!” repeatedly. I felt the ground vibrate and turned my head to the left in time to see the South Tower collapsing in on itself with a thunderous roar. I stared at it, eyes wide, refusing to believe what I was seeing. As it fell it transformed into an immense cloud of billowing dust and debris that expanded rapidly in our direction. I could see the leading edge of a roiling tsunami of debris rushing toward me yet I remained locked in place, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Two people fleeing the angry cloud bumped into me before Hank seized my hand… Although I wasn’t moving, I realized that I was panicking as well. “Jamal,” Hank prodded. “NOW.” I took a deep breath as I raised my tremendous arms toward the sky. “YOU WILL STOP AND REMAIN CALM!” I bellowed as loudly as I thought those near me could bear. Then as quickly as the cacophony of voices began, it faded. The crowd was still. And the rumble of an approaching jet drifted down from the north. Not fucking again. “YOU WILL CALMLY RETURN TO YOUR HOMES,” I ordered before turning back to Hank and Matt. “Except you two.” Once again, everyone seemed to obey me, although mindfully rather than as the zombies they had appeared to be earlier. People were again moving in all directions, but now in an orderly and deliberate manner. Despite their obedience, I was extremely frustrated. “All this power and I can’t do shit to stop an airplane,” I complained. “Have you tried flying?” Hank asked. I scowled. “Do I look like Superman?” “You look like you could totally kick his ass.” “I can’t fly, Hank.” I looked at Matt, whose expression became thoughtful. “Have you tried?” he asked. As ridiculous as it sounded, I had to admit that I hadn’t tried, so I squatted down on the turf and extending my legs with all my might, thrust upward with the hope of launching myself into the air. Instead, my feet plowed down into the earth with such force that a huge cloud of dirt and grass erupted skyward and outward. I rose maybe fifty feet into the air and then slammed into the ground again as the cloud of dirt rained down around me. I found myself face down in a crater of my own making. “I guess that settles that,” I said. I pushed myself up and looked around. Both Hank and Matt were covered with dirt. The roar of the jet grew closer. “What kind of god are you, anyway?” Hank asked impatiently as he brushed himself off with his uninjured hand. “A god that can’t fly,” I said as I climbed to my feet. The approaching jet grew louder. I looked at my loyal companions. Suddenly, I knew what to do. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I told them. “Hank needs medical attention,” Matt said. “We’ll catch up with you later.” I briefly froze, ashamed and angry with myself for forgetting about Hank’s right hand. They were already turning away from me. “Wait!” I said. They turned back to face me. “If Terry is right, my cum should heal your hand.” “There’s no time!” Matt called out. “Deal with that plane and we’ll meet you at home!” “Let’s find Terry,” Hank suggested as they disappeared into the crowd. I sprang into action. Thrusting a bit more carefully with only my left leg, I leapt toward Central Park West. If I couldn’t fly, I could at least cover the few hundred yards to the avenue very rapidly. Right, left, right, left. In a matter of seconds, I reached the street, which was backed up southbound as far as I could see, and found a vehicle that would do. A heavy tow truck sat trapped in traffic in the left-hand lane. I bolted for the cab, pulled the door off and dropped it. “Sorry, I need to borrow your truck,” I said to the slack-jawed driver as I reached in and pulled him from his seat. The jet roared overhead at perhaps a thousand feet as I set him down. There was no doubt. It was heading directly toward the World Trade Center. “Please stand back,” I warned as I tilted the vehicle onto its right wheels just enough to reach the undercarriage. Seizing the frame, I lifted the truck overhead and tilted it back until I could see the jet. Carefully, for I didn’t want to apply so much force to the frame that the truck would tear itself apart, I placed one foot well ahead of the other, stretched my arms back as far as I could without falling backward, and hurled it toward the rapidly disappearing jet with all my might. The sound and force of the sonic boom created by the truck’s rapid acceleration took me by surprise and I instinctively winced as windows in all directions shattered. The asphalt beneath me also shattered and deformed as the power of my throw drove my bare feet several inches back and down into the pavement. I looked up and to the south to see the truck quickly overtake the jet. It slammed into the starboard engine, most of which tore free from the wing in an explosion of ignited fuel. A rain of machinery, large and small, fell across what must have been Hell’s Kitchen. What did I just do? What if this was a coincidence? What if its flight path was totally innocent? The new tower isn’t even to full height yet, why would it be a target? I wished Matt were with me. Somehow, he would know. The jet was beginning to veer toward the west when it disappeared behind the buildings to the south. The now familiar feeling of helplessness returned. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea what to do next. I was in no way prepared to lead or protect anyone. Car alarms were going off right and left. The wail of sirens pierced the air. I looked around. I was standing in the middle of the street, buck naked, with my flaccid penis hanging down to my knees. Even with my feet driven six or so inches into the pavement, I was at least seven feet tall and towered over most of the people who had gathered around me. To my relief, they weren’t being submissive. Though certainly in awe of me, they were also shocked and curious. It was the truck driver who spoke first. “Wha … what was that?” He said. “I thought that plane was heading for the World Trade Center,” I explained. “I wanted to take it down.” “You threw that tow truck like it was a baseball, man!” A teenage boy said. “You’re like Superman but super swole!” I stepped out of the hole I had made in the street. Everyone backed away a few steps. A few did fall to their knees. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” At least not intentionally. “I’m here to….” I hesitated, uncertain of what to say. I’m here to rule the world? I’m here to clean up the mess we’ve made? “I’m here to protect you. Protect the Earth.” “Like Superman!” The teenager said excitedly. I furrowed my brow. “I can’t fly,” I said as if it were a failing. The situation was very surreal. I was having an almost casual conversation with a group of strangers. No one was worshipping, as they had been only moments earlier. Most weren’t bowing down before me in deference as they had been all week. They were simply acting like … people. Although I did enjoy being worshipped, at least at times, I realized that I didn’t expect or need it. I found I liked this dynamic much better. “Who are you?” A male voice asked. Then everyone was speaking, both talking amongst themselves and asking me questions. “What are you?” I heard a different man ask. “You’re the guy everyone has been talking about,” a woman this time. “The muscle guy on YouTube!” “Damn, he’s even bigger now.” “The Empire State Building has been hit by a plane!” I heard a woman scream. “He keeps growing.” “Check out his dick man! Talk about the dick of death!” I looked around me again. So many people were talking and gathering and gawking that I couldn’t make out what they were saying. This wasn’t getting anyone anywhere. I held up my arms. “Everyone!” I said. The crowd fell silent. “I want you all to go home and wait for instructions from the city. There could be more attacks.” And I’m going to do my best to stop them. They may not have been worshipping me, but they were completely obedient. As the crowd dispersed, I considered running down to 34th Street to see if I could help. Then I stopped in the middle of the traffic-snarled street and looked down. My massive chest filled my vision, blocking my view of the rest of me below it. My cock was soft, hanging, nestled in front of my giant quads where I couldn’t see it. I looked back up and blinked. Somehow, for the first time in a week, I felt completely at home in my radically changed body, as if I were just Jamal. “One thing has ended,” I said softly. “And something new begins.” Late afternoon had given way to evening. Hank kept hold of my hand as we continued down West Broadway toward Ground Zero. I didn’t understand why. He had never wanted to hold hands when we were together. Of course, I was holding his hand as well and I didn’t know why I was doing that either. It felt nice. I still loved him. I missed him. It was an odd form of torture. I assumed that he was taking me down town to Church and Barclay, where we had first met, where we saw the south tower fall, where our journey together had begun, in some misguided attempt to observe our anniversary, such as it was. I hadn’t been this close to the World Trade Center site since that day and as we approached, my anxiety grew. It was more than the location of thousands of lost and destroyed lives. It was the scar left by religious fanatics – terrorists. It was a demonstration of the danger of radicalization. It was yet another example of the horrors that we as humans are capable of. We stood at the crosswalk across Chambers and waited for the light to change. I felt as if we had entered some kind of negative energy field of anger and grief, vengeance and hate, and worst of all, failure. My failure. I didn’t want to go closer. My palms grew sweaty. I could feel Hank staring at me. He tapped my forehead gently. “What’s goin’ on in there?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” “This is really hard,” I said. “Being so close. It makes me … I don’t know … I guess I’m scared.” “Scared,” he said doubtfully. “You climb around on I-beams like a monkey all day while hundreds of feet in the air and you’re scared.” I didn’t reply. The light changed. Hank continued holding my hand as we walked the few remaining blocks to our destination. He stopped in front of a parking garage. The parking garage. I was angry and confused. I had almost died here. Karen had died here. “This is it,” he said. My temper flared. “Why are we here?” I said crossly. “Why…” But Hank put his finger over my mouth. “Shhhhhhhhh,” he said gently. “It’s okay. I brought you here to thank you.” I looked inside the brightly lit entrance to where I had carried Karen, where we had been found. “Thank me for what?” “You’re wrong, Jamal. You didn’t fail Karen. You helped her,” his voice broke and his eyes glistened with gathering tears. “You found her injured and scared and brought her here. What was the last thing she said to you?” I remembered it so clearly. I felt her kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper in my ear... “Thank you,” I said, looking down at the sidewalk. “She said, ‘thank you.’” “Yeah. Exactly. You rescued her and made her feel safe. She fell asleep and died feeling safe.” Tears were streaming down his face. I had never seen Hank cry before and I suddenly felt very selfish for blaming myself for so long. He smiled through the tears. “So I wanna thank you too,” he said as he continued looking into my eyes. I was at a loss for a moment but before my throat tightened too much, I managed to croak “you’re welcome.” Then I was on all fours, draining a year’s worth of pain onto the indifferent concrete in the form of heavy tears. * * * A few hours and several drinks later, Hank and I stumbled out of an upscale bar on West Houston Street and into the night. Traffic on the one-way street was light but the sidewalks were alive with a surprising number of pedestrians. We headed back to my flat. He had his huge arm around my shoulders as we walked, oblivious to the wake we created as people were forced around us. “Thanks for doing this today,” I said. “I feel a lot better.” Hank smiled and looked at me. “One thing’s ended,” he slurred. “An’ somethin’ new begins.” I didn’t know what the future held for us, but I was confident that we could at least be friends. Most importantly, I felt optimistic for the first time in a year. I ran south on 10th Avenue as fast as I could without destroying everything in my path. Propelling myself down the middle of the street at highway speeds without colliding with oncoming cars or pedestrians in crosswalks was challenging, but so far, I’d managed to run several blocks without causing any serious damage. I quickly learned just how much force to apply with my legs to leap over a car versus a truck or bus. Someone with a radio had reported that a plane had crash-landed near the Pier 51 playground and fallen into the river. I knew exactly where the playground was. It was only blocks from my apartment. As I raced down the avenue through Hell’s Kitchen, I again second-guessed my actions. The new tower was designed and built to survive the impact of a jumbo jet. Any damage caused by ramming an airliner into the building would be limited. I knew guys who were working on it. I had worked with many of them before. Some were second or third generation ironworkers whose fathers had built the Twin Towers or even whose grandfathers had built the Empire State Building. In fact, I didn’t apply to work on the project because I didn’t want to displace a man who had earned the right to place and connect those I-beams. It was sacred. And though I didn’t participate, I was familiar with its design and it would take much more than an aircraft impact to bring that building down. Of course, 1WTC wasn’t the only possible target. It was certainly the most symbolic, but perhaps the terrorists had set their sights on another building. Or perhaps it was something else that I hadn’t considered. Or perhaps there wasn’t another target at all. Had I saved a skyscraper from destruction at the hands of terrorists or knocked an aircraft with hundreds of innocent passengers out of the sky for no reason? I raced by the location of the Hudson train yard and by the time I had left it far behind, I became convinced that I had overreacted. But then I was there. The Meatpacking District. Gansevoort Street. An American Airlines 777 that was halfway into the river nose first. The pilot had tried to land on the highway, but in the process took out a few cars, traffic lights, trees, and streetlights as it slid partially into the river. Traffic was backed up in all directions and a growing crowd of people was gathering in a semi-circle starting around 100 feet away from the aircraft’s tail. No emergency vehicles had arrived yet. There probably weren’t any available. I leapt over the crowd so that I was between them and the jet and turned to face the now even-more-shocked faces. “I NEED EVERYONE TO BACK AWAY,” I announced in what Matt had called my “god voice” before turning to face the jet and evaluate the situation. Most of the starboard engine was missing of course, but surprisingly, at least to me, there was no fuel leaking from the wing nor was there any sign of fire. Equally strange was that all of the exit doors remained closed. The passengers weren’t being evacuated. But answers to those mysteries would have to wait until I got it out of the water. The nose of the aircraft was mostly submerged, the tail far overhead and out of my reach. I needed to pull it out by the rear landing gear, preferably both sets at the same time. If only I had an extra heavy chain… And there it was – to my right, along the edge of the sanitation department’s pier, was a chain of massive iron links. It was perhaps 50 yards long and threaded through a long line of steel posts. In no time I had pulled it free of the posts and snapped it in half. Wrapping one end of each segment around the two landing gear struts, I twisted the foot-long links together with my hands, essentially welding the loops closed. Only a few minutes after my arrival, I had the free ends of the two chains in my hands and was pulling them taut. The aircraft groaned. The pressure of my feet against the concrete pavement caused it to fracture. I slowly pulled it backward and as the aircraft began to move, I wondered how much weight I was dealing with. Each of the two chains must have been several tons, and the aircraft itself? Hundreds of tons? But its weight wasn’t important, for even as the fuselage of the jet dragged against the concrete and the nose lifted out of the water, even as the front landing strut snapped off as it encountered the edge of the embankment, I barely noticed any resistance at all. It was like pulling my little red wagon as a child when it was empty – effortless. I had just sprinted a few miles in minutes. I was filled with anxiety and guilt. I should have been awash in sweat and adrenaline but was not. My heart, or whatever was pulsing in my chest, did so calmly and slowly. My body had transformed into something seemingly indestructible, but my mind was as human as ever. The jet was completely out of the water. Stripped of its front landing gear, the nose of the aircraft rested on the embankment. I leapt up onto the starboard wing and sinking my fingers into the aluminum skin of the cabin, pulled one of the doors free and tossed it aside. My eyes adjusted instantly as I peered inside. The aircraft was empty. There were no passengers. There were not even any seats. Instead, two rows of large unmarked boxes, each a cube perhaps 6 feet in all three dimensions, stretched down the center from front to back for roughly half the length of the fuselage. I stepped all the way in and turned to the right with the intention of checking the cockpit. What looked like four parachute packs hung in the cabin a short distance away. “Freeze!” A male voice barked from behind. “Do not move!” I turned around. “I said DO NOT MOVE!” There were two men in dark blue military uniforms that I didn’t recognize, each with what appeared to be an automatic weapon trained on me. They were perhaps 50 feet away and wore masks of some kind. I couldn’t see their faces, but their skin was white. I briefly wondered if their weapons could harm me but it seemed unlikely. “Are you the pilots?” I said. “What’s in these…” “SHUT UP!” The man on the right, presumably the one in charge, yelled. “Do not move!” he repeated. I found myself wishing I knew how to control my ability to force submission but I could no more consciously turn it on as I could turn it off. I began walking toward them. “FREEZE!” The lead barked again. “One more step and I’ll fire!” “No!” his companion whispered in earnest. “You’ll kill us both.” Both men sounded as American as I or Hank or Matt. I paused for a moment. Something was very wrong. The aircraft was painted in the livery of American Airlines, yet the interior was completely generic. No logos, no flags, no markings of any kind. The men’s uniforms were equally generic and devoid of insignia. I listened as they continued to talk in what they believed to be tones I could not hear. If anyone else were standing at this distance they would have been correct, but I could understand them perfectly. Though impatient, I remained still as ordered. “Whoever this freak is just pulled this aircraft out of the river single-handedly,” the lead said. “We have to neutralize him or get him off this jet.” “What if the bullets bounce off of him and detonate the cargo?” The other man asked. Detonate the cargo? The lead scoffed. “Are you an idiot?” He looked at me. “Step out onto the wing,” he ordered, but I had run out of patience. “How about you put your toys down,” I said as I resumed walking toward them. The lead man immediately fired dozens of rounds from his weapon, which hit my chest and except for a few that somehow lodged in my chest hair, indeed did bounce off in various directions. As I drew nearer though, his hands began shaking and he dropped to his knees without a word. “That’s better,” I said calmly as I continued to approach. “Now tell me about your mission.” Then, in a moment of unexpected self-control, he turned his gun toward one of the cargo containers to my right and fired into it. At the same time, his subordinate, who had fallen next to him, cried “NO!” as he tried to reach for the weapon. But it was too late. The echo of his plea had not even diminished when the container exploded. The last thing I saw as the force of the blast propelled me toward the vaporizing fuselage and into the early afternoon sun was the detonation of the surrounding containers. * * * The sound and sensation of water flowing around me nudged me to consciousness and I opened my eyes. I was on my back in the fountain in Austin J. Tobin Plaza, gazing up at the vertically striped white towers of the World Trade Center, which soared forever upward into a deep blue sky – the South Tower to my left, the North Tower to my right. The cool water from the fountain ran gently around my shoulders and arms. I remained there for some time, staring into the cloudless sky. I could hear only the wind and water, feel only the sun, breeze, and gentle current. I couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed. There were no voices, no sounds of traffic, no airplanes… “Jamal!” Hank’s voice called. No airplanes. I bolted upright, my heart pounding against my ribcage. “Jamal!” Hank called again. “You hafta stop the plane!” I leapt to my feet and quickly surveyed the plaza. It was completely empty. No one was in sight. “Hank?” I called out. I felt a tap on my right shoulder and spun around to face the fountain. Hank was standing directly in front of me, looking exactly as he had when we met. The wind was at my back and blew around me, lifting his long, copper hair as if he were facing into a fan. I looked up into his eyes, which were unusually large and smoky again. “Where did you come from?” I asked, completely confused. He was his 2001 self, as was I. Hank didn’t speak but instead pointed toward the sky. I looked up, following his gesture just as a white aircraft passed above the Twin Towers and exploded, generating a blinding flash of heat and light. “There’s one more jet,” Hank said, as a rapidly expanding fireball enveloped the towers and raced toward us. “You have to stop it or everyone will die.” “What?” I asked, even more confused. “Flex, Jamal,” he said. “Flex everything! NOW!” * * * Several, perhaps dozens of tons of whatever material had been in the cargo containers, were exploding and in that instant, I realized that my sense of time had changed. Everything appeared to move in slow motion. As I drifted up and away from the rapidly evaporating jet, I could somehow see each container erupt and disintegrate, the individual blasts expand outward at enormous yet easily traceable speeds, even as I was enveloped in a maelstrom of flame and intersecting shockwaves. I was perhaps 100 yards away from where I had been standing on the plane. The fireball was probably 300 yards in diameter. Flex, Hank had said. So, I did. I flexed my arms and my traps and my pecs, my lats and my abs and my glutes, my quads and my hamstrings and my calves. I flexed everything, squeezing as hard as I could, for I knew why I was doing it. The only way to stop the explosion was to absorb it. * * * I felt a torrent of water gushing against my back and opened my eyes. I was on my back, looking at a partly-cloudy afternoon sky. Immediately to my right, a damaged fire hydrant lay on its side. I had landed on it and taken it out. There’s one more jet. Everyone will die, Hank said. I sprang to my feet and briefly surveyed my surroundings. I was again taller, which meant I was again bigger and stronger, but despite the resulting twitch of my cock I pushed that from my mind. I had something larger than my growing cock to deal with. I was near Gansevoort and Tenth Avenue. Across the street toward the river, nothing remained of the aircraft. The facades of the buildings facing the Hudson were scorched, but apart from that the damage seemed limited to shattered windows. People were likely killed or injured in the blast before I was able to absorb it, but I couldn’t help them. I had to figure out how to stop another aircraft without killing more people. Somehow, I needed to reach it. I could run to the West 30th Street heliport and hope that a helicopter and pilot were available, but that didn’t seem workable. At best, the jet pilot would only avoid the helicopter. If I can throw a tow truck a few thousand feet I can certainly jump high enough to reach a low-flying aircraft. That was the answer. I just needed a solid enough surface to leap from in a central location. Rat Rock. I had to return to Central Park. This time, I ran up Eighth Avenue, soaring between the US Post Office and Penn Station. What did Hank mean, everyone will die? Everyone on the aircraft? Everyone in the target building? Everyone in lower Manhattan? I felt ineffectual, lost. I had become so accustomed to having Hank and Matt around, so dependent on their insight and advice, that I felt incomplete without them. I tried not to imagine the scene at the Empire State Building. For now, I pushed my friends from my mind. It might be difficult for me to find them, but I knew how to make it easy for them to find me. At roughly one block per stride, it took only a few minutes for me to cover the distance to Columbus Circle. The streets of Manhattan, at least south of the park, seemed to be gridlocked. A logjam of buses, cars, and trucks surrounded the monument to Christopher Columbus, filling the roundabout. I leapt to avoid them… …and landed atop Rat Rock, a roughly circular outcropping of schist 50 or 60 feet in diameter and twice my height, shattering a thin layer of the gray stone around my feet. No one seemed to be around, and I began to scan the sky, relaxing my eyes so that I could see through the trees and surrounding buildings. The X-ray-like, false color view of the universe returned, revealing a storm of color and patterns that I had no idea how to interpret. I spent a few minutes changing the focus of my eyes, wondering if I could consciously determine which wavelengths I could detect, to see if I could filter out what I didn’t need at the moment. A few objects moved in slow, steady arcs around me. Satellites, I assumed. Most everything else seemed to be stationary until an object approaching from the west caught my attention. Something that was glowing with a harsh blue-white light like the reactors at the Indian Point power plant. Was this the plane that Hank had warned me of or a missile with a nuclear warhead? I couldn’t determine its speed or distance or angle of approach, but it seemed at least a few minutes away. I continued to focus on the approaching object. I tried to zoom in, Steve Austin-like, without luck. I tried examining the radiation source at varying frequencies mostly because it gave me something to do. Then something slammed into my back and exploded. The force of the impact and explosion thrust me forward into a group of trees and I landed on the ground face down. As I climbed to my feet again, a projectile from the opposite direction hit my chest and exploded. And another. And another. “GOD DAMMIT THIS ISN’T A GOOD TIME!” I roared. The grove of trees was in flames as I stood and began searching the sky again, trying to get my bearings. There were now multiple objects moving in the afternoon sky. Several small aircraft circled my location. I could see through the trees and flames and smoke that they were unmanned drones, which might have been helpful except that they were a bit late and targeting the wrong thing. I counted four, a few hundred feet overhead. Then I found the blue-white light of the radiation source. It was close enough for me to see that it was clearly a jet aircraft. I remained at the center of the fire, tracking my target as it approached. It seemed the drones couldn’t get a fix on me while I was engulfed in flames. I would wait as long as I could before I jumped back onto Rat Rock and launched myself at the air. Or would the presence of the drones cause the jet to change course? I hopped back onto the rock outcropping and snapped off a small boulder. The drones immediately changed their courses as I broke the boulder into smaller chunks and began hurling them at the unmanned aircraft. Four direct hits sent them falling to the ground. I felt oddly pleased with myself. At least there was no doubt about my aim. I could now clearly see and hear the approaching jet. It was higher than the others, maybe at 2000 feet, and though it had begun banking to the right, would still pass close enough that I was certain I could reach it. Nearby, the trees continued to burn. I wondered if I could blow them out and began to inhale. For around 30 seconds, I drew air into my lungs. When I felt like I had enough, I turned toward the trees and blew as hard as I could, as if they were candles on a birthday cake. Naturally, I flew backward off the rock and landed in the sand of the Hecksher Playground. I sighed and again climbed to my feet, but at least the fire was out. You’re clumsy, but not completely useless after all, I thought to myself. Nearly an hour must have passed since the Empire State Building had been hit, but other than the drone swarm, which was clearly targeting me, there had been no response from the military. What the hell is going on? Where are our fighter jets? Then I heard the sound of dozens of boots approaching from multiple directions. In seconds I was surrounded by what seemed to be military troops of some kind at a distance of perhaps 50 feet. They had already taken aim. “Jamal Al-Bakri,” an authoritative male voice called out. “You will surrender and come with us. Cooperate or we will fire.” “What?” I said, incredulous. “We don’t have time for this. There’s a third jet…” I looked into the early afternoon sun and pointed. “RIGHT THERE! I believe this one is carrying a nuclear weapon. Now stand aside so I can stop it.” I hopped back onto Rat Rack and was squatting down when I heard the man call “fire!” and I was showered with bullets. I rolled my eyes and stood. “YOU WILL CEASE FIRING.” I commanded. But incredibly, nothing changed. Scores of bullets bounced off of me but also continued to collect in the hair covering my immense pectorals. Some lodged in my beard. I pulled at one and noticed that it had actually wrapped itself around a single thick black hair. I pulled it off, popped it into my mouth, and swallowed. The hair remained attached to my skin. I hopped down and began to walk forward. Occasionally a few of the bullets would strike my penis. They felt good. They feel good, I could do this all day. My cock began to grow and harden. The magnificent beast was awake. I brought my hands up, my epic, bulging forearms, biceps, and pecs competing for space, and began to crush the thickening layer of ammunition against the impossibly massive, striated muscle of my chest, melting and spreading it across the expanse of my pecs, feeling how much broader and thicker they had become, then down my deeply separated eight-pack to my cock, which was now fully erect. It pounded, throbbing visibly as I covered it with molten steel and lead, squeezing it as hard as I could, the pleasure becoming so intense that for a moment I forgot where I was but not what – a being so powerful and masculine and glorious that all would beg to worship me. As my tremendous cock throbbed madly, thrusting nearly a yard before me, my loins burning for release, I brought my arms up, arms which could surely rend the planet in two, and flexed. I closed my eyes and reveled in the immeasurable power of my body, turning my face up to the sky, lost in bliss as my indestructible form was caressed by thousands of rounds of ammunition, which suddenly ceased. The echoes of dozens of automatic weapons faded, revealing only the whine of two jet engines. I opened my eyes to see every soldier silently weeping while either kneeling or bent forward, faces to the ground. Better. I looked up. The jet was about as close as it was going to get. It was also unmarked, at least as far as I could tell. Unlike the others, both of which were painted in the livery of American Airlines, this was simply a plain white twin engine passenger jet. I jumped back onto Rat Rock and quickly wiped most of the metal from my torso and cock. As I squatted down, I wondered how much force my enormous legs could generate. When I threw the wrecker, I simple hurled it as hard as I could. But I didn’t want to fly through the plane. I needed to reach it and stop. Grab hold and tear my way in perhaps. It was moving further away. I launched myself into the air. As I soared toward it, I did feel as if I were flying. The sensation of air rushing by at a few hundred miles per hour – against my skin, around my still-erect cock – was exhilarating. But I was a projectile, subject to the friction of air and the gravity of the Earth, unable to alter course. Still, I was rapidly approaching the aircraft and as I passed through the plume of smoke from the remains of the Empire State Building, I realized I had to somehow grasp the port wing as I passed it at roughly 50 mph. Time seemed to slow. I became aware of two things. One, I was going to miss by a few yards. I was going slightly too fast. Two, I could somehow see the turbulence of the air as the jet cut through it. I could also see the aircraft’s interior to some extent. The harsh blue-white glow of the uranium was near the center of aircraft, its radiation detectable through the casing. The jet was configured to carry cargo. Most of the interior was empty, while the cockpit appeared standard – at least to my layman’s eye – two seats, some equipment, and a door. But, it was empty. No one was flying the plane. I was closing in from below and of course from behind. I held out my arms to reduce my speed, alternately bringing them in and out a bit to fine tune my approach. The port engine was immediately to my right as I passed it – I could have reached out and touched it – but I waited until I could grab the wing’s leading edge. Although I could see the air being drawn into the engine, it was too late – I wasn’t able to adjust my speed to avoid being sucked in without missing the jet entirely. My legs were pulled into the engine fans, which shattered before the bulk of my upper legs and cock forced the engine shaft to stop spinning entirely. Jet fuel accumulated for a second or two – I recognized the smell – before exploding and then burning out. I climbed out of the damaged engine pod and clawed my way along the wing, digging my fingers into the aluminum to keep from being blown off. On reaching the fuselage, I simply tore my way into the cabin, which was dimly lit. The warhead was a cone well over a yard long, which was strapped vertically to a truss that ran from the floor of the cabin to the top. A cable ran from the cone up the truss to a box about a foot on each side with a keypad and a few controls. A digital LED displayed the number 10. As I looked around, I noticed several cameras. I was probably being watched, but of course, I had no idea how to disarm it or even if it were possible. I fantasized about flying it into space. Or maybe I can pilot the jet out over the ocean. I had turned and started toward the cockpit when I heard a quick, soft beep beep. I returned to the truss. The 10 on the control box was now 06 and continued to count down. Only seconds before I had been completely fearless. For all practical purposes I was infinitely strong and completely indestructible. But now I was terrified, and I pulled the cone free of its straps and wrapped myself around it, covering as much of its surface as I could. Hank was down there. Matt was down there. Terry. Carlos. Nearly everyone I cared about plus a million or so others were only a few thousand feet below me. 04 … 03 … maybe I could crush it? I leaned back so that the bulk of my body was between the ground and the warhead and began to squeeze, which collapsed the casing and… It began so small. A perfectly white sphere of plasma only a few yards in diameter replaced the warhead, which was instantaneously vaporized into ionized gas at 100 million degrees. A fraction of a second later, the entire aircraft had been vaporized. By the time I had begun flexing every muscle I could think of, a full second had passed and a fireball a few hundred yards wide had appeared over lower Manhattan with me suspended at its center. I flexed, reveling in the sensation of the enormous energy released by the weapon flowing into my titanic, growing muscles. I had noticed over the past few days that the hotter something was, the better it felt, the more pleasure I experienced. Having a nuclear weapon detonate immediately against my chest bathed me in ecstasy beyond comprehension and I could both see and feel my surging cock grow in both size and hardness, the pressure in my loins mounting to a degree greater even than that of the blast I was containing. I looked down at my unimaginably powerful pecs, watching as the thick black hair that covered them waved and floated in the inferno. One hundred million degrees and not even my hair was singed. I am truly indestructible. My huge cock and balls, stimulated beyond imagination by the extreme heat and pressure, growing and throbbing uncontrollably, unleashed my most powerful orgasm yet, and I aimed my cum cannon toward the sky as it spewed thousands of gallons through the raging inferno surrounding me, soaring up into the atmosphere for miles. I continued to flex as hard as I could, absorbing as much of the escaping heat and energy as possible, canceling out the pressure wave which would have destroyed much of Manhattan. I will become infinitely powerful. I knew this. Hank was right. The universe was creating its own god and the ecstasy this knowledge brought me was overwhelming. I was drunk with my own magnificence. I will have eternal and absolute dominance over all things. I will enslave this universe. A brief shudder of abject terror washed over me, penetrating my ecstasy. No. That is not what I want. But I could feel my consciousness shifting again. Jamal! It was Hank’s voice. “Hank?” Jamal, that’s not you. Hank’s voice was somehow clear through the thunderous roar of the firestorm. You’ve got to resist it. I could feel the pressure increase. Even as the feeling of dread swept through me, the desire to embrace a dark yet infinite pleasure mounted. “What do you mean?” I asked out loud. It wants you. DON’T LET IT IN. Hank said desperately. FIGHT IT! All I could sense was an intense need for conquest. A limitless hunger. Everything must be mastered and enslaved and drained. But that isn't who I am, I replied. * * * Earlier that day, in another place… There are things older than the universe. Ancient things from universes far older than our own or that no longer exist. It was one of those things. Its home universe collapsed a trillion years ago, but it had learned long before of methods to slip between the universes, to navigate from one universe to another. As long as a universe’s physical constants were compatible, it was able enter. For an eternity, it searched through a universe of universes, methodically, deliberately, conserving its energy, maintaining just enough awareness to test a target universe’s physics, just enough awareness to be. It had once enjoyed a seemingly endless torrent of energy drawn over tens of billions of years from all the stars, all the galaxies, all the life of its long-dead home, but its reserves dwindled as the eons passed, as it sought something that appeared increasingly unlikely. Millions of years would pass between finding compatible universes or universes with life, billions of years between finding universes that were compatible and held life, and thus far, a trillion years without finding a compatible universe with life that it could use. It was now barely a cloud of molecules, a fading wisp of organized information that knew little more than a tortured emptiness and an all-consuming hunger. A hunger that had been growing for countless billions of years. A hunger that finally, just as it had resigned itself to oblivion, detected a life form that it could use.

