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For you who like army experiments and science-fiction techno-lingo just as much as I do (but as far as I can remember, there is not yet any need to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow). This continuation could probably need more proof-reading, but here goes. Dr. Skrefsrud, the timid Norwegian, is still the narrator. That may change in following chapters. Chapter One is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/ DISCLAIMER The following story do contain a small amount of racial slur and homophobia, a small amount of violence and sexual innuendo. Please do not read further if you are offended by anything of the aforementioned. The author does not sympathize with what the antagonist in the story may do or say. Project Defender – Chapter Two We kept Jones and Bjarnarsson for observation at Infirmary overnight, and Green agreed to take the night watch. Their results in the Gym had been impressing. They lifted amounts of weight probably no other living man on the planet was able to lift. Restoring a barbell to its stand, Jones looked at Smith and László part cockily, part beaming. Bjarnarsson lumbered around after the exercises with a smile, but was able to restrain his reaction to a larger extent than Jones. All samples looked more than perfect, so we let them eat breakfast at the Mess with the others. Jones and Bjarnarsson were greeted by cheers in the Mess, and during the following meals, I found the atmosphere less hostile against our scientific team. The nicknames used by Jones began to spread among the crew, which probably was a sign of acceptance. Some of the men stared at Jones and Bjarnarsson. ’Nice of y’u ter let us leave de ozzy. Ah feel ready ter hit the iron at the gym aftah brekkie.’, Jones informed us. ’Hey, Viking Guy!’, shouted Varga – a 33 year old Hungarian test subject – ’Can you assure us, that your experiment will not shrink our balls? I want to keep mine intact!’ The men at Varga’s table laughed. ’It is rather Gospodinov’s area of expertise, but as far as I understand, the formula doesn’t replace your own production of hormones, but increases it. Why don’t you ask Jones or Bjarnarsson, if you dare?’ I smiled. Varga’s table roared with laughter. I put down my tray besides the nice Poles, Zielinski and Kowalski, and sat down. Kowalski stared impressed on Jones and Bjarnarsson. Zielinski and Kowalski were eating their egg white omelette with spinach. I had a bowl of porridge. I chatted with the friendly and polite Poles until, suddenly, a loud quarrel disrupted our concentration. It was De Vries, one of the Dutchmen, and Taylor, the Caribbean-British test-subject, who quarrelled. By the look of it, it seemed that De Vries had bumped into Taylor. The latter’s breakfast lay at the floor. ’Watch where you’re going, monkeyboy! I thought this was a project for Europeans? Who let the apes out of the cage? My granddad didn’t leave South Africa for the Old Country for this, I can assure you.’ The initially calm Taylor froze rigidly, and his gaze changed into a burning mode. The Dutchman stared arrogantly on him with his green eyes, but suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. ’That’s not acceptable, corporal.’, Major Murphy said. He had swiftly left the table of honour, when he became aware of the situation. ’This is a warning. Never behave like that again. Is that understood?’ De Vries looked down in the floor, with a surly expression. ’Is that understood, corporal?’, Major Murphy roared. ’SIR! YES, SIR!’, De Vries answered. The other Dutchman, Van Gelder, approached Taylor with a concerned expression: ’I’m so sorry. Most of us from The Netherlands are not like him.’ ’I know.’, Taylor answered, ’It’s not your fault.’ The breakfast-eating men returned to their meal. Van Gelder invited Taylor to his table. De Vries had left the Mess Hall in a hurry. As usual, morning hours were full of scheduled interviews and medical examinations, and when the research team returned to The Lab after lunch, I looked at the list with disappointment. ’O no!’ Smith, Lamarck and Gospodinov looked up, surprised. ’What is it?’, Smith asked. ’Look at the list of test-subjects scheduled for this afternoon. De Vries! The man who behaved so badly in the Mess at breakfast, and was a nuisance at the gym some days ago.’ When the event happened, Lamarck and Gospodinov had already left the Mess, so I and Smith told them what had happened. Gruber lurked unseen behind the screen in the corner at the neuro-programmer, as usual. László returned from the gym, still sweating. ’The Schedule was determined long before this happened. He has to be processed sooner or later, anyhow.’, Gospodinov said. A few minutes later, Green checked the waiting room. Corporal De Vries and Sergeant Varga sat there, waiting. ’Ah. A fellow countryman! Hungarian brawn!’, László joked with Varga. The joking manner in which it was said, aside, it was very true. Like László himself, the thirty-three year old Varga seemed to be very interested in physical exercise, and genetically blessed, at that. A hint of envy could be seen in De Vries’ eyes, when he looked at Varga. We repeated the process which Jones and Bjarnarsson had endured, with only slightly enhanced settings. Gruber attentively studied the brainwave patterns of