You will find Station One here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ You will find Station Five here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14759-the-assembly-line-station-five/ The assembly line Station Six - anabolic radiation The anabolic radiation crackled in the air, and hit him relentlessly -- him and the others -- and, like the others, Unit T.E.D. eagerly let it happen. If anything, he wanted MORE, and, by the facial expression of him, it was obvious that Unit M.I.K.E. shared that urge. They stood facing each other at Station Six, Unit T.O.D.D. standing to the left of Unit T.E.D. -- all of them facing inwards, towards the centre of the platform, from the ceiling of which hang the projector of anabolic radiation. There was no reflecting surface, and Unit T.E.D. was unable to see himself, but he was able to FEEL, and he felt huge. He was able to watch the others grow: Unit T.O.D.D. still built like a bear, but a bull-like bear now, built like a grizzly, and immensely more muscular, than before. Unit M.I.K.E. kept his Y-shape. If anything, the contrast between the narrow waist and the broad shoulders of Unit M.I.K.E. was even more enhanced now: A tattooed hero perspirating under the impact of the anabolic radiation, and moaning in lust after more strength, more brawn, more invulnerable, indefeatable, ruthless and relentless FLESH. The gates opened. Unit T.I.M. entered. Under the impact of The Program, the former fragility, scrawniness and skinniness of the Unit had been driven away, and a new man had been forged in the transmuting furnace of the previous five stations. He was ready for Station Six now, and assumed his position to the right of Unit T.E.D., facing his brother Todd. The anabolic radiation crackled in the air, and, at the impact, Unit T.I.M. bellowed in power-craze, his powerful, bronzed and shining muscles twitching, and his powerful legs -- squeezed into the black, glossy tactical trousers and shining boots -- standing confidently wide apart, awaited the next onslaught of EMPOWERING crackling rays. None of them had expected what happened next. * * * The Assembly Line: Finale is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14951-the-assembly-line-finale/

The first station will be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ The fourth station will be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14756-the-assembly-line-from-third-to-fourth-station/ The assembly line Station Five The workout, demanded by The Program to evaluate Todd's progress, had caused blood to flow to Todd's muscles while they were still growing. The combined effect of pump and actual growth had caused Todd's muscles to bulge obscenely, and veins to crawl over his brawn. Now, Ted stood where Todd had stood just minutes ago, and performed a similar evaluation. Ted had never dreamt of the hardness the two simultaneous physiological processes would cause to his physique. His entire body throbbed. His dick throbbed inside the comfortable and tough-looking trousers he jokingly referred to as the "space-warrior trousers", but it felt like his entire body throbbed now: Back - throbbing. Traps - throbbing. Shoulders - throbbing. Pecs - throbbing. Biceps - throbbing. Abs - hard as fuck. He pulled and pushed, went through the movements The Program desired, and fed it the research data it needed, and this forced workout caused him to become engorged by strength. Yeah! The strength! THE STRENGTH HE DESIRED! THE STRENGTH HE WAS ACHIEVING! Behind him, a hissing sound came from robotic spray-cans on rails, preoccupied with fashioning the new boots and tactical trousers of Tim, but Ted was preoccupied himself, and didn't turn around. Preoccupied with giving The Program the data requested. The Program didn't give him any figures or data in exchange, and he was kept in the dark about exactly how much stronger he had become, but, deep inside himself, a realisation was dawning, that the resistance shown him by the steel-tentacles around his feet and hands far exceeded the weights any normal bodybuilder or powerlifter would push. Or pull. There were no mirrors anywhere: The Program was designed to change ordinary men into Beings of unknown purpose, not to gratify the curiosity of the subjects of experimentation. To The Program any personal wish or personal preference of any specimen were of no concern. The specimens existed for the purpose of The Program, not for themselves. They were meat: Heaps of muscular brawn enhanced to obey the orders of The Program without asking questions, and to spring into brutal and merciless action without hesitation. Parts of the man, who once had been Ted, were obliterated, or on their way to become obliterated, but other parts of his mind were enhanced, invigoured. In the place of Ted, the mild-mannered teacher, was springing into existence Unit T.E.D., the Unit that unquestioningly obeyed The Program, and The Program wanted its Units to increase their strength, their endurance, their speed, their tactical superiority and their resilience without limits. YES! WITHOUT LIMITS! Unit T.E.D. had heard it twice: A crackling noise of power-emissions coming from the chamber on the other side of the gates, but only heard when the gates briefly opened. Mike, who now was Unit M.I.K.E., had entered the crackling chamber beyond. Todd, who now was Unit T.O.D.D., had entered the crackling chamber beyond. Unit T.E.D. felt satisfaction, when the sound from the spraying of Unit T.I.M. back at Station Four fell silent, and the steel-tentacles surrounding Unit T.E.D.'s hands and feet loosened their grips and fell to the floor at Station Five. Unit T.I.M. would soon be evaluated. The gates opened, and Unit T.E.D. stepped into Station Six, from which he could hear the crackling noise of power-emissions, and the lustful moaning of two Units becoming enhanced in accordance to The Program. * * * You will find the beginning of Station Six here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14761-the-assembly-line-station-six/

The first station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ The third station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14745-the-assembly-line-third-station/ The assembly line From third to fourth station The Program wanted to know. Ted was still sitting in the vinyl-clad chair, that felt like a dentist's chair, and The Program still surrounded his entire head with a rubber mask, which extracted his most private memories and thoughts. All pain had receded, and his only discomfort was caused by his increasingly too small trousers, which were still soaked in the growth-liquid. Unable to understand living, breathing human beings, The Program wanted to know Ted's conceptions of perfect men. Ted couldn't avoid laughing. He chuckled, as wave after wave of pleasure billowed through his body, and he could feel how The Program rewarded his past endurance of the painful process. Perfect men? To himself, it was obvious, that a wiry and lanky man like himself would dream about Greg Kovacs. The addition of 10-15 lbs look much on a short guy -- like it would on tiny Tim or even a man of average height, like Mike. If a tall man, like Ted, would add 10-15 lbs it would be like a piss in the Mississippi. Ted dreamed about men of his own height adding MONSTROUS amounts of muscle mass: Like Kovacs or The Mountain, or Morgan Aste. Or Martyn Ford. Or more. IMPOSSIBLE amounts of muscle mass. The Program encouraged him to think as vividly as possible on his goals. He could feel how his wet trousers were quite painful now. His swelling, growing quads and hamstrings were trapped inside their prison of cloth: Quite painful now. Then he heard a ripping sound, and the painful entrapping pressure began to disappear. More ripping sound. Ripping fabric. Yeah, tearing that fabric apart. HULKING OUT! His quads and hamstrings felt free. YES, FREE! Free to grow further. Enlarge. Engorged. Legs of a cave-bear. Legs of a mammoth. Pillars of strength, carrying the world. FREE! A subtle signal. Subtle. Erasing any remaining trace of resistance to the re-programming. It didn't matter. It felt so good to grow BIG. And he could feel his calves appreciate the release, too. BIGGER. Wave after wave of pleasure. Wave after wave of the feeling of HYPERTROPHY. The Program. Changing him. BIGGEST. He moaned, and he bellowed: "YES! Becoming what The Program want me to be!" His entire body involuntarily spasmed and flexed. He felt pumped. He felt ... He felt ... The rubber mask let go of his head, and reverted to its original position above the treatment chair of Station Three. He knew what The Program wanted him to do next. Todd was still facing away from him, and began to walk forward and leave the platform of Station Four. Todd's intimidating back had obscured Ted's view, but he was now able to see the entire tunnel, and he could see Mike during the few seconds before the gates opened at the end of the tunnel, and Mike left for Station Six. Mike! His friend and childhood hero had been a brawny jock before the treatment, but now he was an incredible mass-titan. Ted shivered. Mass-titan. Ted wanted to be close to his friend, the mass-titan. The Program ruthlessly erased that thought: Todd walked forward and assumed the position at Station Five. Ted was free to take his station at Station Four. Ted was able to watch things looking like steel tentacles swallow Todd's hands and feet, but the purpose wasn't to eat him, but to assess his stamina and prowess. Todd pressed the steel-tentacles before him and over himself. He kicked and curled, pushed and pulled. An evaluation was going on. Behind himself, Ted could hear the lift lower itself, and the sound of someone, presumably Tim, having a seat. Spray-cans on rails sprayed a jelling substance on Ted's feet and legs. It felt good. His legs felt contained by the forming trousers. He became more aware of the sheer SIZE of his now powerful legs, and somehow tactical boots were forming around his feet out of that sprayed substance. The substance was thin enough to show every fibre, every striations of his massive legs, in a flattering way, but Ted somehow knew, that, despite its thinness, the protective value of his tactical trousers was high. It was supple, and allowed him to move unhindered, but in some places the layer felt thicker, in order to give more protection: His feet, his knees, his crotch. A codpiece coalesced, and his rod and nuts were protected. The sensation of the supple fabric pressing itself to his glutes, caused him to feel more aware of the changes in his body, that were still going on. It felt like wearing leather trousers. He moaned again. Super-hero pants. Space-warrior trousers. As befitted him. Him and his friends. Together. A team. The Program was picky. It obviously wanted his tactical trousers to be perfect, and it obviously wanted to evaluate Todd correctly. He didn't know for how long he had stood there, his quads pressing his legs more wide apart, his lats pushing his arms to hang out from his upper body in an unfamiliar, but pleasant, angle, the way Mike's arms hang out from his upper body. Then he could hear Tim roar behind him, in a deeper voice than usual: "Can't believe it! Yes, Program! Change me with the others! I accept every change! EVERY CHANGE!" From the sound of it, he wasn't tiny Tim anymore. * * * The fifth station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14759-the-assembly-line-station-five/

The first station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ The way to the third station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14738-the-assembly-line-on-the-way-to-the-third-station/ The assembly line Third station The cylinder closed behind Tim's head, and the cylinder began to fill with new liquid. Little Tim, who disappeared out of Ted's view. Ted watched the ground floor disappear above him, and turn into the ceiling of the basement, as the lift descended. His quads twitched. His shoulders twitched. He liked the feeling of his muscles twitching. His muscles growing. Ted found himself in a dimly lit tunnel. The air was cooler and more moist, and he looked at old brick-walls. There were hints of some mould in the air. In front of him, Todd stood facing away from him on a sort of platform elevated just a few decimetres above the floor, perhaps slightly reminding him of a boxing ring, but perhaps lower than that. There were no remnants of Todd's old clothes left. The sparse yellowish light caused shadows to highlight the newly won muscular definition of Todd's broad back and wide shoulders. Robotic spray-cans ran on small rails around Todd's body, spraying his feet and legs with a substance, that jelled into boots and trousers. Tactical boots and trousers. Sci-fi boots and trousers. Ted couldn't concentrate on the sight of Todd's impressive back before him, because The Program demanded him to take a few steps back and take a seat. So he obeyed. It felt good to obey The Program. The seat reminded him of a dentist's chair. A little metallic box on tyres was busy wheeling around him with a whirring sound and extending its tongs to remove his shoes. His trousers felt uncomfortable and soaked in the growth-liquid from his treatment in the cylinder. The remnants of his shirt hang in tatters on his torso, and his exposed pecs and biceps glistened by the growth-liquid in the sparse amber light. His arms -- still twitching and growing by the after-effects of his treatment in the cylinder -- rested on the vinyl-clad armrests of the medical chair. He could sense something lower itself above him, but it still came as a surprise, when his entire head became enclosed by some sort of equipment. It smelled like rubber, like car tyres. For an instant, he was frightened he would suffocate, and his engorging arms began a movement to remove the mask, but, before he could do anything, cool and smooth metallic manacles rotated 180° out of the arm-rests, and transfixed his arms to the chair. What was going on, actually? Why did these machines exist inside the mountain ridge? Why had they sprung from inactivity to life, when he and his friends unknowingly had intruded in the tunnels? They had expected natural beauty and the view of pristine, untouched and subterraneous natural environment, but instead they had encountered unknown technology at a level they hadn't expected. Was it the work of a clandestine cabal set on toppling the government? Was it a classified government experiment, preparing for the dissolution of their human and citizen rights? Was it a scientific experiment, which had gone terribly wrong, when the automatons raised against mankind? Was it an archaeological remnant of an ancient advanced civilisation, long gone? Was it, even, a base planted by an extra-terrestrial civilisation, bent on taking over the world? He didn't know, and any further thoughts along those lines were abruptly and painfully stalled by excruciating AGONY His body consisted of purple light of AGONY. His body consisted of of a beige cloud of nausea. Blackness came, and blackness went. He wasn't sure, if he had been unconscious, and, if that was the case, he didn't know for how long. Slowly, slowly, he recovered from disorientation, and became aware of himself relaxing in a vinyl-clad medical chair, his head surrounded by a blinding full-head mask that smelled of the comforting and relaxing whiff of rubber. There was nothing to be concerned of now. He could feel remaining ache in his spine, his clavicles and his femurs. Well, his entire bone-structure, actually, but especially his spine, his clavicles and his femurs. Remaining ache. Remaining. Because something amazing was happening. Mmmmm. Twitching muscles. Twitching of growth. Something amazing. If he obeyed The Program, something amazing would happen. Continue to happen. A feeling stirred in his gut. Something amazing. The Program wanted to get to know him better. Why not? You can trust The Program, can't you? The Program is your friend. The Program scanned his childhood. Friendship. Scanned his teenage years. Embarrassment. Scanned his student years. Liberation. Coming to terms. Early career. The mixed feelings of entrapment, homecoming and purpose. The suffocation and the dedication. Dear parents. Dear siblings. The well-being and betterment of his pupils. Friendship with Todd. Reliable Todd. Bringing together. Responsible. Protective of Tim. Little Tim. Protect. and then ... Mike ... Oh God! Mike ... Mike the young rascal, who took the command, when they explored the great outdoors with their small bicycles with support wheels ... Mike, forever loyal to Todd, the chubby kid, and listened to Todd's advice ... Mike, who hang out with the jocks, but never forgot his old friends ... Mike, the stallion who slept with at least half of the girls ... Mike, arguing with the teacher ... Mike, called to the head-master's office ... Mike's smile like sunshine ... Mike cheering his friends up on a rainy day ... Mike arguing with his divorced Mum ... Mike at the gym ... Bigger Mike ... Tattooed Mike ... Mike swelling ... Mike and the wrong crowd ... Mike on substance abuse ... Angry Mike, still so handsome, but angry Mike ... Todd trying to reason with Mike ... Ted trying to reason with Mike ... Mike. Angry. Smiling. Sunshine. ... no highschool any longer ... you leave in the morning ... run away, turn away, run away ... Ted's student days ... Coming to terms ... Realising his true feelings ... Mike the Marine ... Far away ... Mike the war-hero, returned ... Mike the depressed wreck ... Ted being there for Mike ... Mike not allowing himself to cry in front of Ted ... Mike: Angry. Smiling. Sunshine. ... Todd bringing them ... Mike, the brawny lump of a man, allowing himself to cry in Ted's lanky embrace ... Mike the PT ... Mike the fire-fighter ... For all his faults ... all his strengths ... the anguish in Mike's eyes ... the confidence in Mike's eyes ... the sunshine in his ... Mike his friend ... Mike his hero ... Wanting to be like Mike ... Wanting to be with Mike ... Uh. Uhnnnn. The Program want to know ... He felt mentally exhausted, but he could feel something pleasant build inside him. The Program had stunned him and guided him through the worst changes. His ability to feel pain was blunted now. Resilience to pain had been installed into him. He felt better. He felt like ... Mmmmm. Twitching muscles. Twitching of growth. Something amazing was happening. Wider clavicles. Longer femurs. More! YES! The Program was rewarding him for his cooperation. He opened his mind again. Allowing it to probe deeply inside his mind. Probe. Mind. Urges. Urges to GROW! * * * The fourth station will be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14756-the-assembly-line-from-third-to-fourth-station/

The first station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ The second station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14733-the-assembly-line-second-station/ The assembly line On the way to the third station The immense stress on his body must have caused him to sweat a lot, but the surrounding liquid must have cooled him down and rinsed the sweat away. Ted's mind felt stunned after the repeated impact of the power emissions.The liquid drained away. The cylinder emptied. His ears were ringing, and it felt like electric currents ran between his teeth. His body felt heavy, and it felt like his ability to feel physical pain had become blunt. Heavy. With a whirring sound, a few white-painted robotic arms extracted his stretcher, rotated him, like he had just been a piece of meat and not a human being, and, not caring for his feelings or well-being, left him hand-cuffed and standing on the movable plate, which was, he was reminded, a lift without walls. It slowly descended into the nether unknowns, like it had done before with Mike and Todd. As the lift was descending, he could see the pale and scared face of Tim watching him from Station One. Little Tim. Memories welled up inside him: How Ted had assisted Mike and Todd in protecting Todd's younger brother Tim in school. How the bullies stopped harassing Tim, which probably was more thanks to Mike, than thanks to Ted, his guilt-ridden and insecure conscience told him. It didn't diminish the earnest feelings of protectiveness towards Tim, however. How the plucky youngster joined his elder brother's circle of friends, and played Dungeons and Dragons with them when they were teenagers: Tim always wanted to play the wizard. Mike always wanted to play a barbarian with extra strength and extra constitution. Ted always wanted to play a paladin in shining armour. And big brother Todd was Dungeon Master, because none of the other three said they were creative enough or responsible enough to take up that position. How years went. How he didn't expect to return. How he did return, against better knowledge, as a school teacher in his old home town, with all its faults and all its charm. How Tim returned -- a librarian now. How Todd brought them together: Todd, the engineer. How Mike returned from service, a wreck at first -- the old cheer, the old mischief, the old smile returning after a while. How Todd brought them together: Todd, the one who never left. How Mike encouraged them all to join him at the gym, and how Tim had felt disappointed by his lack of results. Little Tim. Pale. Fear. The buzzcut suited him, and had changed his outward look already: Tougher. Sturdier. The injection had begun to work. The remaining liquid from the cylinder caused Ted's now athletic muscles to glisten in the harsh light. Tim watched in fear what Ted had become, and in his eyes shone the dawning realisation, that the automatons relentlessly would try to change him in the same way. The robotic arms inserted Tim into the cylinder, to undergo the same treatment as his brother and his two friends. Ted could hear Todd roaring downstairs: "YES! Turn me into what The Program wants!" And the lift descended. * * * The third station is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14745-the-assembly-line-third-station/

The prologue to this chapter is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14714-the-assembly-line/ The assembly line Second station The cylinder quickly filled with liquid, and it became obvious to Ted, that the gas mask filled more than one purpose. The oxygen needed, to stay inside the bubbling cylinder, filled his lungs, and he eagerly drank the life-giving air, but it also filled him with something else. He was unable to discern the source of the increasing sensations inside his body -- it could have been the injection back at station one, which now was beginning to have its impact on him, or it could have been the injector presently inside his spine, the gas or the probe up his arse, but he could feel a pleasantly buzzing feeling, causing him to be more aware of his bodily extention. He was the tallest of the four friends, and, though he was less built than Mike or Todd, he became more aware of how tall he was, than he had ever been before. They had all envied Mike's Y-shape and his natural talent to add mass, but for highly different reasons: Todd tried to get rid of the belly-fat that went with his innately bear-like shape; Tim had joined them at the gym lukewarmly in the past, but didn't see much of a difference, and retained his short and fragile hardgainer-physique, and Ted himself had found workouts to be uphill to someone of his tall but wiry sort of build. Ted's muscles buzzed, his head was filled of dizziness, and it felt like he was falling backwards. Falling. Backwards. Eternally. Though his reason tried to tell him, that he was resting reclined inside the cylinder, he fell. Backwards. Eternally. Then the first power pulse knocked him. The impact on his mind was the most obvious, at least in the beginning. He felt like he had been hit by a racing train, a sun of black electricity exploded in his brain: Its rays spreading in all directions like the hairy legs of a large obsidian spider, and he floated in a milk-white sea of nausea, surprise and a shrill sound, slowly returning to awareness of his body, finding his legs, arms, head and torso thrashing spasmodically inside the cylinder. He slowly recovered from the hit. It had felt like a physical blow, but he understood, that it must have been something else. Electricity? Or some unknown power? The machinery in the cylinder was readying itself for another discharge. He could hear it charging. He panicked. No! Not another one! Out! He must get OUT! His palms touched the glass cylinder above him and by his sides, and his heels hit the stretcher. The sound of charging increased into a maximum, and the liquid perfectly conducted the power into his body from all directions. BAM! Black electricity exploding his brain. A strange scent in his nose, like ozone. The taste of iron in his mouth. Ghostly mental visions of a death-like milk-sea again, and then his awareness returned to his spasming body. Less nausea this time, and the sensation of involuntary spasms didn't feel as painful as the first time. He could hear the sound of a buildup to another emission of power into the liquid. NO! Not again! He ... BAM! The thunderbolts of obsidian moved slower through his mind this time. They caused him pain. They caused him pleasure. His mind floated through the slow expansion of inky thunderbolts in a sea of magnesium fire. Time went slower. Someone bellowed. No nausea. He fell. Backwards. Eternally. And then he found himself inside the cylinder again, pleasantly aware of his embodied presence. Heavier than usual. More bodily present than usual. Felt ... Felt ... Bigger. He felt bigger. Black electricity still caused his limbs to spasm and thrash, and he could feel his meatier pecs and lats convulse. Meatier pecs? And lats? Him? He couldn't finish that thought, before the shrill sound approached the familiar level, close to power emission, again. This time he knew what to expect. BAM! His mind bathed in bolts of cosmic darkness, and this time he cherished the feeling. Ozone. Ferrous taste. Return to consciousness. Convulsions beyond pain and pleasure. The suction hose around his dick was preoccupied by avoiding pre-cum from contaminating the liquid in the cylinder. Present. Body. Meatier. Growing like Mike had done. Growing like Todd had done. Becoming like they had been, when they left the cylinder and descended by the lift to the unknown whereabouts under them. Mmmmm. Growing. BAM! Fuck, yes! The liquid turning into a conductor of POWER surrounding him, FORCING him to succumb to the power-bolts surrounding him. Nowhere to flee. Nowhere to hide. Turning into ... into the sort of ... being Mike and Todd turned into ... He resisted the change, and felt pain. He embraced the change, and he felt pleasure. Uhmmmm. Change. Accepting change ... Turning into ... UHMMMMM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Uh! YES! Change! * * * The story continues in The assembly line : On the way to the third station

The cult of Crom Look here, Agent: I have done nothing wrong. I thought, that "innocent until proven guilty" was a fundamental principle in our country. Isn't it? Freedom of religion is protected in Law. I agree. No one's religion ought to be an excuse for illegal activities, but what sort of illegal activities ... They took a blood sample and a urine sample, when I was brought in, but I am sure, that both will come back negative. Me and my brothers don't do steroids. No need for it. Like what you see, uh? No, I'm not disrespecting you. My pecs twitched involuntarily. Fraud? With all respect, Agent: You don't know what you are talking about. We settled in the same village, because the surrounding society harassed us. We just wanted to be left alone. All brothers assist in the maintenance of the temple building, but we don't have any tithing like some of the mainline denominations. Why don't you go after them instead? Real religion? REAL religion? Who do you think have the right to decide which religion is real? If you ask the Pentecostals, they will tell you, that Catholicism and Islam aren't real religions. If you ask the Hindoos, they will tell you, that something is weird with Abrahamic faiths. If you ask the Moslems, they will give Jews and Christians cred for being "Peoples of the Book", but take a negative view on Buddhists and Pagans. The entire idea of freedom of religion, is that each individual is free to chose his own spiritual path together with others OR in solitude. It is not a matter for the state to decide, and it is damn not for the Security Branch to decide. I was under the impression, that the separation of Church and State is modern policy? But if it is, what am I and my brothers doing here? I see. As I said before: I expect our urine samples to come back negative, and, as far as I know, our licenses for hunting rifles are in order. We hunt for elk and bear during the season when that is legal. Why I joined? Actually, I have followed the movement from the beginning, and, initially, I was just as skeptic as you are now, if that may bring you some relief. It was my friend Mike who began. We were at college together. He was a big, sporty, jockish type of student, but considerably more clever than the average jock. I was short, tiny and brainy, and surprised when he wanted to help me take up weight-training. I was embarrassed in the beginning, but the presence of Mike at my side -- smiling, cheering me, instructing me, protecting me from two of the bullies -- helped me to feel safe, and it didn't take long until I began to notice some modest results, and I liked the feeling of exercise. Not modest any longer? Thank you, Agent. That's nice of you. Yes, I like my gains. You work out yourself? Uh, well, yes, more toned than the average Joe, but no offence, but you probably need to EAT more, especially protein. Keep up the good work, Agent. I didn't mean to discourage you: On the contrary. We brothers of the temple encourage ALL men to work out regularly. It's good for us. Healthy. You connect better to your inner core of masculinity. REAL masculinity. Not the one some people call "toxic". We believe, that men ought to behave honourably. Warm in here? Yes, now when you mention it, Agent, I would appreciate a glass of water. No. Thank you, but no coffee and no fizzy drink. I don't want to ruin my gains. A glass of water would be fine. Ah. You are back. Thank you for the water. Are you supposed to be the "good cop"? When does the "bad cop" arrive? Don't work like that? A TV cliché? I see. Where were we, before you fetched the water? Oh, yes, okey, Mike. As I said: For a jock, Mike was unusually clever. His Dad was brought up within Reform Judaism, but had switched to Buddhism in adulthood. His Mom was Episcopalian, but not frequently practicing, and his parents didn't bother with telling him which religion to chose. My Dad is Catholic and my Mom is Methodist, and they respected my choice, when I turned Agnostic. Actually, they took my conversion to Agnosticism better, than when I told them I'm gay. Don't choke on your coffee, Agent. Are you all right? Surprise? Don't look? Listen, Agent, I don't know from where you get your ideas, but gay men look in many different ways. Don't believe any stereotypes. What did you expect, Sir? Limp wrists, squeaky voice and a mandatory feather boa? Don't be ridiculous. You can't observe it on the outside of people. True, some gay men form cliques and sub-cultures, but don't expect them to be typical for the general bunch of us. Apology accepted. No. No offence taken. Better now? Okey. Shall I continue? I wanted to stay away from any religion: The nastiest ones turn violent, and even the nicer ones seemed so illogical or superstitious to me -- though some of them are good at helping poor people. Mike took a more positive view: He held all religions to have a kernel of truth, and he read mystics from several religious backgrounds. He listened to music from several religions, when he wanted to relax after a workout. I never really understood Mike in that regard. Then, one day, when I visited him, he had arranged a little household shrine with a candle, a matchbox, an incense holder, a bowl of water and a bronze plate on which stood a glass of gainer -- a chocolate flavoured gainer, if I remember correctly. I found it a little odd, so I asked him, and I thought that he pulled my leg. It wasn't like that I was entirely unaware of Neo-Paganism. Some of the liberal hipsters were into Mother Goddesses and stuff, and I had heard about Nazis resurrecting the old viking religion, but I had the impression, that both of these two wings dressed up politics as religion, and I hadn't expected a centrist guy like Mike to bother with the concept. And another thing: The usual Neo-Pagans usually tried to revive worship of gods and goddesses attested in sources from Antiquity: Old Egyptian gods, old Babylonian gods, old Greek and Roman gods, old Celtic gods, old Norse gods ... Actually, when Mike told me about what he was doing, I thought that it was a joke: You know, like the Pastafarians who worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or like the Jediists who mess with the Census in several English-speaking countries. Though I have heard that, eventually, some of the Jediists began reading Joseph Campbell and tried to connect with The Force. Oh, sorry. I digress. I wanted to say, that Mike had taken up worship of a god from novels and short stories. He wasn't supposed to have been worshipped by real persons in real history. Mike had begun to worship Crom -- the god in Robert E. Howard's stories about Conan the Barbarian. Have you read them? Watched the movie? Yep. Many men and women have. Ridiculous? Actually, that was my reaction, too. Initially. Then, after a few weeks, I began to notice, that Mike increased his gains much faster than before. I had a serious conversation with him one night, since I was afraid he had began using some drugs with dangerous side-effects, but he swore that he was entirely natty, and then he invited me to share his evening meditation before his shrine to Crom. I thought it was stupid, of course. Who wouldn't? He washed his hands in the bowl of water, and let me do it too. I obliged as a matter of politeness. Then he lit the candle and the incense. He replaced the former glass of gainer on the bronze plate with a new one, and we both shared the old gainer. Later, he told me it was called a "community offering". Then he improvised a prayer to Crom, and I felt silly. It was about bringing strength to Crom's devotees, increasing our dedication at the gym, and gaining better gains. Dedication to the gym and lust for better gains was always on my mind anyhow, but I didn't see any reason to bring it into religion, and definitely not into a religion based on fantasy novels. What happened? You wouldn't believe me, Agent. You wouldn't believe me. When you interrogate Mike and our other brothers, you will hear a similar story, but since you wouldn't believe me, let me show you. We use this mantra, you know: CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM Oh, fuck, yes! CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM Look at you, Agent! It is affecting you, too! CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM How I got out of these handcuffs? Strength. The muscular strength my god gives to me and my brothers. CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM So good? Yeah, I agree. Feel the power of Crom, Agent! Join me and your new brothers. We will show the world how primordial masculinity look like when it becomes flesh. CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM Listen! We are not the only ones to sing the Crom-mantra in the building. It resounds through the walls, the ceiling and the floor. We are becoming ... Uhnnn. Look at me! CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM Sexy? Unbelievably manly? Why, thank you, Agent. I wasn't sure if you ... OH YES! Out of your dreams? Thank you, Agent. Look what you are becoming, yourself. WHAT YOU ARE BECOMING. Good? Fuck, hell, yeah. Good is just the beginning. All that brawn. Firm like steel. Tanned. The striations. And bulging inside ... Don't fight it! Let it out! Give in! You are becoming ... Yes! Agent. Unbutton my fly like that. FUCK! Your hands on my leather-clad glutes! Growing more! My mass! And your! YES! UHNNNN. Agent, I love the feeling of you ripping out of your shirt, while you kneel between my legs ... FUCK ... AGENT! So ... Will make you grow more. And me. More brawn. While you ... UHNNNN. CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM CROM CROMM CROMMMM

I just wanted to turn a mental image into text. It might become an entire story in the future. The assembly line Prologue It felt like the gas mask was suffocating him. The worst thing with it, wasn't the physical discomfort. Though having a weird probe stuck up his arse, a suction hose on his dick, an injector into his spine and a strap around his neck was uncomfortable, it wasn't the physical discomfort that was the worst thing. The worst things were all going on in his mind: What was happening? What was the purpose of the assembly line? What was happening to the other three outside the cylinder, in which he was forced to recline? Were they safe? What had happened to Mike and Todd after they had grown bigger, and been ejected from the cylinder, earlier? What was now happening to Tim, who was the fourth of them to be trapped by the assembly line? He had seen the industrial robot put Mike inside the cylinder, as the first of them. The other robots had left the other three of them strapped to their seats, and began to remove their hair with hair trimming machines and electric razors. Todd and Ted had been quite proud of their beards, but the automatons continued their work inexorably. Ted had watched, what had happened inside the transparent cylinder: The same equipment, that now transfixed himself, had been applied to Mike, and, after a process, which was fascinating in a terrifying way, Mike had emerged from the cylinder as a much more athletic man. The conveyors had moved Todd to the cylinder, to replace Mike. Todd's chair had folded backwards into a stretcher, and moved into the cylinder, Todd still struggling to get free. Ted had felt the sting of an injector in his arm, and watched Mike disappear downwards, when a segment of the floor turned out to be a lift without walls, and he had heard muffled sounds from the third station of the assembly line – the muffled sounds of Mike roaring in a deeper voice: "FUCK! Yes! I'm becoming what The Program want me to be!". His younger and tinier friend had never liked injections. When Tim was injected at station one, he couldn't avoid to let out a yelp of pain. Ted had struggled to free himself, but the next moment the growing Todd had been automatically removed from the cylinder, rotated to a standing position, and lowered down into the unknown chambers under the floor. Ted had been unable to move, when his seat folded backwards into a stretcher, and he had been pushed into the cylinder against his will. A gas mask had attached to his face, and an unknown gas had hissingly entered his body. There had been nothing he could have done to stop it. Far away, he could hear Mike roaring something, but the cylinder had closed, and he was alone and unprotected against anything the unfeeling and relentless automatons would inflict on him. He yelped, when an injector entered his spine. It felt like the gas mask was suffocating him. The worst thing with it, wasn't the physical discomfort. The worst thing was his inner turmoil, to not know what was going on. * * * The story continues in The assembly line : Second station

Part One: The hook Tom was a big goof, but I couldn't have gotten where I am without him. We had started working out together several years ago at the same corporate gym. Neither of us had been a jock in school, but we both shared what we knew about working out and developed some routines we both enjoyed. A few years and a couple of jobs later, and we stayed connected enough to usually find a gym convenient for both of us and workout a couple times a week together. Tom was never very serious about anything, but he almost always showed up at the gym when he said he would. We hung out a couple times after a workout, grabbing a bite or watching a game, but outside of the gym we really didn't share much in common. We both made decent progress over the years, sharing similar goals to look good naked with lean, athletic bodies, even if we never played an actual sport. But lately, I had started to feel like Tom was holding me back, keeping me from pushing my body to the next level. I looked at the bigger guys at the gym with a desire that Tom didn't seem to share. Sure, I didn't have to stay with the same weights that Tom used, and with dumbbells I sometimes went a bit heavier than Tom. But, even when Tom encouraged me to go heavier, it felt a little like betrayal of the routine and the comfortable relationship we had built. "Fuck, I forgot shorts," Tom exclaimed as we were unpacking our gym bags in the locker room. "I guess I gotta go fishing," he said with a grin. I chuckled along and lightly shook my head as Tom went back to the front desk. It started as a joke. Tom lost his watch at the gym just a week after joining. As I left after that workout, he went to the front desk to ask if it had been turned in. The attendant showed him a crate of belongings and dug out a couple watches. At our next workout, Tom grinned wide as he showed off his new watch. We hardly ever saw the same person twice at the front desk, and about once a month Tom would decide to "go fishing" and say he lost something. He could give a detailed description of the item he "lost" because he would try to remember some of the contents of the crate each time they brought it out. One time, he randomely got a lock that he didn't even know how to open. "I'll google how to crack it," he said then. As Tom went fishing for shorts, I started my warm up on the treadmill. He came over soon with a child-like grin, pointing at his black shorts that looked a little small and short but showed off his legs pretty nicely. "They have a whole other box for clothing," he whispered. "This one looked clean." The next week, Tom gave me a tank top that had "Do you even lift, bro?" on the front. At first, it felt odd that Tom bought me a gift, especially one that was a size or two too big for me, but then I realized he had gone fishing for it. He assured me that he had washed it at home and bugged me to try it on. He laughed at how low and baggy it fit on me. I don't think he realized how much I wished I had the huge muscles to fill that XL tank. I don't think I really realized it until then, either. The next day I did a workout on my own and I had a growing frustration that drove me to go heavier than usual. Without a spotter, that meant mostly using machines rather than free weights, but my muscles felt a good, deep burn that I hadn't gotten in a while. I looked again at one of the bigger guys with jealousy that almost felt like anger. My thoughts were distracting me while I showered and changed. I thought about confronting Tom, either sharing with him my true desire and hoping he'll support me, or telling him I'm moving on, or was there a third option? I saw another new person at the front desk and in my restless frustration I decided to go fishing. "Hi, I, excuse me, I lost a, um," I fumbled. I thought of what I wanted, really wanted to get, and blurted out, "jar of muscle growth formula." As I froze and felt my face turn red, the attendant laughed. "I saw that this morning and thought it was funny," she replied, then turned and bent down to a lower shelf and produced a generic screw-top white plastic jar that had a piece of masking tape on it that read "Muscle Growth Formula". I was stunned and tried to smoothly say, "Thanks" with a forced chuckle. Trying not to look as awkward and confused as I really was, I grabbed the jar, placed it in my bag and headed out the door.

Host: Hello everyone and welcome to another season of "Gainers". I am your host Freddi Fit and you may remember me from becoming the muscle alpha I am today on our very first season just three years ago. *Freddi Fit raises a double bicep flex, stretching his button down short sleeves to their limit. "After all, who can forgot that glorious moment when I was voted to steal everything from Hank The Tank who had been growing massive all season. It was a major upset and the audience was ready to see a new alpha show that brute a lesson. Since then I've been living the dreams as America's hunkiest bodybuilder. Well tonight this dream begins once again with 8 brand new contestants. After twelve weeks, one of them will be left with a hulking body while the others leave smaller than they came. And like always, every week you the audience will decide who gets what. Now let's not waste any time here and meet our contestants. Screen switches to contestant video number one. A nineteen year old college wrestler named Cam. "Hey everyone! The name is Cameron, or Cam for short. I've been wrestling for six years and I can't wait to show the other men who the real jock is gonna be. Maybe if you're lucky you might even see me put some of them in headlocks and drain the muscle from them." Screen switches to contestant video number two. A 39 year old college professor who has been working out for many years. "Hello everyone, it Max here. I've been a health science teach for about 10 years and have always wanted more in life. I'm hoping to win and become the next leading model for muscle god magazine. Either way, I'm hoping to teach the other men a thing or two about what it means to be blessed with muscle." Screen switches to contestant number 3. A 24 year old ex fire fighter who recently begun a modeling career. "If you thought fighting fires was hot, wait till you see me on nothing but my suspenders. Hey everyone my names chad. Make sure you vote for me this season so I can become the muscular flame that makes you sweat." Screen switches to contestant number 4. A 31 year old cop from NYC. "Hey. It's Stu. I've been lifting ever since becoming a cop, but to keep the streets safe, I'm going to need your help to grow my guns and have the fire power needed to intimidate the bad guys and fight crime." Screen switches to contestant number 5. A 27 year old businessman. "Hello everyone, being a businessman keeps me quite busy. So I'm going to need your help building these muscles as big as they can get so I can really fill out my suites nicely! By the way, the name is Dominique." Screen switches to contestant number 6. A 42 year old father. "Hello everyone. My name Ken. Before I had children I was in pretty good shape. However since then I've begun to get out of shape. I need your help to be bigger and better than I was when I was younger." Screen switches to contestant number 7. A 21 year old college graduated pursuing a career in acting. "Hey y'all. Zac here. I've been trying to make it big as an actor but you know they are looking for muscular guys these days. Help me become a jacked up actor." Screen switches to contestant number 8. A 25 year old man living in his parents house. "Hi everyone. I'm Tony, and I've been having a really hard time finding a job. Can you help me you help me out and give me the chance to pursue a career in fitness and get the hell out of my parents house. They'd really appreciate it as well!" Tony is clearly the smallest guy. Although he still has slight hints of muscle, there isn't much for the others to take. Host: "Well don't we just have a great batch this year. The group will be entering the growth cell now where they will spend the next 12 weeks changing. Go online now to vote for your top 4 favorite guys who will receive a special serum boost tomorrow night to start off the game. And don't forget to send in your nicknames for each dude. The most votes will decide what we call each contestant from here on. Anyways. Goodnight Gainer fans! Freddi Fit signing off!" *Freddie fit solutes the camera and transitions in to an archer pose as the credits roll.*