the test subjects. ’Oh! Um. Um. Um… nagy, nagy,! Ummm. Igen. Nagy. Mmmm… …Jól! Oh, um… kiváló… Mmmm… Ungh, ungh… nagyobb! Oh, oh, oh! Több. Több, több, több: IGEN! … Uh, nagyobb! NAGYOBB! Ough, oh, um, nnn, erősebb! Umngh… hatalmas, umngh… roppant, umngh… erőtejlesnek, umngh… óriásiabb, umnnngh, óriásiabb, umnnngh, óriásiabb, óriásiabb, óriásiabb, ÓRIÁSIABB! ÓRIÁSIABB!!! AH! UNGH! AAARGH!!!’, Vargas mumbled and shouted in his mask-mic, unaware of his surroundings. Under the pressure of The Program, both test subjects had mainly reverted to their native languages, and had given in to the overwhelming transformation experience. A very, very strange sound emerged from the speakers, like someone tried to stuff a leather sofa with raw meat. ’Ah! Um, keihard! Uh, uh, uhmm… onbreek…mmm, nnnn… Aan- OH! -genaam… Ja! Meer! Meer! Veel meer! VEEL MEE… UNGH! Ungh, ungh, ungh, goed, zo goed… umngh! Uhn! Heel goed!!! Umnh, uh, unnn… …ben ijzer sterk! Ungh, zal… uh, uh, tegenstand… vernietigen… Nnng… Ja! Ja! Unnnh! Allemaal… umngh, breken… EINDELOOS!!!’ De Vries had been the smaller of them when he stepped into the Chamber, but when Green had released them from their IV’s, and Gruber released them from their neuro-helmets, De Vries and Varga were of the same size, about two metres and with chests around 190 centimetres or so. Both had grown somewhat in height, but above all they had developed large amounts of well-defined and well-proportioned muscle mass. If Varga had been well built before the process, he now resembled an ancient statue of Hercules, although clean-shaven and with a buzz cut. Gospodinov and Green were preoccupied with the upcoming blood-tests, and Lamarck and Gruber watched the naked men in the same cool, objective way they would have watched a piece of cold meat for dissection on a slab. I felt awkward and somewhat threatened by the presence of the huge naked men, and I was not alone among the younger scientists to be shaken in my professional calm. A small suggestion of envy could be seen in the glance of László, and Smith’s ears were blossoming in red. With a delighted countenance, Vargas squeezed his chest muscles and biceps. Despite their maturely masculine features, both László and Varga broke up in boyfully delighted smiles, and their friendly warm brown eyes lit up in joyful mischief. They began to discuss in their own language: ’… nagyobb mint Vörös Zoltán, Molnar Peter…’ I didn’t understand a word, but they seemed enthusiastic. If the Hungarians’ eyes were filled with delight, the green eyes of De Vries were filled by something much more unsettling, in a mix of smugness and disdain. ’Don’t like what you see, Doctor Smith?’, De Vries said with a malicious smile, ’Or perhaps that is exactly what you do, don’t you?’ De Vries took a step forward, and ripped the white lab coat open from the embarrassed Smith’s tiny frame. Smith’s crotch bulged inside the fly. ’I will not allow a small fat faggot ogle me.’, the enraged De Vries said, and gripped Smith’s throat in an incredibly fast movement. De Vries lifted his other arm, and aimed for a stroke. ’I will not allow any pervert ogle me.’ Smith was suffocating. In the same moment a powerful hand grabbed De Vries’ lifted arm. It was Sergeant Varga. With the crook of his other arm, he grabbed De Vries’ neck, and tried to wrestle De Vries to the floor. The men struggled, and, since they were of the same size, the fight was even. Gospodinov and Lamarck hid in Gruber’s corner. László looked like he was considering joining the fight. Smith sat on the floor, dizzy. Jones and Bjarnarsson had taken up the habit to help the nurses with the amniotic fluid, which was heavy to carry. They now stepped inside the lab door, carrying large plastic containers, and observed the situation for a second. The next second Varga, Jones and Bjarnarsson had achieved a lay-out, and led the delinquent to Major Murphy. Jones had stayed behind while Varga and Bjarnarsson left, carrying De Vries between them. ’’ang on a mo’! Glad we could ’elp yuh, Doc. That gobshite divvy of a Dutchman ’ad ed coming. ’e be’aved like a tosser ter Taylor a’ breakfast, and, truth be said, ’as be’aved like a whopper all week, waiting tuh be marmalised. ’e orta calm down, otherwise ’e will receive a good thrashing by the entire Company. Yuh may be a posh twat, Doc, even a little bit of a pooftah, but yer our pooftah, zapping us all with yer magic machine over there, so for me it is more important tha’ yuh are a good scientist, than wha’ever makes yuh ’orny. Yuh do yer part in the war against the space squid by turning me and me crew into fuckin’ unbelievable fighting machines, an’ tha’s great. Yuh duhn't deserve ter be treated the way tha’ Dutch feller treated yuh. Ah suppose ed is flattering in a sense, tha’ yuh consider me an’ others in d’crew tuh be real bruisers. Just try ter avoid staring tuh much on me, so am Ah boss with ed.’ ’I never intended to embarrass you or De Vries or anyone else. I am, rather, embarrassed myself.’, Smith answered. ’No worries, Doc. I consider yuh a mucker nuw. Cotton me right: Ah will not deny two perfectly straight lads ter ’ave fun with each uvver, after surviving an air attack. Such things ’appen. D’thing Ah not like is ponceyness. Anyhuw, if the divvy cause up any shute again, duhn’t hesitate to tell me.’ He patted Smith carefully on the shoulder, and went. The next day Corporal Janssens, one of the Belgians, and Corporal Radu, one of the Romanians, went through the Procedure, and reacted just as well as Jones and Bjarnarsson did. Gruber decided to take brainwave samples of all specimens who reacted well to the treatment, in the hope to soon awake Soares and Johansson from their comatose state. With six successful cases, the mood in the Mess Hall had definitely improved. ’You are welcome to sit at our table if you want, Viking Guy.’, Kowalski told me at the queue with a serious expression. When we sat, eating, he asked: ’Do you think you will be able to awake Corporal Soares soon? And Corporal Johansson, of course.’ While Zielinski and two of the Czech test subjects listened silently, I explained our hopes as comprehensible as possible. ’Oi! Doc! You can’t let Jones have this advantage on me. How soon will you put me in the magic box?’ ’By the look of it, Radu’s wife will be overwhelmed of joy when he comes home. Hey there, Boffin! Can you assure all of us the same marital happiness?’ Roars of laughter. Radu throwing a roll on the man who spoke. A proud Janssens shouted: ’Anyone who want to watch when Coach measure how much I lift by now?’ When I went to bed at Hall 3-6-3, it was with the feeling of relief and optimism. From now on, everything would probably go better, without any unscheduled hiccups or accidents. I didn’t know how wrong I was. *** I awoke by a sound. Subdued noises came from the neighbouring room and the passage. I was sleepy and confused. Barefoot and only wearing a pair of pyjamas, I peeked out in the passage. It was Gruber and Varga. ’You will end this stupid joke immediately’, Gruber said in a harsh voice. ’Negative.’, Varga answered: ’You are not a part of The Program.’ ’I demand that you obey orders, soldier!’, Gruber said heatedly. ’I am programmed to obey The Program, Doctor. You are not a part of The Program.’ ’I am scientifically responsible for this Programme, soldier. Now obey my orders!’, Gruber shouted. ’Negative. You are not a part of The Program. Stay back, civilian. You are not part of this Program.’ Varga carefully pushed Gruber aside, and, oblivious of the Professor’s rage, strode away, and found me there, listening. He observed me unimpassionately for a second, and then said: ’You are not a part of The Program. You have been found attuneable to The Program. You will be integrated into The Program.’ When we entered the main corridor, I found Jones waiting there with an almost naked László, who had been pinioned with skipping-ropes from the Gym, and silenced with a towel. Something was strange with Varga’s and Jones’ eyes, like they were drugged, hypnotised or not really there. They bound a towel over my mouth. Without any comment, they led me and László to the Lab, and without further ado, they started the equipment the way they had seen us do it a couple of times. László, who was only dressed in a pair of jockstrap pants, and looked like a drowsy but angry commercial for nutritional supplements, tugged in his ropes, and was red in his face by his attempts to release himself. He was unable to speak, but his gaze viewed Jones and Varga with defiance. ’You will be integrated into The Program, Doctor Skrefsrud.’ ’This is ridiculous. Is this a joke? I am not a soldier, but a scientist. Will you now please release me and Doctor László.’ ’Incorrect. You will be integrated into The Program.’ Somewhat of Jones own personality broke through: ’Honestly, Viking Guy. With tha’ starving greyhound build of yours, ed would be bright ter pack onna few pounds o’muscle.’ I was unable to stop Jones and Varga from carrying out their insane plan. Their large and strong hands undressed me and threw my pair of pyjamas on a bench. They swabbed my skin at the spot where my subcutaneous implant was, and administered the IV. Electrodes monitoring my heart were placed at the ordinary places, the neurohelmet over my head, and the breathing mask over my face. I felt the strong warm hands of Varga helping me into the sluice. The doors behind me shut and the doors to the chamber opened. The humming increased in volume. CHAMBER ONE IS [NOT OCCUPIED] AND [WARMING UP] [Preparing for] Specimen: Dr. Skrefsrud Weight: 68 kilogrammes Height: 179 centimetres Chest: 96 centimetres Waist: 71 centimetres Arm: 35 centimetres Thighs: 55 centimetres Theoretically, I knew what to expect, when the machine began to hum softly, but to be present inside the claustrophobic cylinder during the procedure was something entirely different, than to impartially observe and document the process. Weakly, I pounded in panic against the steel and glass walls of the cylinder. But the entrapment was neither the only reason, nor the foremost reason for my fear. I knew, that soon the machine would expose my mind and my body to a Program built for highly trained soldiers, and highly trained soldiers prophylactically prepared in days and weeks before, at that. God knows what would happen if an unprepared civilian underwent the treatment. I knew my duty in this war: To use my scientific knowledge in order to help The Boys achieve their highest standard of performance, but not become a useless civilian test subject. It went against all reason – tactically and otherwise. With a gurgling sound the liquid began to