PREFACE This story is dedicated to Gunshotuk. The new grower Part 1 You shivered again, at the sight of him, and pleasure crawled delightfully inside your flat belly and your leather trousers, but you were focused enough to ask him: "How do you afford this?" The question wasn't unwarranted. It was dark outside, and you hadn't seen much of it, yet, but the manor was large, surrounded by a well-kept park, and expensively furnished. Two glasses of whisky-and-water stood on the glass-table, and your cigars lay in an ashtray. He caused a chirping sound, when his expensive leather-combats rubbed against the leather sofa, and he rose to a standing position, before he answered your question. "I have an accommodation where I work. This is my workplace. Quite nice, uh?" That playful smirk again. He was big, and he knew it, and he liked what he knew, but he also seemed to like your reaction to it all. His powerful leather-clad legs were wide apart in a confident stance. He had kept his laced boots on his feet indoors. His veiny and impossibly brawny forearms were crossed over his chest, and his head was cocked in an angle, that asserted his dominance and yet invited you to upcoming and unknown fun. "Work?" "I'm a bodyguard. Don't let us talk work now, innit? I liked what you did to me in the SUV. Why don't you go on with that? Or do you need some encouragement?" Mischief glittered in his icy blue eyes, and his cocky smile returned, revealing his perfect teeth. Your legs felt weak. If you needed encouragement? His entire presence was encouragement: His broad shoulders, protruding from his camo-patterned training-vest; His impossibly narrow waist; The hints of a six-pack through the fabric of the vest; His glossy black combat-trousers of leather; The dimple in his chin; His pug nose; His smooth shaved head with a mohawk; The scents of anti-perspirant, leather and cigars. When you kissed his tattooed shoulder, it felt like kissing a warm boulder covered by leather, and you could sense his aroused breathing envelop you with whiffs of whisky and cigar-smoke. Another wave of arousal billowed through your body, and you could feel his big, powerful hand cup your groin and squeeze you into rapture. Powerful and veiny arms lifted you, bodybuilder-sized bicepses carried you effortlessly, and, in that ecstatically aroused state, it didn't matter where he took you. Your head rested against his chest. His cheeks feeling like warm and soft sandpaper against your kissing lips. It was too good to be true: How you had found each other on a website for men who like fantasies about impossible muscle-growth, how you had met at a gay bar, south of the central part of City, how he had brought you to this luxurious manor outside town ... You shivered and moaned: "Oh, Stud!" Your hand was inside his vest now, its stretchy synthetic fabric against the back of your hand, your palm on Stud's impossibly firm and powerful pecs, trying to squeeze his pec, failing to squeeze his pec ... You both moaned -- he in a deeper voice than your's. His working-class pronunciation of words, and his hints at a past in The Marines, had almost driven you crazy back at the bar, and you were surprised, that he had found you worthy to worship his brawn. You both sat down somewhere else in a place dimly lit. You explored his biceps and triceps, kissing his steel-hard arms and exploring his wide back with your hands. You could sense the bulge in his leather-trousers as you sat on it. He put a band of fabric around your head, you heard a weird noise, but as you turned your head to ask him, he removed it without a word, kissing you with lush and confident masculine lips. A hint of the soft sandpaper again, as your lips touched. You understood, that, at these testosterone-levels, Stud was unable to keep a smooth shave a full 24 hours. His strong arms carried you again. Carried by the bad-boy. Carried by the ex-marine. Carried by the perfect man. Stud -- the monument of brawn. You didn't deserve to snog this ... this ... this masculine perfection, but he seemed enthusiastic about it. Oh, fuck, yes, Stud! Unreal! So good! Somewhere dark or dim. He returned you to the floor, but kept his embrace. His protective and comforting arms surrounded you, with the potential ability to crush you by its sheer strength and power. One of his big hands sank down to squeeze one of your buttcheeks through the leather, and press your leather-clad throbbing bulges towards each other, which caused you both to throb faster and with more power. It felt like your arousal rose forever into unknown levels of pleasure. Both of you emitted grunts and moans. Stud suddenly said a few comprehensible words in his rough and sexy drawl: "Ready for activation. Activate!" You felt confused. "What did you say?" "Sorry I haven't been entirely honest with you. You have been recruited." "Recruited?" "By our little team." "Team?" Felt so good. You weren't in an investigative mood right now. You just wanted to feel more of Stud. Recruited. Sounded like some of the stories and role-plays you and Stud had discussed online on that website. Pity that such things couldn't happen in real life. Stud, on the other hand, continued to speak: "My friend, Swag, is going to join us." Join us? You felt a sting of jealousy, but then you felt several things at the same time. An unknown, but pleasant, feeling stirred inside you. It swiftly filled your entire body -- torso, arms, legs -- and mixed with your arousal. You moaned again. Join us? If that Swag was a quarter of what Stud was, it would still be an awesome threesome: Average you with two musclemen. Perhaps not a bad idea, after all. And that new, unknown feeling again. Spreading. It almost felt like after a workout. Your muscles felt pumped. Felt good. And where was that 'Swag' fellow Stud was talking about? The feeling of pump and pleasure felt stronger now. You yelped. "You see, the formula I put in your beer back at the bar must have begun to work now. I took a third dose myself. You are going to become like me." Become like Stud? Impossible! Utterly few men would be able to reach the level of masculine perfection of Stud ... You felt how your short-sleeve shirt began to feel uncomfortably tight around your neck and around your chest. Someone moved in the shadows and the dim light. Wow. Felt so good. You felt more physically present. Heavy, strong, light at the same time. And warm. Uncomfortable shirt. "Is he a grower?" Stud directed his question out in the dark corners of the indistinct basement room. A voice even deeper, than Stud's replied: "He is a grower. He might even be a better grower than me." The shape, that must be Swag, emerged from the shadows. He was even taller than Stud, way beyond two metres tall, and broad shouldered as a bear. He was clean-shaven and his head was smoothly shaved, too. His eyes were playful like Stud's, but there was steel in them, and confidence, and courage, and a latent wrath resting in them, ready to flare into unstoppable destructive action, if needed. There was also protectiveness, and loyalty. Swag was a mound of impossible brawn and masculine power. Your eyes widened. Swag stood with his legs widely apart in a confident stance, put some sort of head-band around his head, and said: "Intensify" And it did. The nameless feeling inside you intensified, you felt yourself widen, harden and expand, and you could feel Stud's chest expand, pressed against your widening and hardening back. Stud's growing, hard leather-clad bulge rubbed against your hardening, growing leather-clad glutes, and you both moaned. Stud moaned: "YES! Allow me next step in my evolution!" Stud's big palms explored your growing pecs, and his soft lips explored the stubble on your cheeks. "Oh. Yes. Grow with me, recruit! I love to feel you grow with me, and see you grow with me, and the feeling of your hard, manly torso pressed to mine as we grow beyond ... beyond ..." He moaned louder now, and you could feel his leather-clad bulge grow even harder and bigger now, rubbing against your trousers. The scents of anti-perspirant, male sweat, warm leather, whisky, pre-cum and cigar-smoke were very intense now. Swag watched you, and let out a moan. His veiny and hairy forearms ended in big paws of hands, and he let one of them cup his own leather-clad bulge, and squeeze, as he felt the power affect him, and as he watched you and Stud erupt into monuments of engorged muscle-mass. You could feel the seems of your shirt and your trousers lose the struggle against your ... your ... OH FUCK, YES! Against your bulging brawn. Every trace of subcutaneous fat you may have had before had disappeared, and your bulging brawn had ripped your shirt apart. Your eyes widened at the sensation of your monster quads forcing themselves out of your tight leather-trousers. You could feel the sensation of room-tempered air to your naked skin, as you stood in the midpoint of the room, only dressed in your boots and your jockstrap. You mumbled to yourself: "This isn't happening. This isn't happening. It's too good to be real. It's SO GOOD. Fuck! What's HAPPENING TO ME?" Sweat trickled from your brow, from your back and your veiny pecs. Stud's hand and arms were around you: Supporting you, admiring you, caressing you, and his whisky-breath -- manly stubble to manly stubble -- whispering in your ear: "The Power-field need direction. Human brain-activity directs the power-field. The headband on Swag's head ... He's good at directing the power ... OH FUCK! Really good at it ... Can you feel it? He's a grower. Swag's big like that, because he could force the power to change him like that, though he was big already before all this, but not like now. WOW! Did you feel that?" Your low body-fat was now unable to hide the definition of your swiftly growing muscles. You let your right hand explore the impossible physique you had developed in a matter of ... You were uncertain about time now. It could have been minutes. Or hours. You looked like Stud, now. Like Stud had looked back at the bar. Now, Stud had grown further. Even more. More. Into something ... Impossible. Closer to Swag's level. And Swag was growing into ... Into something impossible. Impossibly magnetic. And attractive. And masculine. And huge. Like a sexy shaved Hulk. You moaned again. Stud moaned again. Swag bellowed. You were becoming what Swag wanted you and Stud to become. Become the masculine fantasies of a masculine mind. Become... So good. So big. So huge. Yeah, look at you. Look at all three of you! Perfect symmetry beyond elite bodybuilders. Size beyond Strongman competitors. Your mind... So confident. Felt so ... Wow. All that rage and lust inside ... transforming into a physical shape ... Into ... Fuck, yes! Built of boulders! Steel-hard! Growing into what Swag want you to be ... Swag approached you. He had got a second headband in his hand. He put it on your head. You could feel tiny electronic equipment inside it. You could sense Swag's imagination. Imagination about what he dreamed to become. What he dreamed you and Stud to become. Your boner spasmed. Yes, you longed to become THAT, but what if all three of you became ... became THIS? Swag bellowed again, as he sensed your fantasy about his and your future physique. Both his mind and your mind were nurtured by decades of action heroes, of game characters, of famous bodybuilders and wrestlers, of super heroes. Your imaginations blurred together into a shared fantasy about perfect muscles, perfect male handsomeness, perfect masculinity. You bellowed together, and you could hear Stud grunt in your ear: "FUCK! Can't believe it! Can't believe this feeling pumping inside me! The power-field! So much more intense now! The effect on me! And its effect on you two! Can't ..." He swallowed. "Can't believe ... So ... Uhnnnnnn! Boss promised me the next step in my evolution, but this is..." Stud panted. Stud swallowed. "This is more than next step. This is ... Oh fuck! This is ... WOW. We are all turning into ... YES, MORE! MORE!!!!!!!" Stud ripped his clothes apart, as his brawn erupted out of the tatters. You were drifting into an unknown state. Your imagination and your body began to blur. Your physical surroundings felt like it was brimming and buzzing of a voluptious empowering force. You and the towering, hulkish, bearish Swag were creating yourself and Stud into ... into ... UH! UHNNNN! Yes, Stud was right. It all felt so good. But who was Boss? Did he mean Swag? With sadistic glee, you pushed Swag into the next level of muscle-pleasure, and it caused Swag to drown your imagination with the next level of masculine perfection. Your fertile imagination added to it, fine-tuned it, boosted it, and sent your minds into the power-field, directing your growth further. Growth. Empowerment. Evolution. Super-human strength. Super-masculine mass. You ... YES! Felt so good. Swag growing into what you wanted him to be. You, growing into what Swag wanted you to be. Stud, growing into what you and Swag wanted him to be. All of you. Together. Becoming heavier, brawnier. "YES! Next level! BEYOND next level! Look at these fucking Hulk-muscles! Look at you, lads! We are ... Can't believe ... Boulders upon boulders of mass ... Mega-mass ... And the power streaming into me ... Can't take anymore! Can't take ... But don't stop, for fuck's sake! Don't stop! Need more! Crave more! The urge... THE URGE!!!" Stud's aroused and excited voice turned you and Swag on, and added to the force of your combined minds. You entered a state of prolonged orgasmic reveries of ultra-masculine perfection, and you didn't know for how long your unrestrained anabolic hypertrophy had went on, when you came to your senses, and found that your thoughts had become flesh, and that you were three impossibly powerful men standing in a dimly lit room. The door opened, and Boss entered.

Marketing In the past, he had once underwent a CT scan. The machine reminded him of that experience, when the movable bunk entered the cylinder. His lean and fragile body rested on the removable paper-blanket, and his naked body was exposed to the dry and cool laboratory air, except for the camo-patterned jockstrap one of the sponsor companies had donated en masse to the lab --- the logotype ostentatiously visible on the waistband. His ears had blushed, when he entered the lab from the locker room, only dressed in this underwear, a surgeon-green blanket and flip-flops, exposed to the gaze of Dr. Bulgakova, Mr. Gruffydd, the Brigadier and Mr. Wolfensteen. Dr. Bulgakova was a stern, but professional, head of research of the project, but, despite her professionalism, he felt embarrassed to be almost naked in the presence of a ten year older woman: Too young to be of his mother's age, young enough to be interested in more appealing men of his own age, and he felt inadequate. Mr. Gruffydd was a lab assistant of his own age: A shy and cute nerdish little boffin. Gruffydd was ok. It had been a boost to his self-confidence, when Gruffydd asked him for training advice, which was a first. The Brigadier was terrifying and impressive at the same time, and, in a sense, it was flattering, that the armed forces were interested in the experiment, but the knowledge, that the Brigadier encountered much more fit and much more strong men every day, caused an awkward feeling to flutter in his stomach. Mr. Wolfensteen caused a similar reaction inside him: The head of the marketing department of a company producing sport nutrition wasn't the average pen-pusher, but a suitable public face for a company helping (or pretending to help) gymrats all over the world to attain their goals, and Mr. Wolfensteen's shirt struggled to keep its wearer's shoulders and neck inside. It was a relief, when he let the flip-flops go, Gruffydd removed his blanket, and he could hide from their gazes inside the machine. The bunk moved, he entered the cylinder, he was surrounded by the machine. It was too late to change his mind now. He had been given the opportunity to opt out, but he had signed all these forms, and now he had to undergo the experiment and stay silent about it. It had sounded so good: "Want to get big? Apply to testing. Generous pay." Years after years at the gym, and still remaining like this. Get his studies payed for testing growth supplements sounded appealing. Too late to change his mind now. Surrounded by the machine. Lack of knowledge caused him to be worried. He knew enough to feel expectant, excited. His heart rate increased. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Big. His willy grew in his jockstrap. Not knowing enough. Fluttering in his stomach. What would actually happen? What would actually happen to him? What if there were dangerous side-effects? He was the prototype of ... He didn't finish his line of thought. The humming began and intensified quickly. Though he hadn't felt a thing, when The Formula had entered his bloodstream an hour ago, he now felt his blood vessels burning painfully, and he had to struggle, to not let out a scream. Burning. Painfully. And he heard a sick cracking noise, like bone grinded to bone, which it actually did. He let out a yelp. Something was wrong with his spine and his clavicles. Sick. Cracking. Noise. His arms. Legs. Sick. And for an unknown length of time he blacked out. Sick noise. But another one. Not cracking. Not cracking anymore. More like ... like someone stuffed raw beef inside a leather sofa. And no pain anymore. Actually felt rather good. Yeah, good. SO GOOD! His veins were still warm, but not burning anymore, like a painless, delicious stream of electricity flowed through his system. Painless. Delicious. Power stream. Through him. All of his veins. All of him. Power stream. His traps. Traps felt good. Bigger now. Power stream through his legs. Wow. Quads now. Power in his hamstrings. Power in his calves. Felt broader, wider ... Delicious power stream through his entire back. Humming sound. The sound became louder. Humming and buzzing sound. His body felt like it was buzzing, too. Fuck, yeah, so good. Becoming a real bruiser. Buzzing power stream through his biceps, triceps and forearms, making him more massive. Fuck, it worked. It really worked! It wasn't just scientific guesswork ... It. Made. Him. Bigger. YES! WORKED! BIGGER! BUZZING! POWER! "Intensify the settings, Dr. Bulgakova." "There are safety protocols to consider. We must evaluate this experiment, before we go further." "Our shareholders want to see results. What happens beyond next three-month-report is of no consequence in business. Results now. Intensify." "My scientific conscience dictate ..." "My company is able to withdraw financial support, and what would happen to your scientific project, then?" The machine continued what it was made to do. The voices outside either fell silent, or were drowned in the loud humming sound of the machine. Delicious. Humming. Sound. His body hummed, too. And buzzed. Empowered. His pecs felt meatier, stronger, more powerful. And they buzzed, too, above his granite-hard six-pack. His neck turned into a bull-neck. He moaned. The buzzing. The power. So good. Bigger and bigger. The machine hummed louder now, and his body hummed more intensely, too. FUCK! Yeah, grow this gym-lad. Grow this bruiser you are creating! Give me more! Cram more of it into me! Make me your thuggish brawn-titan! I want ... UHNNNNN! Felt better than anything he could ... UHNNNNNN! Yeah! More! THIS is what I need! THIS is what masculinity feels like! THIS is what it is like to BECOME masculinity! Wild and savage instincts awoke inside him, hidden and repressed deeply inside him, but he knew, that the machine hadn't created them, just released them and amplified them. Amplifying ... YES! AMPLIFYING HIS RAW STRENGTH! HIS MASS! The machine hummed even louder now. He couldn't control himself now, and writhed in growth-frenzy and pleasure. His cock was a steel-hard power-rod tenting inside his camo-jockstrap, and his entire muscle mass had achieved steel-hard qualities. His now bulging mega-mass was covered in veins, and every vein pulsed of humming, buzzing POWER. His steel-rod throbbed. His pecs, biceps and traps throbbed. His entire body throbbed, engorged by forced, voluptious hypertrophy. When the feeling increased even more, he couldn't stop himself from roaring in unrestrained, confident, asserting, ecstacy. Outside the machine, Mr. Wolfensteen lit a cigarette. Dr. Bulgakova watched in fear. The Brigadier had fallen silent in awe. Mr. Gruffydd had a wet blotch around his fly. Mr. Wolfensteen enjoyed the show. The test subject was now bigger, than any roid-head Mr. Wolfensteen had ever encountered in his career. The behemoth of a lad inside the machine, would be the perfect poster-boy for his company's new product line, if the Armed Forces would allow it, and they would. Money talks. This test result would soon become very good for marketing. Probably a good idea to book the photo shoots and video shoots already. They would become a marketing success, he was sure.

6 months in to the gym and I was doing pretty well, I went from being a complete twig - and I mean a twig to someone who at least could flex their arm and a ball of muscle would appear, but I was plateauing. I was eating 4000 calories a day which worked well at the start but now all that was doing was maintaining what I had already and I was struggling to eat any more. I was chuffed with looking like I had something but I always wanted so much more. I was out during the week, local gay bar with some pals, wearing a muscle t - OK I wasn't big big, but I wanted to show off what I had and I'm a decent enough looking guy, the night went on though and no one was really peaking interest, well, no one was peaking my interest who would give me the time of day. "Rum and coke please" I said to the barman. "Can I get that for you?". I turned around and there was this young twink. I didn't used to be in to twinks but since I had bulked up a bit, I enjoyed the size difference, made me feel bigger than I was. And not to mention. This guy was pretty cute. "Go on then" I said back, grateful at least that someone half decent was taking an interest. "That t-shirt looks great on you by the way!" - Score! I thought to myself, it's always a risk a muscle t, if you aren't muscled you can look stupid. "Thanks man, compliments and a drink, where have you been all night?" We actually got on pretty well, chatting away, I noticed he kept looking at my chest and arms, it felt good and eventually I said. "Want to come back to mine? For a night cap?" "Oh really?" He cried. "Yea man sounds great!" "Come on then!" We got back to mine shortly after and one drink later, we were making out on the couch. I could feel him rubbing his hands all over my body, squeezing my chest, feeling my biceps. Not feeling my abs because sadly when bulking, it's hard to maintain abs, but he seemed to be enjoying it. "Can I ask you something? I don't know if you'll be in to it..." he said, breaking away from me" "Yea, go one.." I said sceptically. I hope he's not in to like urine or something. "Would you take your top off and flex for me. You just have such an amazing body!" This caught me by surprise. I'd always wanted to be worshipped, but it was usually the really big guys that got worshipped, my mediocre biceps didn't usually draw THAT kind of attention. "Yea, sure" I said, smiling "Really!" he cried, looking excited. I took my top off and posed. It felt a bit embarrassing at first, I didn't think I was big enough to be doing this poses, but he loved it. Soon I got in to it, he ran his hands over my flexed biceps, I flexed my chest. He loved the chest and I loved that he loved it. Then I felt it, I was getting so turned on by this. I am a big guy, he knows it, I know it. I could feel a warmth running through my body, through my muscles. My flexed arm looked bigger than it had before. Maybe I wasn't giving myself enough credit before. Couldn't think about that now, it was time to show this little guy what these muscles could do. The next morning we woke up, he looked even more twink like today. "Woah!" he said when he woke. "I don't think you were this big last night, or I was drinking too much" "Haha, you really were getting in to the muscles weren't you!" I flexed for him again and he rubbed his hands over it, taking it all in and that warm feeling spread through me again. "Careful," I said. "You're getting me turned on again and I'm already running late for work." "You sure you can't call in late?" he asked, pleadingly. Man he looked so cute but I'm not that type of guy who just calls in sick. "Nah, sorry. I really do have to make a move but let's definitely meet again, for round 2!" "I'd like that," he said. He got ready surprisingly fast, brownie points that he didn't just hang around unnecessarily and then we were saying goodbye at the door. "How would you like one more flex before you go?" I said looking down at him, he definitely seemed smaller than last night. "Yea go on!" he laughed. Running his hands over my chest, shoulders, back. I felt a warm glow go through me for the third time and felt amazing. This guy was certainly giving me an ego boost. We kissed goodbye and I went in to the bathroom to start getting ready, that's when I actually caught my reflection in the mirror - I looked good. At first I was thanking the guy for giving me an ego boost and making me feel better about my size but as I looked closer, it wasn't just my ego. I was bigger. I flexed, for myself this time and my bicep looked a few inches larger, my shoulders were more defined and my chest was certainly rounder. I think I looked slightly taller too. What was going on? I wasn't complaining, I looked great, but people don't grow that fast! I thought back to last night, thinking about him, did he do something to me. Then I remembered that feeling when he was worshipping me, every time he did it, I felt bigger, more confident, what if I actually was bigger each time. Well, there's only one way to find out. Time for round 2! To be continued.....

(Note, like a lot of my stories, the people in this are based on real people, at least in the beginning. I adjusting names and certain details to make the story more interesting, but I need to give credit where it is due. Let me know what you all think) Stewart and Henry were a married couple. Fortunately for me, their relationship was open, and they enjoyed inviting other guys to play with them. I was only an Italian-American college grad 20 something, kinda lanky, curly-haired and gangly, but 6'2" tall. While I'd been fascinated by twinks in high school and athletes in college, something about the settled, strong, somewhat chubby bodies and easy demeanor of Stewart and Henry drew me. Stewart was Irish-Scottish-American, and worked in some sort of number crunching company. He had bright, twinkling hazel eyes and buzzed hair and a round baby face with a boyish grin and stubble on his lips and chin. He was only about 5'7" tall, but he had a 7 inch long, thin dick that loved attention. His body was also nicely hairy all over, but his fair skin was marred by eczema, and though he said it was about the best it had ever been, he really loved it when I massaged him with the lotion to sooth his discomfort. I admit I was initially surprised, but once he explained the condition and I saw how much he loved being touched I thought of him as a lovable teddy bear, and several times I drove over to their townhouse just to massage him while he watched TV. Stewart's hairy body was fun to touch and play with, and he was very sensual. After a lifetime of being unable to touch anyone for fear of being seen as too gay, I loved caressing him. Stewart was also the more openly horny and the one who was more talkative, and it was he who initially invited me over when we were chatting on Adam4Adam. He liked trashy tv shows and dramas, and he also liked me. Henry was Cambodian-American, and worked as a manager for a mental health company. He had taken his husband's last name, and I was a bit in awe of him. He stood a bit taller than his husband at 5'11" and his body, though soft and smooth, was somewhat stronger from helping the orderlies care for patients. His dark brown eyes seemed to look deep, and he didn't talk much, but he would chat with me on facebook when his busy schedule allowed, and he was always polite and gentle. His skin was a rich bronze, and mostly smooth, except around his loins. His hair was longer than his husband, but only enough to flop neatly on his head, though he sometimes buzzed the sides and back. His dick was thicker than Stewart's, and its shape was sexier, too. Where Stewart got off quickly, Henry liked to take his time with me, both of us cuddling and caressing each other, stroking and sucking and and holding each other as we came, and then cuddling and making out afterwards. Sometimes, while Stewart would get off early and go clean up, Henry and I would spend longer and longer periods in bed, making out and exploring each other's bodies. I admit, if I found Stewart cute and playful and fun to take care of, I yearned for time spent with Henry. He was usually busy, though, and so I became more a friend to Stewart than a friend with benefits to both of them. One evening, though, Henry was working on something while Stewart and I reclined on the couch with his lotion, and while burly Cambodian was usually silent when he had a project, tonight he seemed especially focused on his laptop and some odd device, which looked like a combination of a tablet and a stereo and a whisk. "What's going on," I asked in a whisper to Stewart, who shrugged, and murmured back, "Some sort of mental health psychosomatic reinforcement subliminal message projector thing... there've been a few rowdy patients at Henry's job lately, and he's been trying to invent something to help them make breakthroughs, lower addiction symptoms, etc... doesn't seem to be working too well, if his temper is any indication. Poor guy has been beating himself up over trying to make it work, but I think his coworkers have written it off as a lost cause already. But the good news is he's made some progress on other stuff. He found a new experimental skin cream for me... it's supposed to work wonders... want to try it out?" I smiled. Stewart is cute when he wants something, though his condition can't be comfortable. "Sure thing... but let me wash my hands first... maybe make your husband take a break and start you on it," I reply as I get up, go to the restroom, and, out of habit, close and lock the door. It's not that I'd mind if either of them barged in on me if I was doing things far more private than washing hands, but it's just one of my quirks. Through the door, I heard the following: "Henry, hon, could you at least get me started before Mikey gets back?" "Ugh... I'll need to wash my hands afterwards if I'm going to be working on this piece of junk, but yeah, I could use a break, babe. I swear it is picking up kinky porn channels or something instead of projecting anything. If I could just find the right medium, I'm sure it'd work. Even now it is just loading." "You'll get it right eventually, hon." "Thanks babe. Oof... this jar is sealed tight." "C'mon, big guy, you're really strong... you can open it." "Grrr... I'll show you strong, sexy... finally!" I heard Stewart's mild, teasing applause, then, a moment later, "Ooo... thanks... that feels good, hon." "Yeah, it is nice and smooth... kinda tingly, though, mayb-" Henry was interrupted by a sudden electronic hum, which continued for several minutes. I was a little unnerved by their sudden silence, turned the sink off, and called out, "Guys, you ok?" In unison, both Stewart and Henry nearly moaned, "We ok," their voices sounding strangely flat over the continuing mechanical buzz. I finished drying my hands, opened the door and stood there in shock. Stewart and Henry were frozen in place, the new skin cream smeared over Henry's hands and Stewart's belly. But the skin cream was glowing with a strange golden light, and both men's expressions were blank. It was like they were awaiting something. At the same time, the device Henry had been working on was vibrating, the whisk-part shaking as electric arcs danced between the metal frame. I went over to examine the screen and saw the following message: Medium for personality and physiology alteration found. Connection made... suggestion waves interfacing with subject(s) physiology. Subject 2 has dermal errors... Medium can make repairs with heightened stimulation. Authorize? Y/N? I thought for a moment. Should I do this? Would it really help Stewart's skin? What if it made things worse? How long would this effect last? I took a deep breath, and typed "Y" The device flashed, and the gel flowed over Stewart, coating him entirely. I rushed over to try and pull it off his face, but in a moment, it seemed to have sunk into his skin, save for a few globs in the jar and on Henry's hands. But Stewart started to moan and lean back out of his husband's touch, running his hands over his body and writhing in what looked like pleasure on the couch. "Yeah... oh baby, yeah, yeah, I've never felt this good... fuck yeah!" he cried out. He opened his eyes and locked them with mine. "Mikey, fuck me, please fuck me, I need to get fucked! Fffffuck!" he growled out and yanked off his shirt, exposing his shoulders. I thought for a brief moment that he had snapped out of his earlier trance, but his eyes, though heavy lidded and sex-driven, were still unfocused. I noticed, though, that his skin seemed slightly more clear than before. I made up my mind. "Ok Stewart, I'll fuck you... pants off," I command, pulling off my clothes as I spoke. Something about Stewart seemed stronger, more alluring. No more the cute, sympathetic pup, now, physically tearing his pants and briefs off his legs and revealing a surprising bulge, long and slim and hardening. His neck and arms and chest all seemed thicker, more fire plug powerful, but he also seemed an inch taller. "Fuck yeah, Mikey! Only it's Stu, fuck, not Stewart. Stewart's a dweeb's name, and I'm... fuck... I'm all man." He really was changing before my eyes. His neck was thicker, and his biceps were flexing as he growled and cursed. I was surprised to see a tribal tattoo forming on his arms and shoulders, and his hair seemed to be reshaping into a military high and tight. His facial stubble was thickening. As I positioned myself, I noticed that Henry was still frozen in place, his eyes locked on the empty air where Stewart... Stu... had been when they first froze. But his pants are noticeably bulging, as if he can sense what is going on and can't help but be aroused. I took a deep breath, and slid into... Stu's hole. He felt tight, and he was flexing, his bulky body showing hard muscle underneath a daddylike meat. His cock flopped onto his gut, which was starting to show roid-abs, and he moaned loud and long, his voice deeper as his chest and neck muscles started to swell. His sweat smelled muskier, deeper somehow. I was finding myself lost in his body, seeing how responsive he was to each thrust of my dick. Then I noticed that he was actually getting a bit taller with each thrust. Where Stewart's rash had been, Stu only had flushed skin from the lust he was experiencing. His eyes were rolling back in his head, and nothing but profanity spilled from his now bearded lips as a newborn daddy hunk who lay on the couch beneath me. Eventually, I heard the device beep, and it seemed to trigger Stu's responses. He roared out, "Oh fuck... oh goddamn fucking FUCCCCKKKKKK!" Cum splattered from his dick and across his bulky, hairy chest muscles, and he seemed to pass out in a sexually satisfied stupor. I pulled out, but he didn't seem to notice, just began to snore. I noticed that his cum was soaking into his skin just like the lotion had, though. I went over to the device to see what it had to say about the situation, and saw the following message displayed: Medium for Personality and Physical Alteration suitable. Subject 2 responded extremely well. Save (rename) - Subject 2: __________ I began to type "Stu" into the blank, but autocorrect finished for me and saved him as "Stud." Searching databases... "Stud" qualities applied. Details downloaded from 34,768 pornographic films (see list). Increasing sex drive. Lowering inhibitions. Seeking open relationships or opportunities to spread genetic material. Intelligence shifting from academic to physical and socially and sexually driven. Subject 2 saved as "Stud." "Oh geez... I hope that doesn't make things worse." I mumble to myself, before the device beeped again. I looked to the screen and saw a new message. Medium for personality and physical alteration insufficient. Please apply greater quantities of the medium to Subject 1's epidermis. Failure to do so promptly could result in brain damage from extended halted mental operations. I looked at Henry, and saw that drool was starting to spill from his lips. "Oh geez oh geez oh geez," I yelped as I grabbed some dishwashing gloves from the sink to avoid getting any of the stuff on me, and yanked open Henry's button down shirt to expose as much of his golden skin as possible. I took the jar from his hand and began slathering the lotion onto his body, watching as it glowed brilliantly under the stimulation of the device's signals. When I'd practically emptied the container, I dropped, it, pulled off the gloves so they landed on Henry's bare feet, and returned to the device, where I was relieved to see a new message waiting for me. Medium for personality and physical alteration found. Connection made... suggestion waves interfacing with subject(s) physiology. Subject 1 experienced mild brain damage. Repairs must be made to allow continued functioning. Authorize? Y/N? Without hesitation I pressed Y. I wanted Henry safe and whole. The device flashed again, and the gel coated all of Henry's body, remaining for longer than it had on Stewart before sinking into the bronzed Cambodian skin. Henry showed signs of life, animating and moaning low and loud. Unlike his husband, he didn't say any words... in fact, it seemed like he was acting far more primal and animalistic than Stewart had. He began to growl, deep in his throat and belly, and flex his muscles... which were beginning to pump and swell, making his remaining clothes look that much tighter. Veins seemed to swell in his neck and torso, as if pumping with the gel. His gut seemed to be pushing towards me, but "roid gut" abs were forming on its expanse as well. Henry's shoulders seemed to be getting broader, and his breathing was louder as the changes swept through his body (and presumably his mind). His neck was getting thicker, more bull-like, and I heard his spine crack as he began to get taller. Soon, he was approaching my height! Henry's clothes seemed smaller and smaller, but he took a step towards me, reaching out with hands that spasmed as a response to his arm muscles starting to grow. I felt those twitching, throbbing hands grab me... and push me aside! Instead of doing anything with me, like Stewart... or Stu, or Stud, I suppose... had, Henry went straight for his husband's passed out form on the couch. He bent his knees and flexed with a grunt, and began to flex more seriously. Shockingly, his muscles seemed to bulge and pump and swell even more! In a moment, his shirt had torn off his broad, veiny shoulders, revealing a body that had grown into the muscle, massive gut bulging under pillow-sized pecs capped with erect nipples. As his body continued to flex and expand, soon his pants too started to tear off... and perhaps in preparation for my visit, he hadn't been wearing underwear underneath. His cock, now a solid, massive monster, thick and vein-covered, flew up and smacked his belly as the tattered remnants of his old life fell to the floor. Even his socks ripped off his now bigger bare feet. The newly naked beast of a man wasted no time, leaning forward to bury his face and tongue between the cheeks of his husband's new hairy, unblemished muscle butt. I could hear loud slurping sounds as Henry... or the man who'd been Henry... began to rim Stu's stud ass with long strokes of his tongue. Stu began to moan and wake up. With a string of dialogue that I was starting to recognize from certain porn movies, Stu left no doubt about that. "Oh fuck, hon, you're so big! Look at those muscles... yeah, eat out that tight ass. Our little friend didn't fill me near enough. I need your big meat. Give it to me, hon... give me that. Huge. Fucking. Dick!" Henry complied. It was really hot to watch his body move, his head rising from his partner's hole, his hard dick, now almost as thick and long as my forearm, dripping precum as he lined it up, then placed his big hands on his husband's hairy shoulders and thrust inside the smaller man. The couch, a well-weighted thing that had withstood a lot, actually moved with the force, and Stu's language turned, if possible, even more profane. There was no effort to make sense, just variations on the theme of fucking in between gasps of breath with each thrust Henry made. Until Stu did something that changed things... he renamed Henry: "C'mon, Hank, stop holding back and pound me! FUCK!" Henry... or, I suppose, Hank, now... froze, despite Stu's extremely vocal complaints. "H-hank..." he moaned, his voice rough. "I-I'm H-Hank..." "Yeah, you are, HUNK, now fucking fucking FUCK ME!" yelled Stu. He probably shouldn't have said that. Henry's face seemed conflicted. "Hank... Hunk... Hank... Hunk... Hank... Hunk." As Stu continued to scream profanities, I moved forward, stood on tiptoe (for Henry had inched taller over the last minute or so), and murmured in his ear. "Some people call you Henry or Hank... or even Hunk." Henry's huge, muscular body stilled at my words. "I call you beautiful and powerful and genius and brilliant and sexy and the greatest man I know." Henry's body was shaking as his mind tried to accomodate all the changes it was undergoing at the words I spoke. "You're... Stu's... husband. A hard worker. Really gentle and strong and understanding at the same time. I wish I could call you mine." The world seemed to stop. Was I really going to do this? If I said the right thing, I could claim this mountain of a man for myself, maybe more deeply than anyone else ever would. But... if he didn't choose me, then his only interest in me would be flat and mechanical, right? It wouldn't be real. Henry deserved better than that. Hank deserved better than that. I deserved better than that. I thought for a minute to choose my words carefully, my mind made up, as I blocked out Stu's grumbles, I took a deep breath. "... but you're your own man." He seemed to shudder and sigh, and a smile moved across his lips as he nodded, seeming more at peace. Then, he abruptly returned to fucking his husband like it was the only thing that mattered. Henry... Hank... picked up Stu and started fucking him in mid-air, smooth lips against bearded ones. The harder and faster Hank thrust into his love, the more weight seemed to melt off him. Hank went from bulky to more powerfully built, with greater and greater definition. Cut muscles were revealed across his back and torso, and his ass showed incredible striation as his hips sped up. Sweat gleamed over his body as his huge biceps and powerful legs flexed, and, still sucking face, both men came. I could hear Stu cussing against his husband's kiss, though the words were muffled, and Hank's whole body just shuddered as they coated each other in their seed... which also seemed to melt into their flesh almost immediately. Both men then sank to the ground, wrapped in each other's embrace and drifted off to sleep again. I went over to the device, and found that it had overheated and died, its internal circuits fried sometime during the events of the evening, leaving it as a useless molten piece of junk. The lotion container that Stewart had needed was likewise entirely empty. I tried to clean up, but the guys wouldn't be moved from their spot on the carpet, so I settled in on the couch to be there for them when they woke up. Everything's different now. Stu and Hank (or Stud and Hunk, as they sometimes refer to themselves) have a voracious sexual appetite now, especially for each other. They're the only ones they can really cut loose with, since they are so much stronger and more durable than other men. That hasn't stopped them from pursuing careers as rising stars in the porn world. The public loves Stu's rough and tumble Daddy Bear style, and he's taken to the leather world as well. Meanwhile, at 7'3," Hank is one of the tallest, most powerfully built men out there, and he's seen as the strong, stoic type. Their old minds and memories are hazy at best, and Hank especially seems to be a completely new man. Their sex drives are through the roof, though, and they seem ready to try new things, so they've moved across the country to settle in to new lives where they won't have to encounter their old friends and family. I get a Christmas card each year from them, usually with palm trees and naked guys on it. And, of course, I have ordered every film they've starred in. Nobody knows what went wrong with the weird device and the gel. No one was ever able to replicate the same results with either product. The doctors gave each man a clean bill of health, but their psychiatrists said it might be years before they mentally and emotionally recover from the changes... if ever. They said that Henry and Stewart's nerves must've been hijacked by the malfunctioning device's signal through the medium of the gel, and through those nerves, the rest of their physiology was similarly affected. But doctors and shrinks became compromised after I found one worshipping both partners. It seemed that people just couldn't keep their hands off Hank and Stu... including Hank and Stu. When they left, they were both too into exploring their new muscles and minds that they spent an increasing amount of time having sex and exploring their changes. They didn't even say goodbye. As for me? I'm just living my life, just a normal guy who had a brush with greatness. I'm hoping someday, someone or someones will love me that much.

Forced to be bro Coach pushed the button again. Josh's fear didn't fade away. If anything, it increased. But it was now increasingly mixed with something else. A, now familiar, fourth warm wave of heaviness, and yet lightness, spread through his body in a pleasant way, and he became aware of his body in a new way. Heaviness. And yet lightness. He was soaked in the ugly-smelling cold-sweat he had exuded, when he struggled and resisted Coach. It had been to no avail. Coach was bigger than Josh, the sort of man Josh had aspired to become. Now, he found himself strapped to a chair in the locker room, an IV needle inserted in his arm and weird electrode-looking stuff fastened to all his major muscles, and temples even. Coach had probably gone insane, and Josh feared for his life. God knows what unsafe substance Coach allowed to enter Josh's body? And the electronic equipment? Weird ideas by a weird man. Coach pushed the button again. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Body. The terrified incoherent chatter in Josh's mind ran in all directions. He felt dizzy, nauseous. His compression shirt clung to his waist, chest and shoulders in a sticky way. His feet felt heavy inside his trainers, and he could sense the scent of his athletic socks, as they clung to his calves: The honest sweat after a workout, reeking in the locker room. Male sweat. The testimony, that he had done his best, and performed well. Coach pushed the button again. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Body. In a pleasant way. It had happened after the others had already left. Josh had been delayed – on purpose, as he now realised. He knew, that Coach wanted to increase his (and the other members') performance, and some sorts of supplements (not all of them entirely legal) had been part of the routine for some time, now. But this sort of drip-plus-electrodes was something unknown and entirely new, and Josh felt rigid by fear. Side-effects? Consequences? Forced to undergo whatever Coach wanted him to undergo. Coach pushed the button again. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Body. In a pleasant way. It actually felt rather good. One part of him began to relax. The excitement of another part of him had just begun to increase. He felt so present. Bodily present. In the chair. His arms resting in the armchair. His bum at the seat. Thinking of that, his glutes felt warm, too. Hot and sore, like after a leg workout. Legs. Thinking of that, his quads and hamstrings felt hot and sore, too. Like some pump going on. Which was actually a nice feeling. Coach pushed the button again. Warm. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Body. In a pleasant way. Relaxed and excited at the same time. Bodily present and resting. All his muscles felt hot, sore and firm. Like after a workout. His socks clung to his calves. Calves felt like concrete blocks now. He was unable to lift his legs. He felt so relaxed, so he couldn't move his back. Hot, sore and firm back. His compression shirt expanded, tight around his widening back, expanding chest and bulging shoulders. The expanse of his back, chest and shoulders defined and limited by the compression shirt – a definition and limit now changing. Moving. Expanding. Redefining former definitions and limits. Hot, sore and firm chest. Hot, sore and firm shoulders: All three parts of his shoulders. Rear, middle and front. Bulging. Bulbous. Hot and sore. Felt good. Coach pushed the button again. Warm. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Body. Spread. In a pleasant way. Yes, it literally felt good. Why bother? Why worried before? Felt pumped. Felt growing. Felt like a real bruiser taking his medicine. Wow. Bigger than coach now. Biggest. Not so sore any longer. Better. Felt better. Hot and firm body. No: Hot and hard body. So good. Shoulders and traps. Growing in all direction. So good. Huge. Ravine forming between his pecs. Oh, fuck, yes, deeper! Deeper! Continuing between abs. Pain. Good pain. Harder. Harder abs. Narrow waist. Heat in quads. Expanding. Heat in hamstrings. Expanding. Heat. Burning heat in calves. Socks expanding around his calves. Shorts felt uncomfortable. Mostly uncomfortable. One aspect of his shorts felt comfortable: His meat inside the jockstrap. Throbbing inside the jockstrap. Throbbing against his shorts. Big legs. Oh, fuck, his arms, too! HIS ARMS! Coach pushed the button again. Warm. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Awareness of. Body. Spread. In a pleasant way. He shuddered in the chair now. Shuddered by the power that flowed into him, shuddered by growth, shuddered by the FEELING of it. Fuck yeah! Look at this! Thug brawn! Real bro! Jock power! Not sore. Heat. Heavy and light. And power. This strength. So good. Condition! Changing limits. Expanding all over! Real ace, innit. Wait until I show up at home and show Olivia THIS. And the throbbing python. Impress her. This bro. With bro muscle. No, more: Muscle-god. Felt awesome. Becoming more. Becoming... Oh, fuck, so AWESOME! Like he was built of bowling balls, footballs. Medicine balls. Melons. GRANITE GLOBES! Fuck, look at this! Look at me! LOOK AT ME! Coach pushed the button again. Heat. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Awareness of. Power. Body. Spread. In a pleasant way. His body spasmed and convulsed in a sweet way now: Yeah, real sweet, innit. How would he be able to think about numbers, figures, stats now? They didn't matter. BIG was what mattered. BIG. BIGGER. HUGE. Steel-hard. More! Yes! More! The heat. The pleasure. The growth. Muscle-god heat. Muscle-god pleasure. Muscle-god growth. It didn't matter, that Coach had a hard-on in his tracksuit bottoms. Look at me, you insignificant shit! Look at this muscle mass! Tremble before me, you bloody wanker! Tremble before this MASS MONSTER! So good. His shorts ripping apart. Unable to resist his ENGORGED quads and POWER hamstrings, letting the throbbing jock out. I'm AWESOME! All body throbbing now. Throbbing of power. Throbbing of growth. Muscle-god power. Muscle-god growth. Wow. The compression shirt. Couldn't take it anymore. Not with THIS back and chest inside! Exploding out of my clothes! Unable to contain me! No limits! UNLIMITED GROWTH! Expanding. HARD! HARDER! INVINCIBLE! These traps! This bull-neck! Love it! The scent. My bro sweat. My jock sweat. My muscle-god sweat. Fuck, yeah, inhale my ultra-testo, fukking tosser. The URGE! More! Need more! Must have more muscle mass! The definition! Unbelievable! These veins! Pump beyond pump. Even better! Bulging all over. Muscle ecstacy! UNLIMITED STRENGTH! Ripping these weak straps apart. Don't stare, dweeb. I will remain in this chair. I will sit on this THRONE OF GAINZ and ABSORB all ultra-gear and all POWER juice you can cram into me. His instincts told him to flex. He flexed. It felt good. Coach looked scared now. It felt good, too. Obey me! NEED MORE!!! Coach pushed the button again. Heat. Wave. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Awareness of. Power. Body. Muscle. Power. Spread. Pleasure. The being, that had been Josh, was now unable to think coherently, even less speak coherently. As it rapidly indurated and spread in all directions it moaned and groaned. Grunted. Roared. Bellowed. It had the power inside it. It embodied power. It was power. It was strength. It was masculinity. It was brawn. It was mass. It grew, gained, bulged and expanded. Its roars and bellows intensified. The scent of sweat and pre-cum was very intense in the locker room, now. Coach pushed the button again. Heat. Wave. Growth. Gainz. Heaviness. And yet lightness. Awareness of. Power. Bulging. Body. Engorged. Muscle. Coach pushed the button again. Power. Spread. Pleasure. Coach pushed the button again. Coach pushed the button again. Power. Oh, fukk, look at me Coach! Pleasure. Power. Uhnnnnn. Pleasure. Uhnnnnnn. Power. Fuck, yes, MORE! Pleasure. Fukk, can't belive... Innit? So... Power. Pleasure. Power. Pleasure. Power. Pleasure. Power. Pleasure. Power! Pleasure! Power!!! Pleasure!!! Power!!!!! Pleasure!!!!! POWER!!!!!!! PLEASURE!!!!!!! POW... Oh, fukk!!!!! Uhh! PLEASURE!!!!!!!! PLEASURE!!!!!!!! PLEASURE!!!!!!!! PLEASU ... Coach pushed the button again.

It is very hard to keep any level of originality within the MG genre. This short one is fairly similar to Project Defender and The third report. On the other hand, those of you who like The accident, might find these two other stories fun reading. The accident "Larson, will you please close the vault door?" Larson, the lab assistant, ensured himself, that the test subjects were standing on safety distance from the massive door, and pressed the button. The machinery began to hum. More than twelve centimetres of rubber-coated steel with inserted lead-plates closed behind the test subjects, and the massive cylinders of the lock sealed the chamber hermetically from the outer world. The voice of Dr. Freudenberger turned to address the Brigadier: "The safety mechanisms are rigourous. When the door is locked, and the contrapment is set to active mode, the door will not open again, until the procedure has run the entire protocol. In the beginning, safety concerns for the test subjects weighed against this solution, but workplace safety for the research team, which dwell in the presence of the chamber much more often than the test subjects, weighed in favour of this solution. For every experiment with a living human specimen, the team run dozens of experiments on organic samples." There were three test subjects inside: Swanson, Korhonen and Rasmussen, and the medical team wanted to compare the individual reactions of the specimens to the procedure. It was the third treatment of these servicemen, and all three had reacted very well to the first treatment, at least from a purely tactical point of view. Larson was worried, from a non-tactical point of view. The armed forces of the three neighbouring countries wanted to enhance strength, speed and resilience of their special forces, but Larson thought, that the other team members and the officers responsible didn't take other aspects in consideration. From an academic angle, it was amazing to be a part of a team of international specialists from several backgrounds in medicine and physics, but it was also slightly unsettling and humiliating to be in the presence of all these fit and confident young men from the special operations units. Larson was short and lean, and though he lukewarmly spent some time at the gym each week, he never got any results. He knew, that he was a competent expert in his field of research, but the asserting behaviour of their test subjects caused him to feel shy, inadequate and uncomfortable, when they were around. Korhonen was rather nice: A big, stocky Finlander with a great sense of humour on the rare occasions he chose to talk, but Swanson and Rasmussen had given expression to a rather smug and roughhousing sense of humour, when they ate lunch with Larson in the cafeteria. It didn't seem like the improved performance had caused Swanson and Rasmusson to become less arrogant – rather the opposite. They were impressive. There was no doubt about that. They had already been impressive, before any of them had undergone any treatment, but the repeated and gradually more intense exposure to the procedure had turned the three soldiers into beings who could have stepped out of a bodybuilder's fever dream or a drill-sergeant's homoerotic reveries. They were now around two metres tall. According to readings from the chamber, the third treatment was now increasing their weights to between 160 kilogrammes (in the case of Swanson) and 200 kilogrammes (in the case of Korhonen). Their upper arms were well beyond 60 centimetres at the end of their second treatment, and the team was now able to watch their arms grow further at a visible speed. And these colossal chests! * * * A few days later, Larson was running a few routine experiments with organic samples, while the rest of the team was preoccupied in the lab next door. As the assignment was fairly standard and humdrum, he was becoming absent-minded, and was taken with surprise, when the door closed behind his back. It was Korhonen and Swanson, which was strange. "Oh hello. Didn't expect you here today. I thought you would find it boring to watch me work?" "There was a gap in our schedule." It was Swanson who spoke. Korhonen stood silent and looming inside the closed door. Larson's feeling of awkwardness returned in the presence of the impossibly powerful soldiers. Their camo trousers were green in several shades of green. Their impeccably polished army boots shone glossily. Army tank tops struggled to contain their V-shaped (or, in the case of Korhonen, bear-shaped) torsos, and he could see the visible outline of their six-packs through the fabric. The sides of their heads were clean-shaven. Swanson had left a jarhead buzzcut of golden stubble on the top of his head, while Korhonen sported a tow-haired short mohawk. Their repeated treatment inside the chamber had caused their jaws to become powerful. Larson possibly let his imagination run away with him, because he had read their test-results, but he could swear, that the testosterone-level in the room increased because of the presence of the two special operatives. Larson felt inferior. "Just allow me to expose this sample, okey? We can chat while the equipment run the protocol." Larson entered the chamber, and put the petri-dish on the allotted surface. What happened next, released thousand thoughts in an instance, and panic rose. The security door closed, and he could hear the cylinders move into place in the robust lock with a loud click. He was well aware of the safety mechanism, and he could hear the machinery warm up for the scheduled exposure of the organic sample on the small table. The presence of an un-scheduled unsuitable human specimen never meant for processing was neither acknowledged, nor of any concern. The equipment wouldn't switch off and cool down, until the procedure has run the entire protocol. Panic overwhelmed him, as he heard the hoses emit gas with increasing fervency: The nanite gas with the DNA-altering substances. He tried to hold his breath, but even without the rising feelings of terror, he couldn't have kept his breath for the entire time anyhow. The formula entered his lungs, entered his bloodstream. Larson screamed. He could see Korhonen and Swanson outside, standing with their camo-clad legs wide apart, and with their bulging arms crossed over their massive chests. Swanson tried to say something, but Larson couldn't hear any words through the thick and green-tinted security-glass fortified with a metal net. Korhonen tried to use body language. Pointing at Swanson. Pointing at the button, which closed the door. "Pressed". Pointed at Larson. A gesture with his arms, like someone was flying? No: Growing. And then pointing at Larson. Korhonen smiled and made a thumbs up. Swanson smiled, too. There was smugness in that smile. Larson couldn't take it in. Everything he knew was fear. The humming was thunderous now. Humming. Thunder. The next second, energy erupted and hit every cell in his body. The hypnotic program began to run, and letters ran rapidly on the glass. Subliminal letters. Reprogramming him. The hypnotic subliminals burrowed deep into his soul. Fear waned away. The unit took his program in, and accepted it. The enhancement happened. The unit embraced change eagerly. The unit was proud to be enhanced. Proud to be a specimen. It took a couple of deep breaths and inhaled more of the gas, that filled the chamber. The unit knew, that the gas would make it more enhanced, and increase its abilities. The unit's brothers in arms stood outside, and looked pleased. It felt good to cause it's brothers in arms to look pleased. The unit was bigger now. It adjusted its stance, but, even then, its legs were beginning to rub each other. It felt funny, but it was of no concern. The unit was eager to become an enhanced soldier. With his brothers in arms. They stood outside. They looked more than pleased now. They looked proud. And amazed. Its brothers in arms were in awe of the unit's progress. Triceps rested at wide, huge and firm lats, causing the unit's arms to hang wide at its sides. The unit could feel its back harden, widen, become indurated. The hypnotic subliminals continued to scroll swiftly in blue, phosphorescent letters on the glass. It felt good to take the programming in. Assess. Protect. Defend. Neutralise. Fight. The upper arms felt so hard now, bulging obscenely, and probably approached the same size as the brothers in arms outside. Or even overshadowing them. Bigger! Yes! Even bigger! Huge! Brawn! The chest felt engorged, and impossibly pumped. Present. Assertive. In control. Dominant. Superior. Scientists entered. Scientists panicked. One of them staring wildly, not knowing what to do. Not in control. Undecided. Unlike the unit. The unit felt in control. It accepted the procedure. It allowed the procedure to run the entire protocol. The door wouldn't open until then. The unit was ready to stay inside until entire protocol had run. Proud to be enhanced. Improving himself. A scientist pounded weakly with his bare fists against the security glass. Another one pressed buttons on a display. Didn't they know, that the glass was in place for security reasons? Didn't they know, that the door wouldn't open. Until the procedure has run the entire protocol. Its brothers in arms forced the unnecessarily upset civilians out of the room, and locked the door. One of them changed the contrapment's settings. The power buzzed more intensely now. The gas hissed louder now. Something else happened. The unit was dimly aware, that it had known what would happen in a dim and distant past, but it couldn't remember. So long ago. Another person. Another man. Another unit, then. It was now becoming what it was programmed for. It was becoming bigger than its brothers in arms. It felt good. Confidence and superiority grew. Physique grew. Strength grew. Granite-hard muscle-tissue grew. Steel-hard brawn grew. Power grew. So big now! Power was crammed into its body. Irrupting its muscle fibres. The body was a passive receptacle of raw, pure, undiluted, masculine POWER! One of its brothers in arms was wide-eyed now, and had to sit down on a chair outside the treatment chamber. The other one watched the empowerment inside the chamber happen, with a broad smile at his face. The unit was immersed in the process of empowerment. It now towered over its brothers in arms, and its muscle mass far overshadowed their prowess. It inhaled the testosterone of its own sweat, that filled the chamber. Its heartbeat drummed inside its ears, and was felt at its temples, but there was no end to the process, yet. Not until the procedure has run the entire protocol. Every cell of the unit's body was bombarded by relentless strength-inducing POWER, and it inhaled the very eruptions of that raw POWER. Becoming power. Becoming mass. Becoming a mountain of hefty indomitable meat. Titanic prowess. Bulging steel. An engorged, cocksure being of behemothic power-mass. The unit was no longer aware of it, but, outside, its brothers in arms were increasing the effect of the procedure even further. It wasn't aware of it any longer, as it moaned. It grunted. It roared and bellowed in power-crazed abandon. All it knew was the irrupting force, the increasing magnitude, the cumulation of growth, the swelling fibres, the hypertrophic gains, the exploding mass and the unlimited power, as it increased in a never-ending spiral upwards. Raw. Pure. Undiluted. Masculine ... POWER! The procedure wouldn't stop. Not until it had run the entire protocol.