pour and stream into the chamber, but the sound quickly changed into a resounding noise reminiscent of a faucet filling a tub, or a small fall streaming into a brook. The level rose quickly. My useless attempts to break free from the cylinder were soon swallowed by the near-oblivious state caused by the analgesic and tranquillising components of the IV-formula devised by Gospodinov and Lamarck. I wasn't fully aware about it, but my body was infused with the genetic modifiers, the hormonal stimulants and the highly concentrated nutrients necessary. My body braced itself, and was primed for the upcoming transformation. When I regained consciousness, I was floating weightlessly in the comfortably warm liquid, and one second of panic over the risk of drowning was quickly driven away by the reassuring hissing from the comfortably tight-fitting breathing mask. Everything was shimmering in a beautiful blue colour, and the inside of the cylinder had become almost mirror-like, only vaguely hinting about the human shapes moving or standing outside. I had been worried before. Why had I been worried before? Everything was warm, pleasant and blue-shimmering now, and very still and calm. With a whirring sound the helmet’s eyeshield lowered itself before my eyes. A black display with brightly coloured text and graphics filled my range of vision, and shut the view of the Chamber out. I saw the digital graphic charts of my present physique and the settings of the Morphogenetic Fields. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED] AND [iNITIATING] [NEURO-PROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] Suddenly, something began to hammer relentlessly against my mind. No! I don't want to... No! No! No, no, no, no, oh no, oh, oh. Oh, oh, oh, uh, uh, uh, uh, ungh, ungh, ngh, nng, nng, nng, mnng, mnng, mnng, mnng, uh: Sir! Yes, Sir! Yes! O, yes! 101 0000… … 101 0010 100 1111 100 1010 100 0101100 0011 101 0100 010 0000 100 0100 100 0101 100 0110 100 0101 100 1110 100 0100 100 0101 101 0010… I integrated into The Program, and merged perfectly into the Project, becoming one of the test subjects, and evolving into another specimen of the new breed of super soldiers. Correction: Becoming one of us, and evolving into a part of the unit. This individual unit will obey the direction to protect the military unit and all civilians. This individual unit will do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of himself and of The Program. No-one will be permitted to abolish or limit the aim of The Program. This individual unit is now attuning perfectly. This individual unit of The Program is now becoming enhanced. This individual unit is now becoming augmented according to plan. Words does not suffice to describe what happened in a matter of seconds: Instantaneously I became an expert on hundreds of weapon technologies, and my ability to make fast and correct tactical decisions in a situation was intensified in an incredible way. Close combat skills I never had were now deeply ingrained in my primal instincts, and I didn't feel fear: At least not the sort of fear which paralysed in a situation. I was still equipped with the ability to recognise and assess danger. The mental and emotional turmoil of the reprogramming was fading into focused serenity again. The liquid was warm against my skin, and my body felt warm and comfortable. I opened my eyes, and saw the display still folded down before them. The outline of my present physique stood out against the black background, sketched in blue lines, and the outline of the Morphogenetic Fields was drawn in green as usual. Suddenly, someone outside the cylinder was obviously editing the standard settings, in contradiction to the usual protocol. The cursor clicked on the traps, delts, pecs, lats and every other muscle of the anatomical drawing glowing in green, and made the skeleton taller and more broad shouldered. For a second, I reacted alarmed by the changes: Someone was compromising the safety of The Program, and the green anatomical drawing was now depicting a brutally built titanic individual. The next second I relaxed: This individual unit will do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of himself and of The Program. Another change of settings almost escaped my attention, since the display now folded upwards: Hypertrophic radiation 300%. I could now see my blue-shimmering surroundings again. The next moment liquid blue was turned into flaming gold. I had always been absent minded. When sitting at a desk, my thoughts were always preoccupied by the studies and reports I read, not of my physical environment, my bodily posture, or my own breathing. When my legs walked through corridors at hospital or university, my thoughts and my self always wandered somewhere else. Actually, I had never been really and fully aware of my own bodily presence. It was different now. I felt my heartbeat resound in all my blood vessels, and my lungs greedily drank the oxygen-mixture hissing into my mouth from the breathing mask. And I felt how my personal awareness entirely filled up my body: my hardening torso, my broadening back, my now powerful thighs, my calves. And my arms! O, my arms! A hard, warm feeling filled my triceps’, bicep’s, the vein-covered fore-arms, and there was no part of my body, not fingers, nor toes, which was