I couldn't find a suitable name for this one. It is a fragment of a short story. Wanted it out of my system. Fragment of a short story Simon wouldn't be the tiniest man on campus anymore. Any remaining incredulity had left him minutes ago, when the effect no longer could be denied. "Wow. Oh, fuck. Yes, can't believe it. So good. My muscles. And Simon's. Growing together." The sound of Todd in the chair facing him, opened his own inner flood gates, and he didn't try to restrain the feelings and the excitement and the asserting confidence that welled up inside him. The idea of Coach and Doc watching him, as he sat almost naked in the reclining chair inside the treatment chamber, had felt disturbing earlier, and he had felt vulnerable, with his pale and skinny form squeezed into a jockstrap similar to Todd's, at the mercy of the inscrutable gaze of Coach and Doc. But now... Now he felt his physique become empowered. More and more... empowered! As Todd had impressed him, when they first met, he intuitively knew, that Coach and Doc were impressed by him now. By Simon. He had never felt that sensation before. Yes! Look at me! Look how I become more like Todd. And Todd become... Wow. Todd was becoming even more jockish... Wider. Taller. Brawnier. Todd – who had seemed so threatening at first. Todd – who had used his imposing stature and place in the team to protect Simon from Brett. Todd – who turned out to be a gentle giant. Todd – who sold Coach the idea to include Simon in the experiment. Todd – whose brain was connected to the equipment. Todd's excitement seemed to increase. It increased Simon's excitement, too. He could feel his biceps become warm, sore and blood-filled, and he could feel the same thing happen to his back. His chest. His quads. Hamstrings. Calves. Shoulders. Forearms. Todd grunted. "Fuck, yes, coach! I imagine my muscles to grow, and they do it. I imagine Simon to join me, and he does. I imagine the physique of a perfect athlete, and this happens. This!" Unlike Todd, Simon had always had a faint outline of a six-pack. There are some advantages to being scrawny. But his six-pack had never been this powerful and defined before. Simon was entirely subjected to the treatment, and the alien presence of the formula was running in his bloodstream, without no way to remove it now. The last traces of fear faded. A new, different and better Simon was emerging. Under construction. Building. Yes! The build up! The build up of a new man! A better man. A stronger man. An asserting jock of a man. The perfect man. Masculine perfection! He couldn't recognise his own thoughts any longer, but it didn't matter. Couch would have the prototype of a new sort of player. Unless he decided to take up power-lifting instead. Or bodybuilding. Or Strongman competitions. Yes! Look at Todd! Big, burly powerhouse becoming a bigger, burlier powerhouse. Todd's thoughts, wishes and imagination driving the equipment into the desired goal. Todd's desires. No mirrors. Simon couldn't watch himself, but he felt bigger. Much bigger. The hardness. Firmness. Granite meat exploding all over him. Feeling present. Resting heavily on the surface of the chair. Yes! Bigger! Enormous! Huge! Triceps rubbing his lats. Wide, steel-hard lats. Good. Painfully growing calves. Shoulders like bowling balls. Todd was grunting and moaning in a voice that sounded aroused: "Yes, even better! More! Both of us! Stonking, unbelievable, fucking mega-mass Hulk-brawn!" Simon could hear Coach outside: "Doc, you have to switch it off. They will be of no use for me, if they grow bigger than this." "I can't switch it off. It is programmed to react to the imagination of Test Subject A." The lesser men outside began to quarrel, but Simon didn't listen. The feeling of growth was too overwhelming, and he trusted the mind of his friend in the facing chair: The young man with the growing bull-neck and impossible traps. The young man with the blond buzzcut, low brow and a dimple in his powerful chin. The impossibly muscled young man writhing in the opposite chair with a raging hard-on in his jockstrap. Todd. The new, now roaring Todd, roaring in muscle crazed lust and bumptious abandon. "Both of us! More! BEHEMOTHS OF POWER! Huge! INVINCIBLE MUSCLE!" Programmed to react to the imagination of Test Subject A. Todd's desires. In an instant, Simon remembered the comics in Todd's bookshelf: Old comic books. Conan the Barbarian. The incredible Hulk. He-Man. Todd's imagination, fed by old comic books, now fed the input of the equipment, and the equipment unhesitatingly and indiscriminately obeyed its input. Two scrawny men shouted outside, but it didn't matter. Simon was becoming what Todd wanted him to be. Engorging. He was growing together with the best man he could imagine. Growing. Into perfection. INTO. MUSCULAR. ... PERFECTION!

(deleted by the author)

Yes, I know: Another one too similar to the ones I have written in the past, but I wanted to let it out of my system. I hope someone will enjoy it anyhow. The third report "Initiating the third report. It is now... Ehhhh... 1308 hours on the appointed date, and the test subject has entered the chamber. If I may speak frankly, Sir, I would lie, if I told you, that I am not disappointed by your absence, but I hope, that this voice report will reach you, as soon as you will be back from your emergency mission. Our research project is proceeding slightly ahead of schedule, which is a good sign. As I mentioned in the first report and the second report, it seems like I have been able to bring the levels of pain down to the negligible, and I have also found a way to alleviate the residual pain, which will silence those who doubted that The Procedure would be within the perimeters of the ethical guidelines. Present in Lab 2 is me – that is Dr. Dubois – Guard number 4, Test Subject X1 and Test Subject X2. Test Subject X3 is already inside the chamber, awaiting the presumed effect of The Procedure. The same is presently working on a level of 23%, and we are thereby beyond the former upper limit of 20%." The sound of heartbeats and the beeping sound of a pulse meter. A hissing sound. "I am increasing the saturation of interior atmosphere, and activate the binaural-isochronic subliminals. The blood pressure of Test Subject X3 is decreasing, probably as a side effect of the analgetic stimulus. The prophylactically administered myostatin inhibitors are expected to have reached full impact by now, and it is now three days since Test Subject X3 was initially injected with the DNA-altering virus. The time schedule for injection of testosterone-enhancers was slightly re-arranged into a pattern deemed more optimal: The first one before sleep yesterday evening, the second one at reveille, and the third one at 1300 hours, now ten minutes ago. An increased production of perspiration is noticed." The sound of heartbeats and the beeping sound of a pulse meter. The hissing sound continued. "The Test Subject decide to use one of the reclining chairs, according to previous agreement: If the analgesics would make him dizzy, he would not hesitate to recline. We don't want the Test Subject to pass out and fall over, since the possibility to evacuate the chamber during peak Procedure is scant. Wait! It seems like something is happening now." The heartbeats and the pulse meter faster now. A muffled sound, almost impossible to hear. "The pulse of the Test Subject is increasing, and a visible re-structuring of his bone-structure is occurring. Since X1 was so typically mesomorph before Procedure, and since X2 belonged to an endomorph body type, we haven't been able to observe skeletal re-arrangement to the same extent before. As you will see in the statistic files, Sir, Test Subject X3 belong to an ectomorph body type, and if it is possible to expose men of his shape to The Procedure, its usefulness will increase manifold, of course. You will be amazed when you study the film sequence of this particular experiment. It is truly amazing! What was he when the experiment began? 170 centimetres? Well, 168 centimetres – about 5 feet 6 inches. And while X2 was overweight when Test 2 began, Test Subject X3 followed a normal weight curve, bordering to the underweight. 55 kilogrammes. Oh! Look at that! I didn't thought that that was even possible!" The muffled sound louder now, but still muffled, like by a very thick glass pane of lead glass. "The perspiration of the Test Subject is still increasing. Let us hope, that he will not dehydrate in there. Look at that! I didn't believe that was possible! Sir! The Test Subject is now rapidly increasing in stature, width and weight – actually beyond our former expectations. He clenches his fists. He stretch his arms and legs, as they actually extend more and more. The Procedure is presently working at a level of 30%. We have never before exposed a human being to this level. His weight has increased to 75 kilogrammes, no he is still increasing in weight: 78 kilogrammes – and all of it muscle mass. No trace of subcutaneous fat whatsoever. Look at that! We are creating a superhuman, but that was the idea of the Meta-Marine project, to begin with, wasn't it? Wait! He is growing even taller and broader! I can't believe it? What does the readings say? 179 centimetres and growing. Over 85 kilogrammes now. He is rising from the chair now. Stands up. He reach out his arms before him and flex his biceps. And pecs. His quads and hamstring force him to change his stance into something more comfortable. I can't believe the sight of that abdomen. A wall of muscle. And every muscle in perfect harmony and symmetry: A man built of boulders. Boulders of steel. That bull neck! Can't believe it is the same man anymore. 185 centimetres and 90 kilogrammes. He seem to roar something. I can't hear what. Signs of sexual arousal, but that's hardly surprising, taking his extreme testosterone levels in consideration... And all readings show, that it is perfectly safe. Perfectly safe! No signs of adverse effects. When the time comes for Experiment number 4 we will be able to take it to further levels, but probably better to abort Experiment 3 at this stage, in order to evaluate the effect, how tempting it would be to continue now. 190 centimetres and 110 kilogrammes! He has gained 55 kilogrammes in a matter of minutes. Those shoulders! And his trapezius! Unreal! Have to switch the chamber off..." Sounds of movement. Sounds of grunts and struggle. A metal vessel falling on a stone floor. A glass object breaking. "What are you doing X2? Let me go!" Boots on floors. More grunts. The sound of the power supply intensifying. The muffled moans and roars from inside the chamber louder now. "What are you doing X1? Leave the controls alone! Don't change the settings! The danger... What are you doing? Where are you taking me and Guard number 4? Maximum dose? You are insane! No! Not inside the chamber! NOT INSIDE THE..." The sound of a deep male voice moaning in pleasure. The hissing sound of a safety sluice. The sound of power supply louder now. Crackling power emissions. Five male voices moaning and grunting. The sound of panic in Dr. Dubois' voice. "NO! I'm inside! I can't get out! Why are you doing this? I and Guard number 4 are unprepared... The danger! You don't understand! What are you doing? You can't be..." Dr. Dubois' voice silenced and turning into moans. A wet, strange sound. Yelps of fear. Fear and pleasure. Heavy breathing. The heavy breathing of three men. Power bolts. The yelps of fear of two men. Breathing heavier now. Wet strange sound. Roars of release. "NO! What's happening to me? The Guard too? You are turning us into Meta-Marines like yourselves? But I'm not... Oh!" Hissing gas. Power bolts. Deepening voices: "Yes! THIS is what we were made for! The FULL effect!" And Dr. Dubois returning. Fear in his voice. Fear receding. Leaving space for something else. Confidence. Mindless revelry. "The Formula? Transmittable? From man to man? Inside me now? Can't believe! NO! I'm not supposed to... Oh! The programming! Can't resist... Fuck! No, oh... Sir! I'm inside the Chamber. X1 and X2 forced me and the Guard inside. I must leave you this report before it is too late... I'm affected by... OH FUCK! The scent of man. The Chamber... So full of it... Growing together... Becoming... this... together... Together with my brothers in arms. FUCK! Look at us! LOOK. AT. US. We are redefining what it mean to be a man. BUILT BY STEEL BOULDERS. So incredibly strong now. All of us. Look at you! And you! All of us. Together. Fighters. The Procedure... 100%. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT! The programming... Why resist it? Why. Resist. Something. So. Overwhelmingly. Uh! Uh, yes! Make me one of us! I'M A META-MARINE NOW! AND I WANT MORE! Yes! All of it! To protect and defend!" Power bolts crackling. A weird and sickly sound of growing meat. Hissing gas. Men moaning. Roaring. "Look at us! None of us under 2 metres! None of us under 200 kilogrammes! All this brawn! Beyond human limits! Masculine perfection! Those pecs! These traps! O, fuck, Bro, what's happening? Too good! Increasing more. Can't believe this muscular power. Yeah! Let me feel those biceps. OH FUCK! Yes, taste my shoulders, Bro. TASTE MY SHOULDERS! Yeah, your lats a incredible, Bro. Pure, indiluted, incredible masculine brawn. Must spread the Procedure. Spread the Procedure to all men. Spread the Gift. All become brothers. Brothers in arms. Sharing the Meta-Marine power." The sound of breaking glass. Metal bending. "Look at the size of us, Bro! Beyond human! Metal can't withstand our strength!" Alarms sounding. Gas hissing. Power bolts. The sound of movement. "Yeah! Look at that! Gas spreading in all vents. The radiation leaking into the entire base. Look at our Bros! They're growing too! All of us. Growing. MORE! Yes! The experiment is a success! MORE! GROW ALL OF US! NEED MORE BRAWN!" A signal. The voice message had abruptly ended. A beep. Welcome [Commander]. You have [seven] new voice messages.

Warmth spread over my entire body as my heart raced faster, adrenaline starting to race as I could feel the drug kick in. Everything I could see of my form completely stripped down to my briefs was becoming flush red with blood as I felt a pump like better than any I had ever received working out. I raised my arm that had been tempered by well over a decade of constant and near fanatic levels of dedication and thousands of reps. I saw it slowly twitch with veins slowly worming their way up to the top forcibly making their presence known, the hard orb of meat hardening even further as it slowly pulsed and swelled with a noticeably gradual but persistent growth. I brought up my other arm to test the density of my arm but got distracted by the sight of it before I laid a hand on my already flexing arm; instead I broke into a front double bicep poser displaying both of their increasing might into the mirror in front of me. I felt my lats tense and push out as I brought my arm into the pose, I could see my winds widen just a little bit further with every heart beat threatening me with lifelong difficulty managing doors, clothing, or even being able to place my arms to my side. My traps and chest, even with the disadvantage the pose brought to showing off their full glory, were no to be left lagging behind. I could feel my traps slowly crawl up my thickening neck attempting to swallow my head if left unabated while my shoulders have widened to the point of feeling like I've donned football pads that were inflating like balloons around me. My chest even with this pose was very noticeably growing denser to the point my nipples were traveling southward heralding that soon they would never see the light of day again. The warmth had slowly increased to a sweltering point as my body began to sweat copiously filling the room with the dominating scent of me. As if beckoned by an outside force I could feel my dick lengthen and harden with blood stretching to my side making a noteworthy protrusion in my breaths as it started to fight and claw its way upwards. My gaze met with my legs as my dick sprung free by itself hitting me hard in my abs leaving a trail of sticky white trailing over my stomach and down my shaft. I brought both arms down to start to slowly and purposefully stroke myself as I worshiped my quads with the other. I traced the lines running in my legs separating the each of the heads with my hand lingering, massaging the staggeringly impressive sweep they've gain. I flexed my ass and calves as I began to increase the speed of my strokes and tightened my grip as I was no longer in control as my body took over in a single minded quest to bring me to my knees in a mind shattering orgasm. While I methodically and robotically continued molesting my cock I bent my legs to flex my hamstrings and ass to their new unknown heights, I slowly committed every millimeter to memory as I bent further down to trace out the shape and outline of my calves. As I finished exploring my swollen and muscle bloated physique down to the last inch I shivered as I felt my balls almost violently pull up hard. I came all over the front of my behemoth standing form each rope of milk meeting or surpassing eye level for a good minute. Every burst I felt my prodigious nuts jump up and then fall down hard enough to lower my skin tight and severely tortured underwear. Eventually the fireworks slowed and then stopped all together with my chest hair matted to my skin by my outburst. I breathed out in complete and utter satisfaction before I was startled by the man who gave me the drug in the first place. "The growth is temporary." He said though I was still not able to fully understand what he meant in my afterglow addled mind. "...what?" I demanded. "Well it is a trial of the real product; we can't let you just go off and grow for free now can we?" Was the response I got from his "I've worked too long in fucking retail" smile. "What the fuck are you tal-" I couldn't finish my sentence. I felt like someone had kicked me directly into my sensitive and now gargantuan balls but at the same time as if they never took the foot away. I grunted in pain and moaned in pleasure at the same time as I bent over to cup my package still tightly imprisoned by my near threadbare briefs. My hands were pushed away as the warmth that I only just now noticed had never dissipated elevated to a searing heat all over my body. Sweat poured off my head and skin like rainfall as my hands were completely forced off of my taut and overfilled sac, my briefs torn off of my body and now on the ground next to my feet. I could no longer touch my nuts as they pulsed and swelled markedly larger every second dwarfing the size they were a second before. Any attempts to touch my dick were immediately rewarded with a feeling of pleasure bordering on pain in its severity as it bloated with more and more blood. At this point it had grown half again its size, turned many many shades darker, and was so dense with arousal and blood that there were more parts with snake like veins covering it than without. If I had worn a cockring and overdosed on Viagra I still would not be able to come close to the same state I am in now. Then, just as painfully as it started, all hell broke loose. My dick was expelling seed at such a terrifying amount a constant, uninterrupted stream of white came out of me as if I had put a pressure washer in between my legs. The surge of cum was so powerful that it knocked away any attempt for me to bring my hands to my dick as I vainly attempted to stop the flood. I could feel my body deflate as ounce after ounce, liter after liter, and gallon after gallon of fluid found freedom out me and onto the walls, ceiling, floor of the room and the mirror in front of me. I turned, the unending stream with me, as I tried to get to the door to find something, anything that could make this stop but I was blocked by the man standing in front of the door still wearing his trained smile but watching me predicament play itself out with amusement in his eyes. I turned back around staring at my dwindling form as I approached the now meager feeling but still very powerful physique I had before taking the drug. I feel to my knees as the last of my strength escaped my body along with the last of the muscle that had at least, temporarily, been mine. I rolled over onto my thick back that had fully reverted to its natural state with the memory permanently etched into my very soul of my briefly enhanced body, the memory now forever tainting anything less than what it had been for only a matter of minutes. My dick had finally stopped but was still hard after this life changing experience; I came again but from my own lust and desire for what I was. Breath still escaped the reach of my lungs as I was left completely and soul crushingly exhausted as I saw the gym clerk's head appear into my field of vision. "So, I take it you enjoyed your trial of our product if you would like I can set you up with a full purchase using your account, is that alright with you Mr.-" "YES, fucking god yes! Do it now." I barked at him with my throat so parched from the flood I created in the room I could barely manage to form the words. "Very good sir, is there anything you need while I begin the paperwork?" He inquired. "...could I get another trial sample just to make really sure?" I asked sheepishly. He laughed a bit before catching himself as he nodded at my still gasping body. He began to turn to leave the room to complete our transaction and get my sample before I asked him in a sheepish tone. "Actually...could you bring two samples? I want to really make sure. Oh and some water...please?" He stopped in mid stride and allowed himself to loudly laugh before responding. "Heh, sure thing. You're lucky I like you, but just make sure to use the cleaning equipment outside the door if you use both at once." He left the room and gently closed the door as my head continued to swim in a combination of the overpowering odors of my sweat and cum permeating the entirety of the room as well as my still shuddering body feeling aftershock after aftershock of an orgasm that I've never felt the likes of before but would soon top.

THE STORY SO FAR - Stephan is a police officer with a very well-endowed boyfriend, Tom. But Stephan's sex addiction to sex leads to him losing his job - and breaking up with from Tom. While staying with his parents in a quiet corner of London, Stephan observes something exciting: an alpha muscle Beast (Nico) humiliating a fluffy, gentle, weak young beta called Olly. Nico starts helping Olly grow - and it happens at an impossible rate: muscle, height, cock, hair, character. Soon he's eclipsed Nico himself. Stephan becomes fixated on Olly, but he's also concerned - why is Uranus Gyms (run by Nico's Dad, Mr Chesterton) experimenting on Olly like this? He steals Olly's protein drink, made by the mysterious Doctor O, and tests it on Tom: it not only makes Tom's muscle and cock swell, but allows the two of them to share minds. What is the plan for the new, alpha Olly? Nico's Dad invites Olly over and they worship one another - and fuck. But there is one final twist in the drama to come... Chapter 12 is here 13 Stephan Tuesday October 9th As soon as he came in the door, I knew something was wrong. He was wearing new clothes. They looked smart, businesslike, adult. And however much his expression may have been hang-dog, you couldn’t mistake him for a young man any more. He looked like someone's husband who's just been caught out fucking the au pair. He slunk into my parents' hallway and practically filled it. The new clothes creaked and strained around his physique: I would swear he was at the biggest I've ever seen him, and all in proportion — he was towering over me, and nobody's done that in about fifteen years. His blonde mane and beard swept down to the curls of golden hair escaping from the top of his shirt. His blue eyes were beseeching. 'Something's happened,' he said. 'I need your help.' 'Well, yes, of course, anything,' I said, trying to catch my breath. I didn't know whether I'd been expecting this or fantasising about it, but somehow I recognised the scenario. Dimly I remembered going to see my friend Andy when I was at University: I just realised something about myself, who I was, what I wanted, who I wanted... What had Olly realised – and who had helped him? 'Come into the kitchen,’ I told him. ‘Mum and Dad are out. If they come back in, you're — oh god, let's just tell them you're a friend of mine and I've known you for years. You don't look like what you are any more.' 'I'm really sorry. I looked up your address on the library computer. I didn't know who else to talk to about this.' I began to boil the kettle. 'Is it something to do with Nico...?' 'No. Yes, I suppose it is. Oh, it's such a mess!' 'Just relax. I'll take care of you.' 'I knew you would,' Olly said, tried to smile. 'You've always looked out for me, haven't you? Always given me good advice.' I let out a sigh. 'Yes, I suppose so. You ignored me, mostly.' Olly sat down on a chair that looked child-size under his monstrous frame. It seemed the whole room could barely contain him now. 'You work for the police, don't you?' I did a double take. 'Uh, not any more. I thought I said...' 'Well, you used to, anyway.' 'Yes,' I said, my heart beating even faster. 'I had to leave. I was addicted to –' 'It doesn't matter about that,' said Olly. 'There's a man. He's called Mark Lord Chesterton. The father of my friend, Nico. His address is...' He gave me the address. 'He's a beast. He needs to be captured – you know, arrested.' I filled a mug of tea, poured in milk, handed it over. 'Drink this,' I said. 'It's a herbal remedy. It'll relax you. And you really need to relax the fuck down, Olly.' 'I went to his house. He's Nico's Dad. Well, his adoptive father.' 'When was this?' 'Just earlier this afternoon.' 'How come you went to his house?' 'He was going to give me some of Nico's clothes. Well...' He smiled. 'Not Nico's. I'm bigger than Nico's ever been now. Bigger than he'll ever get. Check it out, bro.' He flexed his arms wide. There was a ripping noise. He looked down at the torn shirt sleeves in surprise. 'Holy fuck. I must have grown since I left his house even...!' 'If what you say is true, that's impossible.' My mouth was dry. 'I'm bursting out of Nico’s Dad’s suit, Stephan.' He grinned a stupid grin. 'This thing is out of control now. I don't think it's going to –' There was a loud creak, a clatter, and there he was on the floor, the wooden chair in pieces underneath him. He sprawled on the floor, huge bulge twitching in his trousers. I helped him to his knees. 'Drink your tea,' I said. 'Tell me.' 'He got me to take my clothes off. He took advantage of me.' 'This is a huge accusation, Olly,' I said. 'Be calm and tell me the truth. Did you encourage him at all?' 'Stephan...' 'Did you enjoy it, Olly?' 'I know you wish I was gay like you,' Olly said, pulling off the restrictive suit jacket. The shirt hung in colourful shreds around his super-human physique. 'I like girls.' He looked down at my evident hard-on in my corduroy trousers. 'Believe me.' 'Of course I believe you, Olly,' I said. 'I'll call the guys down at the station. We'll get Mr Chesterton arrested and charged.' 'And locked away?' Olly looked at me with such a young expression on such an extreme physique. I put my hand on my heart. 'I'll do whatever it takes, Olly. I love you, bro. And not in a gay way, if you can understand that. Even if I am, you must know, extremely gay.' 'Thanks Stephan.' He downed his tea at a gulp. 'I understand.' I got my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts. Yes, there were still a couple of gay officers back t the force who trusted me – maybe even owed me a favour. It had been a while since I had really felt like a police officer, restoring justice, sending a dangerous man (a real beast?) to the cells. But for Olly, my dear Olly, I would do it. I would make it clear that bastard wouldn’t be getting out of jail any time soon. I stepped out into the hallway to make the call. When I came back, he was stripped to the waist, trying to take a shot of himself with his phone that could take in as much as possible of his new impossible bulk. 'I don't understand any of this,' he said, looking at me. 'It's crazy,' I said. 'Crazy hot, though?' he said. I felt my hard-on through my trousers again. 'Oh yeah. But I understand the score. Strictly wank bank material for the likes of me, yeah?' He grinned at me. 'Well, if I can ever thank you for what you've done today...' I froze. ‘Really?’ ‘Not just today. Ever since I met you.’ He looked fluffy again. ‘Bro, come on.’ 'Actually…' I said, 'I was just about to suggest we go upstairs and – find you something you can wear. Like, even a dressing gown or something.' ‘Upstairs?’ said the young behemoth. 'Up to your room?' 'That was my idea,' I replied, slowly. Olly brushed blonde hair out of his eyes. 'I can't think of anything I'd like more, right now.' The stairs creaked beneath him as he followed me. I thought of the skinny lad with the smooth chin and friendship bracelet that I had met in the height of summer. He blossomed. He had grown. He had changed. When he put a hand on my shoulder, I bit my lip with pleasure. Just how much had he changed? Like any good police officer, I would investigate. When we were in my room, I locked the door carefully, just in case. Someone might arrive home unexpectedly. I finished my tea, put my laptop on silent, and took off my tie. 'I never expected anything like this would ever happen,' I said, running my hands over his broad shoulders, down his oak-tree triceps and biceps to his thick forearms and huge paws. 'You were such a sweet, straight boy when we first met.' 'Remind me.' I laughed. 'You didn't have any of this fur, for starters.' 'Oh yeah. I was so proud of my little tufts of hair in my pits.' He grabbed my wrists and ran my hands through the golden rug on his belly, his chest, his jaw. 'Now I'm all pelty.' 'You smell like a man now. You have a dark, animal smell.' 'I'm big, I'm hairy and I stink. Any improvements?' 'I don't think you could carry a stack of heavy books across a room. Now you could lift me up and throw me in the air if you wanted to.' 'Without breaking a sweat.' 'Really? Then I'll have to push you harder.' He gave me a knowing look. 'What else, bro?' 'Your attitude. Remember how Nico pushed you around that day?' 'Now I'm the boss.' 'Anything you say,' I said, gasping in his musk. 'I don't know what I'm saying,' he said. He ran his tongue across his dry lips. 'I guess that's something else that's changed, in this last couple of months.' I rolled my thumbs back and forth across his huge, mulberry-coloured nipples. They lengthened, thickened with excitement in my hands. I looked up at his handsome face. 'What's that?' 'Not knowing,' he said, closing his eyes in pleasure. He looked like a heavenly angel’s big, bad brother. 'Not knowing who I want…' 'Not Estelle,' I said. 'Not Nico's Dad. Not even Nico...?' I tweaked both nipples at once, and he moaned low in response at the back of his throat. Like a beast. 'I want,' he said, 'someone who knows what they want.' I undid my belt. He snapped his apart. I dropped my trousers. He tugged his own off his huge sinewed legs, ripping them to bits rather than stepping out of them. I got my dick out and began to slowly wank it. 'Someone who wants to worship you,' I said, burying my face in his chest hair. 'Be your disciple.' He put his hand around my hand around my dick. 'You're so cute and little,' he said, squeezing my fist tight around my hard cock and sliding it almost painfully up and down the shaft. 'I haven't switched size,' I said breathlessly. 'It's all you.' 'Same difference,' he said. 'It's a matter of perspective,' I said. 'And it ain't what you got, it's what you do with it.' 'Except,' he said, taking my other hand and putting it on his enormous, underwear-straining member, 'when you're built like Captain America, squared, what you got is what you do. You're completely in my power, aren't you?' 'Oh yes,' I said. 'But then, you need me. If I don't worship you, you're not powerful.' 'And how will you worship me?' I pulled my hand from his grip and slipped it inside his pants, and up under his mega-balls, and up further, till I reached inside his sweaty crack. I reached deep. His powerful glutes clamped down on my hand, but I kept reaching. 'Let me show you.' 'I don't get fucked,' he said. 'That's not part of the deal.' 'I'm going to touch a pleasure centre in you that you don't even know about,' I said. 'I'm going to broaden your mind to places you didn't realise existed. And you're going to cum for me. You're going to cum harder than you ever did before. You're going to fly.' He bit his lip. 'Sounds alright.' 'Get that underwear off,' I said. He smirked, stepped away from me, and, balling up his hands into fists, flexed every muscle he could. Knots and cords stood out thick and thin in his legs and arse; abdominals stood proud like a xylophone; lats flared, his pecs bulged giant and red beneath his chest hair, his biceps were mountain peaks, his shoulders reached up to his beard. His dick seemed to flare and flex inside his underwear, stretching the material thin and then tearing it open as if it were only wet tissue. His balls seemed to swell with spunk and fur, and the underpants twanged apart altogether, and he was nude. A Greek statue, but bigger, and flushed with colour and radiating heat, and looking down at me with satisfaction. ‘At last,’ he said, his deep as a man’s, ‘I’m finally starting to get big.’ 'Only the man who is truly masculine knows how to be fucked. Lie down on the bed, Olly. You’ve come a long way, but I’ll teach you the ultimate lesson.' 'Will it hurt?' he said, clambering up onto my duvet. The scent from his horse cock was bittersweet and powerful enough to make me salivate. 'It'll gym-hurt,' I told him. 'And it'll gym-pleasure.' I climbed up onto his chest. He lay beneath me, acres of furry muscle like rolling hills below an aeroplane. Slowly, steadily, I wanked my dick. I ran my dick over his lips. He smiled. I slid it in his bearded face, tilting his head toward my achingly hard man-prong. He licked and nibbled it like a pro. Aha, I thought. The first real giveaway. 'That's so good,' I said. 'You're so good. I'm going to worship you. I'm going to make a god of you, and a church with a great big steeple, and an ecstatic dream of the universe. You'll be my everything.' 'Oh, yeah,' he said, drooling. 'I'm your master.' 'You're so fucking, fucking hot, Olly,' I gasped. 'Or should I say — Mr Chesterton.' The look of surprise on his face was sublime. Sudden vulnerability. Real vulnerability. I'd undone him in a moment. 'What?' he said, and as he opened his mouth, his innocence spoke to me, and my hard dick was lying across his face gleaming with his spit, and I was totally overwhelmed. I moaned, long and low, and gushed torrent after torrent of white hot creamy spunk over his young-old, handsome, hairy face. The spunk ran in rivers through his beard, tracks across his shocked expression. And then he smiled. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Okay. What's the point of pretending? I am Chesterton. King of Uranus Gyms. Owner of Muscle Worshippers dot com. Older than you, although in his prime. Nobody will believe you in a million years.' After cumming, as usual, my mind was completely clear. 'You've taken over Olly's body.' 'Jealous?' 'A bit,' I said. 'How's it done?' 'Oh, this is amazing. Discovery. Interrogation. I really want – need – to fuck you now.' The words coming from Olly's innocent lips were so strange. There was nothing innocent about him now. 'Simple mind transfer drug. It works like a dream.' 'Almost literally?' I said. 'The human mind, like the human body, can be taken further than most people have ever imagined,' he said, scooping up my hot jizz from under his chin and oiling it into his absurdly muscular pectorals. 'I gave it a pretty good shot myself. You should see the real me, Stephan. My original body is Muscle Daddy Heaven.' 'But you wanted Olly's body,' I said. 'Not specifically Olly,' he replied, reaching between my thighs for his giant semi-tumescent cock. 'But yes, something younger was required. A body ready to be taken even further. Further in size.' He gave his grossly long, thick knob an almost convulsive shake so that the head smacked my arse heavily. 'Further in power.' And another shake. 'Further in pleasure.' And another. I could feel myself becoming aroused once more. Here was Olly as I'd always wanted him. Huge. Flat on his back. Gay. Wicked as sin. I had to keep my composure. 'You corrupted him,' I said. He batted at my arsehole with Olly's dick, testing my resistance. ‘Oh, it wasn’t hard to do. A slow seduction. Every young man wants to be bigger, stronger, better hung. You can get a lad drunk on that. I had already corrupted Nico — you've met him, my son – in the same way.' 'Another musclehead.' 'Grown in a laboratory. Bred to be the perfect receptacle for my soul,' he said. 'A clone of me, in fact. He'll probably turn out pretty amazing.' He licked a huge forefinger and slid it up my arse. I tried not to show how much I wanted it. 'But Nico got into muscle too soon. I needed someone whose mind had already developed, before they got hooked on bodybuilding; just like Olly's had. Then I could get his super-brain drunk on the pleasures of packing on the muscle.' His fingers were up inside me now. Opening me up for him. Taking me. 'The whole of Uranus Gym was put together,' I groaned, 'just to make him into a vessel for you.' 'To create a young, hung, alpha male muscle beast,' he said, 'with a taste for cock.' 'And then make him want you.' 'Everybody wants me,' he said, sliding his monster bazonger up inside my arse. Inside me. Filling me totally till we felt welded together. A beast with two backs. He held me steady, as though I were a sex-doll he was positioning on his outsized prick. 'Not to make you even more jealous, Stephan, but before I got inside Olly’s head, I got inside his arse, just like I’m inside yours now. It was necessary.' I gasped with pleasure and pain. He smiled a cruel smile with Olly’s mouth. 'You are good, Stephan. Not many people could take a member this size.' 'I had a lot of practice with my ex,' I said, wiping tears from my eyes. 'And one or two police constables. And a pub landlord. A university librarian. A poet. God knows how many construction workers, city gents, skinheads, dancers, footballers, popstars, ex-popstars, and a grocer with a marrow that made my eyes water.' 'I think we're going to have a lot of fun together.' 'And what about Olly? In your old body?' 'You've just sent him to prison, more or less,' he said, thrusting with excitement at the thought. 'Safe out of my way. And he'll get plenty of action in there too, if he plays his cards right.' 'Oh,' I said, wanking my dick again. It was harder than ever in my life, and I was surging with excitement as if electricity were flowing from his groin through me into my mind. 'This is too good.' 'I know,' he said. 'Because,' I said, 'I've done nothing of the sort.' He was still smiling. High on sex. 'Eh?' 'I haven't called my old mates in the police force about Olly. But I did put them onto your right-hand man — oh, what was his name? Dr O?' He fucked me harder, anxious thrusts. I gasped. 'You're making that up.' 'No,' I said. 'I knew as soon as you came in the door. My boyfriend and I already tried out your weird mind drugs. I pieced everything together. And Dr O fancied me, so he gave me his card. Miscalculation.' He was bucking now, hard and deep. His face was calm but his body was bucking as if he wanted to throw me up in the air, or fuck me into a pulp. It felt astounding. His abdominals were dancing like kids at a rave. 'I still have power. I have power over you.' 'No,' I said. 'I gave us both some mind control drug in our tea. Oh, it feels so good, Chesterton. Do you realise you're still growing – ah! - bigger with every – ah! - thrust. Bigger – ah! and bigger. And I – ah! – oh, I feel stronger than ever. I feel fit and strong and sexy as fuck. Strong enough not to be taken in, not to be betrayed by my own desire. Strong enough to get inside you.' 'No!' he gasped. 'Inside your mind,' I said. 'No!' His huge balls smacked against my arse. 'To bring Olly back,' I said. His huge hands grabbed me round the throat. I couldn’t draw breath. Blood pounded in my cheeks. I saw stars. Constellations. Faces. I looked into the eyes of those faces, as he drilled me like the beast he was, so strong and huge he made the bed snap its legs, one by one, and crash to the floor. He was golden-furry now from jaw to belly to the backs of his hands. But so sweet and fluffy all the time. His hands weren’t throttling me how, but clinging to me, cleaving to me, rocked back and forth with me, almost like a lover. Almost like he wanted me to feel good. A final spark of anger surged in his eyes, as Chesterton regained control: 'No!' 'And the best part,' I said, 'is it's all been broadcast on Muscle Worshippers dot com.' He looked up at the webcam in a panic. 'Fuck! No!' 'Yes!' I gasped, cumming again. ‘Yes, oh, yes, oh, yes!’ 'Yes!' said Olly, triumphantly, and lay back on my pillow gasping for breath. I leaned forward and kissed him, and it was him, Olly, and he was inside me, gasping with pleasure. 'Oh my God, Steve!' he said. 'I'm fucking you! I’m – I’mmmm – mmmmmmmngh…' He looked down at us both. His dick was pumping jism into my arse, I was overloaded with it, it was running down my thighs. His soft, sweet, puppyish look was back in his wide eyes. A deeper realisation was dawning, like he was waking from a dream. 'Oh, Steve – thank you!' I ran a hand affectionately over his sweaty chest. 'It was a pleasure,' I sighed. Like all good sex, it had been a pleasure and it had been a pain. And now it was over. To be concluded...

THE STORY SO FAR - Stephan is a police officer with a very well-endowed boyfriend, Tom. But Stephan's sex addiction to sex leads to him losing his job - and breaking up with from Tom. While staying with his parents in a quiet corner of London, Stephan observes something exciting: an alpha muscle Beast (Nico) humiliating a fluffy, gentle, weak young beta called Olly. Nico starts helping Olly grow - and it happens at an impossible rate: muscle, height, cock, hair, character. Soon he's eclipsed Nico himself. Olly seems increasingly alpha. Nico is a star of muscle worship websites and private clubs. Where will it end? Stephan suspects that the men at Nico's gym - Uranus Gyms - are experimenting on Olly; he steals a flask of their protein supplement and tries it out on Tom: it not only makes Tom's muscle and cock swell, but allows the two of them to share minds. What is the plan for the new, alpha Olly? Will Nico's Dad - owner of Uranus gyms - be able to help him? Chapter 11 is here. 12 Nico Tuesday October 9th I came home from working out at the gym with Olly and I was, like, I need to get naked — now. It used to be so easy before Olly came along. I used to finish a workout, hard as fuck in every sense of the word, and then just hang out in the communal showers with the other muscle lads. Just soaking my aching muscles, soaping them up, waiting to see who was interested. And believe me, most of the lads were interested. It was first come first served when I had my cock out. I could take my pick. I used to wank myself off for their delectation. We would stand around in a half-circle in the showers, water blasting down on our hard, sweaty bodies, and jacking off, our gaze shifting from prick to prick. Little smiles. But I was the centre of attention, because my knob easily dwarfed even the biggest of theirs. And I was serious about showing it off to its best, making them all want a taste. They would wait till I came before they could spend their load. Then I realised how many of the guys in the gym were into this sort of thing, and we moved out of the showers. We went into the changing rooms. We could take our time there, and I would put on a different sort of show — a fuck show, with whichever of the gym lads was flavour of my month. But it was always a show, always a performance. I could always tell myself I didn't really like guys. I only liked guys who liked me. Fuck me, if I didn't have the best time before Olly came along. Then suddenly I had to keep it in my trousers. Playing straight. I only had eyes for Estelle — a new kind of performance. Any action involving other blokes had to be behind closed doors. Of course, Dad had helped me set up the Muscle Worshippers site years before that. It was when I was leaving college and I told him I wanted more incentive to bulk up. I was bigger than any of the lads in my class, bigger than some of the guys in the gym, but I really needed to compare with some of the guys out in the wider world. So it's a long time that I've been working out and showing off on that website. I always feel at home there. And when I got out of the gym today, I knew I had to go straight on there. It was Olly's fault actually. He had said to me, 'Bro, your chest's exploded since you last came. It's nearly as big across as mine.' He's taller than me these days, so even with our shirts off and our tits pressed hard against one another, I couldn't be sure if he was just being kind. Jesus, but he's come on a long way since the summer. The only guy who's ever outclassed me in the chest department is Dad. When I first met Olly, he was flatter than pavement, and totally hairless. So I get in, lock the door, turn on my laptop, log onto the site, see who's on there. Immediately people start coming into the chatroom when they see it's me, but I'm looking out for my favourite of the bunch — TomOfFinsburyPark. There he is. 'Hey Nico,' he messages me. 'I'm browsing secretly at work. So bored. Just want to see you do your thing.' 'Wanna Private?' I ask him. 'Can't participate,' he says. 'On my iPad in board meeting.' 'Even so,' I tell him, 'I want this to be just between us two.' 'Okay,' he says. 'And I'll repay you tonight.' So I go into a 1-2-1 with Tom and get into position for my cam. I'm wearing my trackie bottoms, gym singlet and hoodie. I'm flushed, I'm sweaty, I'm buzzing. I down some of Doctor O's protein shake that he specially mixes for me. I love the thought of Tom sitting there in his suit and tie, going note by note through his meeting, and his entire will is fixed on me and my body. 'You're so beautiful,' he tells me. I begin a slow dance, and then I peel off the hoody and stretch my arms wide. I run my hands down my sweat-sodden singlet, paying special attention to my new, huge chest. My dick's hard in my trackies, and I'm running my hands down further, outlining the hard-on in the soft grey cotton, when I hear the doorbell go. 'BRB,' I tell Tom. 'Sure. So hard here. Your pecs are looking outstanding,' he says. I pause the cam, go to my bedroom door and open it just a crack. Downstairs I can hear my Dad's heavy tread as he goes into the hall and answers the bell. 'Ah,' he purrs, with what sounds like pleasure and surprise. 'It's you.' 'Well,' says another voice, deep but much younger than Dad's, 'you invited me and — I thought about it and — it seemed like a good idea.' 'Oliver, isn't it?' says Dad. 'Olly.' My heart starts racing. Does Dad know I'm in? I don't think so. But what if Olly asks to see me? Can I get this hard-on down in time? The way I'm boned now, it feels like it'll never go away. 'That's right,' says Olly, shyly. 'Is your son here, sir?' 'No, sorry,' says Dad, 'Just us two. Can I get you a drink?' 'I shouldn't really. Nico and I just had a session. At the gym, I mean. Training.' Why does he sound so nervous? 'I've got some of the Doctor's protein shake,' Dad says. 'Wouldn't hurt you to have a double dose, would it?' And he laughs softly. 'Come on, I could do with conversation. Been working on my research and it's very lonely and very dull today.' The door closes, and the pair of them go into the kitchen. I go out onto the landing so that I can still follow their conversation. Why didn't Olly tell me he wanted to come round? Why isn't he at the library? 'Don't you normally work on weekdays?' my Dad asks, as if reading my mind. 'I took the day off,' my friend replies. 'My boss does whatever I ask of him these, and I just thought, I shouldn't put off coming round. And he'll be happy if I'm not wearing gym-wear around the workplace any more.' 'We'll go up to Nico's room in a while. There's loads of things he's outgrown now, practically bust them open in his last round of bulking,' Dad says. 'He told me himself you were welcome. You've been such a friend to him, I'd be glad to see you wearing them.' 'Thanks,' Olly says. 'No, I really mean that. I kind of think of you as one of the family.' I hear Dad filling two glasses with protein shake. 'Thanks,' says Olly again, this time for the drink. 'Tastes nasty but it works like magic,' Dad says. 'Do you take it?' asks Olly. 'Oh,' says Dad, 'I don't work out any more.' 'But you look — I mean, you have such big –' Dad laughs. 'Why, thank you! You're not so bad yourself. Especially for someone who was a stripling a few months back.' 'It's just hard work,' says Olly. 'And help from your son.' 'And dedication,' Dad says. 'The drive to be — would it be too strong to say, a beast?' Olly laughs. 'King of the jungle! Yeah, that's what I want.' 'I see it in your eyes.' 'I kind of think I see it in yours too.' My laptop 'PLINK-PLONKS' softly. I go and look at it. 'Everything okay?' asks Tom. 'Meeting's over. I'm going to the toilet. Need to wank my big dick before it rips a hole in my suit trousers.' I tell him to go ahead. I want to join him. But I can't leave the landing. I need to hear what's going to happen. Any minute they could come up the stairs and surprise me. When I creep back, they're discussing astrophysics, politics, eugenics, crazy stuff that I don't even understand. I've never heard Dad talk so comfortably with another guy before, and it's weird to think his talking to someone young enough to be his son. 'That's really interesting,' Olly's saying. 'Has anyone researched that area before?' 'Not at all,' says Dad. 'The field is yours.' 'That would be amazing,' says my friend. 'To just devote yourself to developing your body and your mind. To not have to care about anything else.' 'What about your girlfriend?' Dad says. 'What about Nico's girlfriend, for that matter?' 'They don't understand,' Olly says. 'I think only another man could understand. I mean, look at us.' 'Yes,' I hear my Dad say, 'look at us,' and then there's a long pause, and it goes on and on. 'So — shall we go upstairs?' says Olly. 'Good idea,' says Dad. I hear his footstep on the stair. 'Except...' 'Yes?' says Olly. I head back into my bedroom and leave the door ajar. I'm pulling my clothes back on. 'PLINK-PLONK', says the laptop, and I head over. 'Show's over?' says Tom. ' :-( ' I hesitate to turn the site off. I want to please him so much. I need a wank so badly. In that moment of hesitation, I hear Dad pause outside my door. 'Come into my room instead.' I hear Olly take a long breath to steady himself. 'You're sure?' 'Looking at you now,' Dad says slowly, 'I think, you're too big for Nico's clothes. If you're going to wear anybody's cast-offs, the only things that will fit would be mine.' 'I like the idea of that, sir,' says Olly, still sounding so nervous. 'Don't tell my son.' 'No,' says Olly. 'I won't.' I hear Dad unlock the door of the room opposite mine, and him and Olly go inside. They don't close the door, but even so, I breathe a sigh of relief. I sit down on my bedroom chair opposite the webcam, in that position I know the light is falling on my body and making it glisten. I begin to feel my dick through my pants. 'Oh yes!' says Tom. ' :-) ' 'Take your shirt off,' Dad says. 'I want to see if you've grown as big as my son says.' 'Like this?' I could picture Olly taking his shirt off well enough. I see it every day at the gym. Every day I hold my breath, waiting to see what he's packing after his latest growth spurt. He's not like he was that first day, a gawky little guy whose head — and all that fluffy blonde hair — was almost outsized on his body, when he wore that shirt of his big brother's that practically drowned him, and he was looking at me — oh yes, I knew it — with utter envy at my muscle. He was ashamed then of how small he was next to me. He couldn't feel that today — this morning, for example, he looked almost twice my size again. He looms over me. I look up at pecs that are like great mountain ranges of furry flesh, his big nipples sticking out a dark salmon pink, begging to be tasted. He's like an inverted triangle, and his arms are tremendous great pieces of machinery, strong enough to snap a guy in two. But still he's shy. He'll be shyer still with Dad. He glances away, unpeels his t-shirt slowly, carefully off his massive frame. Then, once it's off, he glances down at it, still somewhat amazed each time at this Hollywood action hero body that belongs to the skinny little middle-class librarian. His pecs twitch unconsciously. He can't resist a little smile at that. And then he blushes. 'You shouldn't blush,' Dad says. 'Don't be embarrassed. You ought to be proud of what you are.' 'I am, sir,' I hear Olly say, but he sounds uncertain. 'I sometimes find it hard to believe this body belongs to me. But I love it.' 'You should.' My Dad sounds impressed. 'Your size. Your definition. You're the leader of the pack. You're the biggest, strongest guy in town.' I slip my dick out of my underwear and begin to jack off. 'Come on, then,' I hear Ollie say. My hand freezes on my cock. Is he really going to say it? 'You too.' 'Sure?' my Dad says. 'I want to compare, sir,' says my best friend. As the silence deepens, I wank myself slower, picturing Ollie's face. 'Wow,' I hear him say. The word just escapes like a sigh. 'Come on, really?' 'You're flawless, sir. I've never seen anything like it, not in real life.' 'Not bad for an old guy...' 'Mid-forties is not old,' Ollie says. 'And really, I've never seen anything so...' 'You said you wanted to compare,' says Dad. 'Come over here.' I'm holding my breath. Listening. My dick is hot and hard in my hand. I tweak a nipple, almost without thinking. Oh god, I murmur to myself. 'Show me how you make a bicep,' Dad says. Then, 'Goodness. Okay, hold it there. Let's see.' 'Oh, yeah,' says Ollie. 'Bigger?' Dad says. 'Come on, I'm obviously smaller,' says Ollie. 'Very slightly,' Dad says. 'Show me your tricep.' 'Like this?' 'You're good at that,' Dad says. 'Now, mine...' 'Bigger than me,' says Ollie. 'Not by much,' says Dad. 'Come on, bring your chest alongside mine.' 'Like this?' 'They don't need to touch.' 'Sorry.' 'That's okay.' 'It's hard to tell because you're so fucking hairy, son.' 'I know, sir!' Ollie laughs, still shy. 'It's something else that just grew and grew when I took Doctor O's magic potion. But it's all about testosterone, right? I've read about it.' 'Oh yes,' Dad says. 'It's about a boy becoming a man. That can happen at twenty-one or forty-one. But once it happens, you know about it.' He sighs. 'Okay, I can't tell whose pectorals are bigger but yours is definitely one of the broadest chests I've seen. And your nipples are very, very hard, aren't they?' 'Just from when we nearly touched,' Ollie says. 'I mean, don't take any of this the wrong way, I'm not gay, sir.' 'Oh, I didn't mean anything like that,' Dad says. 'Now, come on, take off your trousers so I can check out your thighs and glutes.' 'Yeah, cool — if you will, sir.' I could hear them unbuttoning their jeans. Undoing zips. I heard the fabric hit the floor. I almost wished I could put my head around the door and sneak a look, but I didn't need to — I could see everything. I could feel the tension between them. I could just imagine my Dad's cologne and the smell of Lynx deodorant on my gym buddy. I could see the looks they gave one another, the way they flexed and posed for one another. 'That's one impressive bulge, son.' 'I guess I just got a bit excited, sir.' 'Yeah, funny isn't it!' And they both laugh. 'Why don't we compare in that too, sir? There must be one muscle I've got that's bigger than yours?' Oh Jesus Christ, I thought. Pre-cum was oozing out of the top of my hard dick and over my knuckles. Please. Please. 'I don't know about that, son.' Please, guys. 'Go on, sir. Or are you scared?' Dad barked a laugh. 'Okay. You asked for it! On the count of three?' 'One...' 'Two...' Three, I said to myself, and bit my lip. There was silence from the room across the hall. A big silence. I could almost hear them breathing, forcing themselves to breathe, as they gazed fascinated at one another. Pride etched on their faces. No, on one face only. 'Holy shit.' 'Well, son, I did warn you.' 'But I didn't expect... I mean, I've never seen one as big as mine.' 'It's a beauty, don't you think?' A pause. I thought, Ollie's debating with himself what he can and can't say. And he knows he has to say it now. There's no going back. 'Can I touch it, sir?' Dad sounds completely fine about the whole thing, like he's talking about a favourite watch or vintage car. 'Go ahead, son.' I lick my lips with a dry tongue. My cockhead is painfully swollen with excitement. I remember when my penis was the Eighth Wonder of the World as far as that skinny little librarian Olly was concerned. I remember when I would see him stealing glances at it. I love feeling undersized, for once. I almost wish I'd found out how hung my Dad was before this. 'It feels so solid. I can't get my hand around it.' 'Try both.' A pause. 'Still no.' 'I almost hate to say this...' Dad doesn't sound apologetic. He sounds like he's having the time of his life. 'It does swell up a little bigger still. Just before I cum.' 'I'd love to see that,' Olly says, in a rush. 'Maybe you can help me out, then?' 'Like this?' 'Yeah, that's a start.' 'I feel like I'm doing it wrong.' 'No, no, keep going.' I hear Dad sigh. 'You ever wanked another guy before, son?' 'No, sir.' 'Thought not,' Dad said. 'It's not just that,' Olly said. 'You're just so huge, I don't know how I can...' 'Why not use your hands on the shaft,' Dad says, 'and your tongue on the head? I'm sensitive there.' 'Can I?' 'Of course,' Dad says. 'Do whatever comes naturally.' There's no talking for a minute, and I'm spitting on my palm so I can wank myself slower at the thought of this. Olly on his knees. Dad on his feet, erect in all senses. I hear Olly gag, splutter, gasp for breath. 'How am I doing?' 'Really good,' Dad says. 'Keep going.' 'Are you getting close?' 'I need to go a little further. Put it back in your mouth, son.' 'Right, sir.' Oh god, oh god. I can't believe I'm listening to this. Oh god, don't stop. 'Stop. Like I said, we need to take this further.' 'What do I do?' 'Bend over.' I can hear Olly processing the idea. 'Really? I've never...' 'You've never had a tongue in your arse before, right?' 'That's right. Sophie never suggested anything like –' 'Just give it a try. That's all I'm saying,' says Dad. 'Spread your cheeks. They're just begging for this to happen, son. So strong and pert. All part of being a real man.' 'Fair enough.' And then, I hear it. I hear Olly gasp with pleasure. Then groan. Then call out and groan at the same time. 'You like that, don't you!' 'Don't stop, sir!' 'Oh, you taste good...' Olly makes more noises of pleasure. 'Ah! Yes! Ah!' Then the sound of both of them, breathless. 'I .. didn't realise ... it would be ... so good...' Dad laughs. 'Thanks. You know, there's one way guys can take this to the next level. Olly? You understand?' 'Do it, sir.' 'But you do know what I'm talking about?' 'Should I bend over again, or lie down on the bed?' 'Olly, you understand — what we're going to do — it's just about being buddies. I'm not gay. You're not gay. Okay?' 'I don't know what it is. I don't care any more. I want you inside me. I think I — sir, I think I love you.' 'Olly — ' 'And I want you to fuck me like — well, just don't — don't hold back.' 'Okay. Let me put a condom on first. Just in case.' He laughed, then. 'I mean, there's no chance of any trouble, obviously, but I had them specially made for me so I might as well use one.' I heard a sound like someone pulling a tarpaulin on over a motorbike. 'And here,' said Dad, 'drink a little more of Dr O's potion. It'll help you relax. Okay?' 'Okay. God, but I want you so much.' 'You're going to have me. You're going to have all of me. Inside you.' 'Oh yeah.' 'I'm going to lie down the bed, and you're going to sit on me, okay?' 'Like this?' 'Slowly. Carefully. You need to be in control.' 'Oh, I can feel you — I can feel you in me — oh, god, oh Jesus...' And then I just listen to them fuck. It's wordless. Deep. Growling. Pleasure and pain together. My Dad. My Gym Buddy. Joined together. On the bed, in the room across the hall, fucking hard. Gasping. Grunting. Then demanding. 'Faster!' 'Squeeze my balls.' 'Grab my beard, sir.' 'Take it.' 'Go deep.' 'Wank that dick, son. Wank that big, fat dick of yours.' And I do. I wank my dick, and Tom is watching me and telling me he wants to see me lose control. Wants to see me cum. But I'm holding out. I'm waiting. I'm waiting to hear them do it, cross the line, go deep, lose themselves. When I hear it, it's like their voices are joined in one. They speak together. The very same words. They're like one person in two bodies, two huge muscled bodies dripping with sweat and dark with fur. 'Yes,' they say. 'That's it. I'm there. I'm there. Yes. That's it. Go!' And as I picture them spunking and gasping and losing control, so creamy white cum is oozing in rivers and torrents out of my dick. I'm covered. My hands are filthy. And I'm biting my lip not to moan and cry out in pleasure. I don't even think about the fact I don't hear them talking any more. I don't think of the sounds, until afterwards. I don't think of the way the door to Dad's room has closed. That I can hear Olly outside my door, pulling his clothes on in a mad hurry, rushing down the stairs, grabbing his bag, running out the door, slamming it behind him. But what happens next is really weird.

THE STORY SO FAR - Stephan is a police officer with a very well-endowed boyfriend, Tom. But Stephan's sex addiction to sex leads to him losing his job - and breaking up with from Tom. While staying with his parents in a quiet corner of London, Stephan observes something exciting: an alpha muscle Beast humiliating a fluffy, gentle, weak young beta called Olly. Now, the Beast is helping Olly grow - and it's happening at an impossible rate: muscle, height, cock, hair, character. Soon he begins to eclipse the Beast himself. Where will it end? Hakan's new boss/lover wants to see how far Olly pushes Stephan and vice versa. Stephan suspects that the men at Nico's gym - Uranus Gyms - are experimenting on Olly; he steals a flask of their protein supplement. The only man Olly sees as an ally is Nico's musclebound Dad, the owner of Uranus Gyms. Who will get to Olly first - and why? Chapter 10 is here. 11 Tom of FinsburyPark Monday October 8th I had the text from Stephan during my lunch-break yesterday, while I caught up on some patient admin: Are you busy tonight? Think I've got something you could take care of S x It turned out to be a busy day. I'd been up till midnight the night before doing website stuff, then up again at 07.00 and speeding into the surgery before I knew what I was doing. Mainly colds and flu jabs, which is about right for this time of year. At the moment, it sometimes feels like a computer game while I'm at the surgery, people come in and I assess their symptoms and zap them, automatically. It's not my real life any more, and that's okay. I try not to think about my evening job while I'm in my daytime world, or my mind starts drifting, suddenly I'm away on some flight of fantasy — and there's some pensioner with inflamed sinuses sitting there, waiting for my reply. The text really did break my cool for a minute. The last time I was in touch with Stephan was kind of odd, one of those middle of the night things — I was up late working on the site. Mostly going through pictures taken by Dean. There were some pictures where he got right under my ball sack, catching the afternoon sunlight bouncing off my cock shaft, making the whole thing look like a third leg, and not just that, but a third leg that had a great fat thigh. I was thinking: 'This must be how Stephan remembers me. Just a big juicy cock with my face bobbing some way above it.' The idea got me hard. I texted Stephan. We had a sexting session. Then I had to go into work. I hadn't really pinned very much on it. Just letting off some steam. Now he wanted to come over? And see me in the flesh? Not only that, but on a night when I'd be working — not that he could have known about that, and my second job. Or did he? Did he know what I'd been up to? The afternoon was more difficult for having to concentrate on all that. I felt like I had to give it some thought. Consider if another time would be more suitable. Ask him exactly what he meant by something I could take care of, as if I didn't know (although, as it turns out, I didn't at all). But it was too late. I'd already said, Sure. Half seven? Pasta? T x He came round dead on at half seven. I opened the door and he was leaning in the doorframe, looking slightly nervous. I'd forgotten just how tall he was, or how hot those glasses looked on his long, square-jawed face. He looked me up and down. 'Wow,' he stumbled, taking me in. 'Peak beard. Lumbersexual. Very on trend.' 'Well,' I said, suddenly self-conscious, and looking down at myself. 'You know how it is. I have my character to live up to.' 'Character?' He looked at me blankly. So he didn't know. 'Come in,' I said, 'before I overdo my fettuccine.' He shut the door behind him and came into the kitchen with me. With a 'donk', he put a bottle of Merlot on the kitchen table. 'Brought a bottle,' he said. 'Well, in fact, I brought a couple.' 'You know what I like,' I said, turning away to give the pasta a warning stir. He smacked my arse playfully. 'Don't I?' he said, mischievously. 'How's things? You're looking well.' I turned toward him, and before I knew it we were in an affectionate embrace, my face was upturned, we were exchanging chaste little kisses on the lips. Just a tad more than friendly — but then, isn't that where we'd been, the day we had our trial split? Was that a good thing? A promising thing? Or a sign of how far we'd get and no further? 'And you,' I said. 'The lumberjack look really does suit you,' he said. 'I mean, really really.' He looked down at my jeans. 'Have you distressed those on purpose to show off your cock, or...' 'Yes,' I said. 'I have.' 'Ah. You've come out of your shell,' he said. I realised I was holding my breath, and let it out. 'I hope so.' 'It's been useful, this break,' he said. 'I feel that way, anyway.' 'Have you been seeing anyone else?' I asked him, busying myself with the wine bottle so I didn't have to look him in the eye. 'Well,' he said, 'I, umm, wouldn't say that exactly. Nothing serious. I've been going out to my way to avoid it. Thanks.' He clinked his glass to mine. 'And you?' From somewhere in the corner of the kitchen, where my laptop sits, I heard a loud, 'PLINK-PLONK'. 'Excuse me,' I said, and went to check it. It was from Lumberjackoff83. 'Mmm, he looks fucking hot. Go 4 it.' Quickly, I gave one of my less engaged replies. 'Thx m8. Stay posted.' I turned back to Stephan. He was tasting my pasta sauce. 'This looks great,' he said. 'Got any courgette? Sorry, but I've been working in a cafe, and I just know it would go perfectly.' I was thrown by this conversation. It was slightly more innocent than I'd been girding myself up for. 'Of course,' I said, forcing a grin. I opened the fridge door and passed him his required vegetable. 'PLINK-PLONK!' said the laptop, and then 'PLINK-PLONK!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' Stephan gave the machine an odd look. 'I'm not interrupting something?' 'Not at all,' I said. 'Quite the reverse.' I went over to the laptop, where fans of mine were sending through suggestions on what we should do with the courgette, none of them even remotely culinary. I decided to throw them a sop. 'I hope he puts it in my mouth,' I told them all. 'But the night is young.' Stephan was still working on the sauce, so I decided to work on my glass of wine. He looked up at me and smiled. 'So come on, answer the question, sunshine, or do you want a nice little ride down to the station?' 'PLINK-PLONK!' said the laptop, but I ignored it. 'Well,' I said, 'Dean's been coming over a bit. You met him, remember?' 'Yeah,' he said, turning back to his sauce. 'And then there have been — one or two others.' I finished the glass of wine. 'Actually... I run an internet porn site out of my flat.' Stephan dropped the spoon into the pan. He had to hunt through my cutlery drawer for sugar tongs before he could extract it, scrape sauce back into the pan, wash his hands, pick up his wine, give me his full attention and say: 'What?' 'Dean got me into it by taking those photos,' I told him. 'He told me my cock could go a long way.' 'It does go a long way!' smiled Stephan. 'So your character...' 'Yes,' I said. 'Tom of FinsburyPark.' He considered. Then looked at the laptop. 'You're — we're not — being watched online now?' I nodded. 'Do you want another glass of wine?' 'Yes please.' He shook his head. 'But you used to be so shy...' 'I know,' I said, and then laughed. 'And this is much more fun.' 'I don't doubt it,' he said. 'Videos?' 'And photoshoots, and live streams. Like tonight. I was due online anyway, I couldn't switch off. People pay their subscriptions, after all.' I sipped the wine again. 'What do you want to do now?' The laptop 'PLINK-PLONKED' with suggestions. Stephan looked down at my semi-hard cock, beautifully outlined in my jeans, then switched off the heat under the pasta with a sharp click. 'I think we should eat,' he said. We ate. We talked. It was an experiment, and we both knew it, but we were both giving it a good shot, and each of us responded well to that good vibe from the other. I told him about the little that's been going on at the surgery, about how I'm still reading Proust, which is of course not strictly true, but I am still trying to read Proust, and that's good enough for me, so it should be enough for him. I told him my Mum and Dad were okay. He told me his were fine. He told me more about his job at the cafe, and his boss, and how they're not seeing one another, not really, but every now and again, one thing leads to another. And he told me about the job itself, and about how happy he felt to be putting great big delicious meals down in front of people. Encouraging them to relax and indulge themselves, instead of policing them, literally. I put my hand on his. 'That's great,' I said, 'but, come on. You didn't come round to tell me about how you can bake lasagne.' He took a deep breath. 'No,' he said. 'I didn't.' He poured himself a big glass of wine and took a long gulp. Then he said: 'What do you know about hypertrophy?' I shrugged. 'It's when muscles grow. Perfectly natural process.' 'Can it be done unnaturally?' 'That's the gym industry,' I said. 'It's an important stage. You manage it carefully, building up to it, supporting it, even stimulating it.' I rolled up the sleeves of my plaid shirt and flexed for him. 'Here's the results of my gym club membership and bulking powder!' He smiled politely. 'Looking good.' 'Hmm, I want to get bigger,' I said. 'Not much but, you know — for the audience's sake...' The smile vanished. 'You look great as you are. What's the obsession with size? I mean, okay, I like fit guys. I even like the occasional muscle guy, but...' 'Get to the point, love.' 'This is the point. Except, I suppose, it's not. You see,' he said. 'There's this lad called Olly.' So this is when he tells me about a young guy called Olly who works at his local library. Not seeing him, either, it seems — straight as the proverbial die, apparently. When Stephan first met him, he was just an ordinary, slightly geeky, fluffy young bloke, perhaps even a little undersized. Now, as Stephan sketches it, he's hit the gym. Hard. And it's paying off — perhaps a bit too much. 'I can't overemphasise the change,' Stephan said. 'He's like a different guy. A cave man. Alpha male. Pure muscle. Plus, if I'm any judge of these things, he's started to grow — down there... I mean, is that even possible?!' 'I wish...' 'You!' he said. 'Of all people!' 'Everyone would like a few more inches,' I said. 'I love it when guys come over to the flat whose cocks are even longer and fatter than mine. And they love it too. Size is power, power is sex. But with your boyfriend...' Stephan made an exasperated sound. 'Alright,' I said. 'But you do sound concerned about him, for somebody you're not fucking...!' 'Yes,' he said. 'This is new! And I want to make sure this stuff he's been taking is safe! And I knew you would know.' That's when he got the flask out of his bag and put it on the table. 'You want me to run tests on a protein shake?' I said. 'For your new boyfriend...?' 'He's just someone I care about,' Stephan said. 'He's not interested in guys. He's not interested in much apart from astrophysics and how to put on "slabs of muscle".' 'Okay,' I said. 'I'll do it tomorrow. Now, let's talk about nicer things.' 'Such as?' I could see he was still het up, the poor thing. 'Such as dessert,' I said, going over to the fridge and fetching out my secret weapon — banana split sundae. 'PLINK-PLONK', went the laptop, rather predictably at this juncture. I watched him spoon ice cream between his lips, making little grunts of pleasure as it went down. A few gulps and my dick was fully hard and straining at my jeans — I'd worn my tightest pair, just for the occasion. 'This is good,' he said. 'I know,' I said. 'Are we still on cam?' he asked. 'You bet,' I said. He took this as his cue to pick up the banana and lick the gooey sweet cream off it. Lick, lick, lap, lap, swallow. A smile, with the goo still coating his lips. 'You're not out of practice then,' I said, 'even if your boyfriend is straight.' 'I try and keep in training,' he replied. 'Just in case the situation should arise?' He looked at me over his glasses. 'Don't worry. It has risen.' 'That was quick.' 'Maybe that magic drink has aphrodisiacal qualities too,' he said. I gasped. 'You didn't...' 'In the sauce, when I was adding the courgette,' he said. 'You don't mind? It hasn't done Ollie any harm, after all. And you said you wouldn't mind an inch or two more.' I was flabbergasted. At the same time, I was boiling up with the need for sex. And the thought that he had expected it, too. After all, you can't do an experiment if you don't make careful observations. 'Shall we see if it's done anything yet?' I asked, standing up. He leant across the table and unbuttoned my jeans. My dick sprung free — I've taken to going commando — and stood proud, solid and purple, a few inches above my ice-cream bowl. It was too tempting not to — I angled my hips downward and stuck my throbbing knob into those big blobs of sweet icy goo. It was colder than I'd expected- the sensation was amazing, as it ran down my shaft and dripped onto my shaven balls. Frosty and smooth. Stephan let out a long sigh. 'Delicious,' he said. 'Any bigger than you remembered?' I asked him. 'I'd forgotten that girth...' he said. Then he shoved his chair back, grabbed either side of the table to steady himself, and leant across for a lick. Hot tongue, cold cream, solid muscle through slippery goo, sliding up pulsing, sensitive, throbbing man meat. God, I'd missed him. Every time I'd fucked with someone new. Good as it was, it wasn't somebody who knew what I liked. I felt a pang of emotion go through me. 'We're not getting serious, are we?' I asked, breathless. 'I'm always serious about things I put in my mouth,' he said, and I could see the sex drunkenness coming over him. He leant in and sucked on my big prick with a sudden rush of sex hunger. I grabbed the back of his head and slid my dick home to the back of his throat. Nobody else has ever been able to take it. Even when I did it this time, he had to gasp for breath afterwards. 'It's all coming back to me now,' he said. I slid my hands down into his shirt, remembering too: remembering how he loved my hands on his nipples, tugging and teasing them. He gave a soft grunt, and leant in to swallow my dick down to the base again. 'Wow,' he said. 'It's amazing how you're shaven. I can cram it in even further.' He went down for another go, as if to demonstrate. 'I've learnt a thing or two,' I said, 'having joined the porn industry.' 'You already knew all you needed to know,' he said, after another long gulp on my dick. He sat back in his seat and looked up at me. I folded my arms. 'Maybe not.' 'It's good to know you're never satisfied.' 'Maybe you just couldn't satisfy me,' I said. He pulled his t-shirt off over his head. His long curly hair was dusting his shoulders. Behind the kitchen smells, I could smell the bittersweet tang of perspiration and cologne. I could smell it because I had my hands on the chair-back and I was leaning in, kissing him, my hands on the chair. 'PLINK-PLONK!' said the laptop. He rolled toward me, still more drunkenly, rolling his body towards my touch. I concentrated on exploring his mouth with my tongue, fighting his with mine, licking the residue of ice cream and banana from his teeth. He was writhing now, eager for me to lay hands on him, so I drew back, and kissed him delicately on the lips. Now he swivelled on his seat and arrogantly pulled down his jeans and boxers so that his hard dick sprang up, smelling sweet and inviting as that particular kind of coffee bean he had bought once, the one that tasted of Jaffa oranges growing on mountainsides somewhere where the sun was burning, the coffee that was still in the cupboard, waiting for him to come back. I inhaled that sweet scent of a cock begging to be taken in the mouth and — just kissed him, lightly at the side of his mouth this time, then on his soft, smooth throat. He was in a fury of need now, and he put both hands on the back of my head and forced me down toward his cock. I wanted to swallow it up, I wanted to take it down to the back of my throat, but I knew what I was doing. I stuck out my tongue and let it slide down that angrily hard prick as if it were an ice-cream to be slowly savoured. 'Fucker,' he said, and moved his hands down to caress my neck, then kneading my shoulders, entreating me to answer his lust. I ran my tongue even slower back up his shaft, towards the head. I lingered just below the head, and then in one very slow, very deliberate, very firm movement, I licked his glans with the flat of my tongue. 'Christ,' he said, and I watched a fat blob of precum well up out of his piss slit and tremble like a dew drop. 'PLINK-PLONK!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' I bent in and stuck my tongue deep in, hard against the root of his cock, lapping hard at the area between his balls. I could smell that precum now. I licked back up and in one, two swirls I cleaned that precum away, and then I was back down at the root again. He reached for his cock but I grabbed his arm and pulled it away. He leant back proffering his arsehole now, and this I decided was a good idea, and set to work in there. More smells, and that amazing smoky taste in there. I felt his heels come to rest on my shoulders. 'That's more like it,' he said, sleepily. There was lube in my rear pocket, and I squelched it all over my fat, throbbing dick till it was slick as buggery. I was achingly hard in my hand, almost numb with pleasure. I settled back on my heels, my dick standing up and out of my jeans trousers like a Robert Mapplethorpe picture, except this dick was in colour, and it was warm and it was quivering. I saw Stephan's hand go for his cock again but I growled, 'No touching.' 'Please,' he said. 'I need it.' 'You want my big hard dick?' 'No,' he said, 'I don't want it. I need it. I need it now.' I ran my cockhead around the perimeter of his arsehole. 'You need this?' 'Fill me up,' he said. 'You sure?' 'PLINK-PLONK!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' He laughed. 'That's you told.' I fucked him slowly, just how he liked, in the kitchen chair. He scrabbled at my shirt tweaking my tits through the plaid material. Grabbing at my balls as they slabbed against his arsecheeks. He scratched his beard and sat back, looking relaxed, like a whore on his day off. 'Come on, Tommy, you can go deeper than that,' he teased. I smacked his arse smartly with my right hand and set to a faster rhythm. Big-hard-dick, big-hard-dick, sat-is-fy me, sat-is-fy me. Satis-fy me. Satis-fy me. Satisfy, satisfy, satisfy, satisfy, Big. Biggg. Dick. Dick. Dick. 'Oh yeah,' he said. 'You're doing it now.' I lifted his thighs higher to improve my angle (tall guys need extra work) and he was nearly upside down, hanging on to my shirt like a mountaineer. Button by button it began to tear. His cute little round tummy, the sort that only someone in their thirties who has begun to relax about life can have, wobbled deliciously as I banged him, I banged him, I nearly broke my kitchen chair. Dicking him, dicking, big — hard — dicking him. 'Satisfy me, Stephan,' I said, snarling, the voice I'd begun to take on after a couple of nights' hard scrutiny of porn films. His eyes suddenly widened. 'Tom!' he gasped. 'I think it's working! Holy fucking mother of fuck, I can feel your dick getting even bigger -- inside my arse!' The surprise took the snarl out of me, and then suddenly, yes, I could feel it. I've always been pretty proud of my big dick. Now I felt like I had a log sticking out of my fly. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah! Just like your boyfriend!' 'You're my boyfriend, idiot!' he said. 'Oh god, though, I don't know if I can — I don't know if I can take you, this size!' His eyes were watering. 'Take it, Stephan,' I said, slamming it home slowly, steadily but mercilessly. 'Take that extra huge hard cock!' 'PLINK-PLONK!' And then I realised I was big enough suddenly that I could fuck him and, quite casually, lean across and suck on his cock. At last I allowed myself the taste of that policeman cock, and the precum that kept brimming up and spilling down his cock, and I reached across and pinched his left tit, and suddenly — Suddenly I could feel a giant fuckstick deep in my arsehole, while my dick was getting serviced, and I wanted my tits to be felt up, and I realised I was seeing things through Steve's eyes. Some sort of magic had occurred. And Jesus Christ, but it was true about my dick. It was enormous. Not only that, but my chest had broadened and my lumberjack shirt was filled out with more muscle than before. Where he'd torn it open, I could see the deeper crease between my pecs, a fresh sprouting of dark hair. He wouldn't have seen the difference, but having been to the gym that afternoon I knew — I knew that I'd grown, just a little, in every muscle, since I started fucking him. Since I drank that potion. I could feel Stephan's concern for Olly now. He knew it was the potion. The stuff Doctor O was producing. He'd seen and tasted and felt the effects of it, first hand (and first arse). And even though I got an image of Olly in my Stephan's mind's eye, and even though he looked fucking hot, like Colby Keller on steroids but English and straight, still I realised he'd want to fuck him. He wanted to protect him. Protect him in a way that he never thought to do when it was me and him. With me and him, he wanted risk, danger, illicit pleasure. That ruled everything. He wanted to be dominated by a massive cock and covered in spunk. And Tom could never give him that. Tom was a sweet, mild-mannered GP. He was gentle. He was nice. He didn't want to play games or get dirty or dangerous or wrong. Till tonight. I looked up at the new Tom and he looked back at me, teeth grit in his beard (so much smaller and neater than Olly's), his arm muscles locked (they were so sweet compared to Olly's, they were the first flush of muscle gain), his nipples stuck out proud from his ripped shirt, and sweat was soaking his chest hair, and his giant dong, half the size of Olly's, but then, what could you do with a dick that big, his giant dong sliding in and out of me, and his hand pumping on my dick. We were both feeling that we'd arrived at a new place together. A place where we could lose control. And I could feel all the minds of the viewers at home. I could feel them wanking their dicks or finger-fucking their pussies, hundreds of them. I could feel each one as they approached their vinegar strokes, watching us go at it hammer and tongs. I could see you, dear reader. I could feel your heart beat. I could feel you nearing the edge, losing yourself in the fuck, the wank, the emotion. And then of course we were cumming — them and you and him and I, and for a minute there, we didn't know who was who, we were both howling with pleasure, and the bitterness was all over my tongue and lips, and I was spunking so hard, and he was licking his lips and we were absolutely drenched, drenched in our spunk. 'PLINK-PLONK!' applauded the viewers through Tom's laptop. And I'm writing this upstairs at Mum and Dad's. I'm Stephan. I remember now. I'm Stephan, and Tom was my boyfriend. I didn't realise he felt that way about me. I didn't realise there was anything to go back to there. And now he knows how I feel about Olly. And downstairs, the doorbell has just rung.