not entirely and perfectly a part of my intense, conscious, bodily presence. For the first time in my life I was aware. Present. Embodied. Physical. Me. That was just the beginning. Lightning struck. Power streamed into my being. Energy surged into my core. The flaming gold changed me, transformed my shape, enhanced my physique, transmuted the ore of my existing muscles into the steel-hard, pulsating cords and bulges of unyielding, raw, ultra-masculine brawn. I was oblivious of my surroundings now, ecstatically and deliriously consumed by The Program’s anabolic bliss. Then, this individual unit was optimised and maximised according to The Program. Strange stretch… But so pleasant. Pain. Excitement. O yeah! Height soaring. So tall, now. Lava heat in lats, broadening. Pump-like, entirely. Oh, oh, oh, uh! The feeling! Massive thighs, and fucking incredible calves. Cannonball glutes. Dense, hard, ripped, rocky, burning abs! So hard, mmmnnngh, so indestructible. Warm, heavy and insane arms. Unbreakable arms. Mountains! Pecs like armour! Titanic delts. Ridge of granite traps! Uh! Uh! This individual unit fluctuated between being entirely controlled by The Program and being aware of individuality. The desire to grow muscular may have existed in the deep recesses of the unit even before, or it may not, but anyway it now burned with this one focus: To optimise. To maximise. To be a useful instrument of this military unit. My one mission at the moment was, for my brothers’ sake, to increase my ability to run, haul, tug, lift, tear, throw, punch… The change! The powerblaze change! Growing. Hardening. Defining. Don’t stop it! Don’t end it! Raw power charging every atom! More! Unit want more! Optimise me! Maximise me! Increasing fire! Increasing power charge! Yeah! O yeah! Fucking yeah! So amazing! Pervading power… Yes! More! Unit will comply. Unit will protect. Unit powerful. Unit… mmmnnngh! Will use enhanced… Yes! Yes! … to defend… Yes! …mmmnnngh! I was losing control entirely, and wasn’t aware of which words or sounds I emitted. I dived, oblivious of the outer world, in a sea of radiant energy. I only knew that I craved to be even bigger. The separation between what was my bodily frame and the surrounding sea of energy began to blur. It felt like the entire ocean of power gushed into me. The power ocean filled me. I was the power ocean. O God! Uh, uh, grow, uh, uh, uh, unstoppable, uh, uh, uh, big, uh, uh, uh, hard, uh, uh, unh, unh, unh, power, unh, unh, charged, unh, crackling, unh, loaded, ungh, ungh, brimming, ungh, buzzing, ungh, umngh, umngh, umngh, mmmm, ah! Mmmm, ah! Mmmm, AH! MMMM AH! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! AH! AH! I AM INVINCIBLE! …! I had become a living weapon. When this individual unit regained consciousness, the liquid was fading, and the surface of the liquid was at my waist. The liquid no longer kept me floating in weightlessness, and I had to stand on my feet. My large feet felt vaguely unusual for me, but anyhow I knew that I was perfectly able to use them in close combat. The receding solution revealed to me the feeling of this heavyweight body and the faces of my team-members outside the hypertrophic chamber: Worried but awe-struck (László), embarrassed but excited (Smith) and triumphant (Jones and Varga). When only a negligible amount of remaining liquid was whirling at the bottom of the glass cylinder, it opened, and Smith relieved me from the breathing mask and the neuro-helmet. ’I don’t know what to say’, Smith murmured. I eyed one of the screens, which still reported my new statistic data in light blue letters: CHAMBER ONE IS [NOT OCCUPIED] AND [iN STANDBY MODE] Specimen [leaving chamber]: Dr. Skrefsrud Weight: 197 kilogrammes Height: 205 centimetres Chest: 203 centimetres Waist: 109 centimetres Arm: 79 centimetres Thighs: 101 centimetres ’The insurgence of the test subjects is unnerving, and their insane idea to meddle with the settings made me worry for your and Green’s lives, but it doesn’t seem to be that dangerous. Quite contrary, as it seems. Do you feel alright?’ ’Green?’, I asked. ’Yes. As soon as they had placed you in Chamber 1, they put Green in Chamber 2. Do you feel alright?’ Outside the cylinder I began to notice the full consequences of the process. I was looking down on Smith who eyed my abs before he reached up to remove the IV tube. My vivid memory of once being a hardgainer now seemed as a bad joke. My broad shoulders were melons of marble, and my chest consisted of well-defined steel-hard pecs, separated by a deep valley continuing downwards between the cobblestone abs. My upper body had achieved a perfect V-shape. I felt confident, energised and content. ’I haven’t felt better in my entire life. Trust me. This is incredible, truly incredible.’ Smith swallowed. ’You look indescribably well, Skrefsrud, although I feel a little bit intimidated by you. Will you please help me to release Green from Chamber 2, so we can discuss the problem of the test subjects.’ ’The problem?’, I asked. ’Which problem?’ ’O come on, Skrefsrud. I mean the insurgence. They can’t use the lab against our permission, and experiment on persons who are not even test-subjects. We have to awake Major Murphy or Captain Melnyk.’ ’I see no problem. You are attunable to The Program. This individual unit will do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of himself and of The Program.’ ’O God! It can’t be true? You have become one of them!’ ’I am a part of The Program. You will become a part of The Program. Do not worry, citizen. You will become an enhanced and augmented unit. Jones enjoyed the procedure. Varga enjoyed the procedure. I enjoyed the procedure. You will enjoy the procedure.’ Jones and Varga observed with equal amounts of sense of duty, glee and compassion, when I began to undress Smith, who looked like a trapped animal. Intense fear shone from his eyes, when I put the neurohelmet on his head, and fastened the breathing mask over his nose and mouth. The experience of standing naked, surrounded by three insanely muscular men, of which one was stark naked and two were uniformed, seemed to involuntarily cause conflicting emotions in Smith. He sported an obvious hard-on. I pressed my powerful hand to his tiny shoulder, in order to steady him when I placed the IV tube in his subcutaneous membrane. He panicked, but his voice became inaudible when I closed the doors of the hypertrophic chamber. Next, we released Green from Chamber 2. He had reacted well to The Program, and followed it as dutifully as expected, but, by unknown reasons, he hadn’t grown entirely as much as myself. Jones, Varga, Green and myself were one in purpose when we turned around, and looked at László. During the struggle before my transformation, László had maintained a cocky and defiant attitude towards Jones and Varga, but now he sat bound to his chair with his shoulders sloped in a resigned expression. Jones let me free László from the ropes, and in silence László began unprompted to undress, and stepped into Chamber 2. His resigned expression was mixed with something else, and when I administered the IV-tube, he looked on me with an eager smile. Anticipation shone from his warm brown puppy eyes. ’I have worked out my entire life, Skrefsrud. If this is my destined way to achieve my dreams, so be it. I very much doubt, that I will resist the treatment the way you and Green tried. Bring it on, soldier! All you have, and then some. Fiddle with the settings if you believe it will benefit The Project. See you on the other side.’ Jones closed the doors, and Green activated Gospodunov’s anabolic formula. In order to alleviate Smith’s fear, the tranquillisers and analgesics were administered in a somewhat higher dose. We looked at the screen: CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED] AND [RUNNING PREPARATORY PROTOCOL] Specimen: Dr. Smith Weight: 85 kilo grammes Height: 170 centimetres Chest: 106 centimetres Waist: 96 centimetres Arm: 30 centimetres Thighs: 66 centimetres CHAMBER TWO IS [OCCUPIED] AND [RUNNING PREPARATORY PROTOCOL] Specimen: Dr. László Weight: 92 kilo grammes Height: 176 centimetres Chest: 121 centimetres Waist: 81 centimetres Arm: 48 centimetres Thighs: 66 centimetres ’Which settings do we prefer?’, I asked Jones and Varga. They thought for a few seconds. ’Let’s experiment. You don’t know the outer limits of the procedure yet, do you?’ The four of us looked at the screen. After some thought, Green adjusted the balance of the nutrients slightly. Jones asked about the levels of hypertrophic radiation, and, after a discussion between myself and Green, we combined a 350% level with an increased saturation of nano-particles. We modified the morphogenetic field even further than during the processing of me and Green. Thirty minutes later, Lászlo roared in excitement. ’Make me into one of them! Make me… Yes! Make me into one of you! Yes! Yes! Make me into one of… Uh, uh, uh, into one of us! Yes, yes, YES! Sir, yes sir!’ His speech faded into guttural noise, when the proficiency and behavioural patterns were implanted into him. He hadn’t resisted The Program. We turned our attention to Smith’s Chamber. He was awakening for the reprogramming. ’Don’t meddle with the settings! Let me out! Are you still out there? The walls are like blue mirrors now. I can’t see you. Hello? Are you there? Don’t put the machine on. Ouch! I’m burning! Ah! Ah!’ We were able to see Smith from the outside of the Chamber. The translucent cylinder revealed his small, pale and portly body floating weightlessly in the blue solution like a dark-haired pallid pear. ’No! I will not! I will certainly not! Will… Mmmm. No. Not! Mmmm… No! I refuse! I… Mmmm… We will… I… Mmmm… Oh! The Program! Mmmm… We… Uh, uh, uh, ah, ah… Mmmm… SIR! YES, SIR!’ His body stiffened and arched a moment, but then relaxed. The reprogramming took over, and Smith’s pulse slowed down from the dangerous rate Green had monitored cautiously. After a while the usual humming sound began and increased in volume, until the golden lightning bombarded László’s and Smith’s defenceless bodies. Through the golden red flares the outlines of our new recruits were only dimly seen, but it was obvious that they grew in height and muscle mass. Body fat swiftly burned away from Smith under the pressure of the energy-consuming process, and hints of an emerging six pack could be faintly traced. The screen reported their changes better, than an observation of the actual chambers did, since the light from the bolts and surges was nearly blinding in the beginning of the process. The anatomic charts in blue lines were gradually moving closer to the surrounding charts in green lines. Inside the chambers László and Smith murmured, grunted and groaned without coherent sentences, lost in their intense experiences, in a manner not unknown for anyone who belonged to The Project himself. Smith’s voice had deepened into a pleasant bass. From the fragments of their moaning, it seemed like they were able to see their own reflections in the inside surface of the chambers. From the speakers connected to László’s mask we heard: ’Oh. Ah. Oh. Mmmm. Ah. Fucking pump! Nnnn. Uh. So awesome! Oh, yes. Oh, yes! Oh, my abs! Mmmm. Ah. Fucking Lesukov pecs! Coleman back! Love this feeling. Uh. Ah. Oh! Better than exp… Oh! Yes! More! Ripped! Mmmm, ah! Look at these! Mmmm. I’m so… oh! Uh. Yes! Brutal! Beyond! Nnnn! Nnng! Will defeat… Uhnnn!’ From Smith’s mask-mic we heard: ’Yes. Yes, yes. Attuned… Nnnn. Enhanced… Nnnn. Um. Augmented… Nnnm. Resist every… Nnnm. Mmmm. Immense! Mmmm. Herculean! Mmmm. Powerboast! Oh! Gigantic! Titanic! Oh! Oh! OH! This unit… mnnn… defend … Oh. Ah. Oh! So full, tight, hard, oh, uh, uh. Mmnngh, massive, mmnngh, brutal, fucking, oh, nnnh, ah. So… uhnn, uhnn.’ Through the raging glow of the hypertrophic radiation we saw László and Smith change. László had been in very good shape already, but even he was changing. He was taller now, and more broad shouldered than before. His shoulders were like volley balls, and were still growing. His twitching pecs were like basket balls pulsating of their own life. His abs were like tightening tennis balls cast of some strange uncrushable metal. In the case of Smith, the ongoing transformation was even more sensational. His once fragile and unhealthy appearance had lost all traces of bodyfat, and now loomed inside the Chamber, like some tall, overwhelming muscular living monument, purposely designed to instil wariness, respect and awe in the beholder. He was built by unbelievably powerful, still growing, muscles contracting and pulsating in the glow of the empowering emissions of buzzing hypertrophic bolts. His enormous bull-neck and insanely defined abs, obliques and serratus made it hard to believe it was the same man. His chin had grown larger and was now indented by a little dimple. He had been well-shaven at the moment he had been forced into the Chamber, but now his chin and cheeks were covered in short, dark stubble. The transformation process just went on and on, for a longer duration and with more extreme results, beyond what we had thought possible. Jones and Varga looked fixedly on the men in the chambers. The golden light from the rays illumined their facial expressions of obedience to The Program, pride over their new recruits, and awe before the intimidating and insanely bulging behemoths of bronzed steel inside the cylinders, radiating confidence, superiority, ultra-masculinity and strength. Green checked the screen. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED] AND [RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] Dr. Smith Weight: [213 kilo grammes] [AND INCREASING] Height: [209 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Chest: [210 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Waist: [118 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Arm: [82 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Thighs: [110 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] CHAMBER TWO IS [OCCUPIED] AND [RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] Dr. László Weight: [215 kilo grammes] [AND INCREASING] Height: [211 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Chest: [212 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Waist: [120 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Arm: [85 centimetres] [AND INCREASING] Thighs: [109 centimetres [AND INCREASING] The charts in blue lines almost conformed to the charts in green lines, and the difference between the charts diminished every second. The grunts and moans from the recruits changed into bellowing roars of excitement. ’Big! Big! Big, big, big, big, big, oh fucking ah!’ ’Process intense! Uh, uh, uhngh! Affirmative!’ ’These… Oh, yeah! And these… O my God!’ ’Oh, in-du-ration … of … mnnngh! Ah, oh, uh! Achieving!’ ’Uhnn, uhnn, uhnn, ah, oh, ah, ah. AH! AH! AH! Yes! Yes! YES! YE… AAH! AAAH!!! THE POWER! …!’ ’Optimising! MAXIMISING! Nnngh, mnnngh, AAH! AAAH NGH!!!’ The humming sound from the chambers subsided, the thunderstorm in gold abated, and the fluid flushed into the draining gutter. When the chambers had become free from the liquid, the test subjects stepped outside. *** For me and Green it was obvious that we now had enough useful data about a healthy way to execute the Procedure. ’Lieutenant Jones. The data needed for reawakening of Corporal Soares and Corporal Johansson are most probably gathered by now. The Program demand their integration and reinstallment.’ ’Yes, it does, Doctor Skrefsrud. This will be undertaken.’ While Jones and László went to Infirmary, the now uniformed Smith looked at his goggles on the desk: ’I have no use for these anymore. My sight is perfect after the morphogenetic treatment – a positive side-effect we hadn’t considered.’ He grabbed his spectacles with his huge hand, and crushed them into pieces, throwing the remains in the recycling boxes for glass and metal. A few minutes later, the thuggishly built Jones held Soares’ fragile and defenceless body in his powerful arms, with a concerned and protective expression. He cradled Soares’ unconscious body carefully, and gave me the impression of an alpha male wolf protecting a wounded cub. Similarly, but even taller, and with his brutal build, László loomed at the far end of the Lab with – the already slightly transformed – Johansson. Only a man built like László could have been able to carry Johansson on his own. The synthetic amniotic fluid in the chambers was replaced by a cleaning chemical and emptied. The machines were already warming up for another step for The Program and some of its recruits. Several hours remained of the most eventful night of the experiment. The story continues in https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7120-project-defender-chapter-three/

A short story, while I finish writing my complicated novelettes about space marines and magic, respectively. I am testing a little different way of writing technique. DISCLAIMER All protagonists, antagonists and locations in this story are fictitious. Any likeness with actual persons and locations are purely coincidental. Readers uncomfortable with the subject of male intimacy are adviced to not read further. My little buddy I remember when I first saw you. I had probably worked at Sam's Gym for five years, and at The Steel Factory for several yers before that. The Steel Factory Gym, I mean. Not an actual steel factory. Not like dad and grandpa. I am not like my dad. You were standing at a pec-dec machine, reading the instructions. Tracksuit trousers hiding your legs, a grey T-shirt which gave the impression to be one size too large. Your arms just skin and bones, your hands behind your back in a gesture more suitable for a man 30 or 40 years older than yourself. Uncomfortable body language. Sam had pointed me in your direction. 'If you are not going to use it, don't block the machine, small-fry.' It was Kevin, a fairly successful fitness model, whose personality 'didn't keep the same standards as his looks'. I remember this expression. You used it two weeks later. You are better with words than I am, and I know that I am bad at expressing my feelings. I am uncomfortable with it. Kevin wasn't aware of me, when I moved in your direction, and he added some further insults. He jumped when I laid my hand on his shoulder. 'Any problems here?' 'Uh. No, no, Brad. No problems. I just wondered if this gentleman was finished with the pec dec.' 'I have been keeping an eye on you, Kevin. Follow the house rules.' Kevin avoided to look into my eyes, by some reason concentrating very much on the newly painted coffee and amino drink bar. 'Yes, yes of course. No problems here.' I looked quizzically at you, but you shook your head, and looked into the floor. 'You are lucky, Kevin. The machine is at your disposal, since I and my client here are not going to use it.' I turned in your direction, neglecting Kevin: 'And you must be the new gym member I am scheduled to train, aren't you?' 'I suppose so. The man at the desk told me to wait for Brad. It's you?' I like the newbies. They have decided to do something new. Something different. They have decided to change themselves, and put a toe into a foreign water. It is different for us who played sports all the time. It is just what we do: Playing football at the grassy spot close to the council flats, given a try at rugby if the PE teacher make that phone call to the coach he knows. Being adviced to add some weight training, and then being hit by the bug and quitting team sports. I had a belly once. It wasn't necessarily a disadvantage, since weight is an advantage on the ground, but the belly disappeared when I began pumping iron. But I lost the thread now: What I was saying is, that I like the newbies. For us the gym is a second home. For them the gym is something unfamiliar, but they give it a try anyway. They and they... I mean you. You were one of the wide-eyed and shy newbies once. For some it is hard to admit that they like the feeling: The release of your body's own chemicals when you end your training session, and is sitting relaxing freshly showered in the locker room. The feeling of pump. The feeling after a month when the first results show. Three months. Six months. Guys are able to transform themselves. They are not competing against someone else. All of us are just competing against our former selves. I like the newbies: To be able to help them overcome their initial embarrasment and hesitation, and be able to help them to release their potential. I feel protective, as I felt protective against you then. As I still do. Our first training session went well. I instructed you three times the first week. The second week you maintained your own schedule, and then I gave some advice the third week, in order to ensure that you performed the movements without hurting yourself. It takes some time for your body to acquaintance itself to the correct movements. I am no longer able to recollect how it came that we began to hang around outside the gym. In some regards we were unlikely friends: A 5ft 5in university student with liberal middle class parents and a more than 6 ft tall personal trainer with a divorced working class mum. I enjoyed watching action films together with you, and I enjoyed when we just spent time talking. Years ago I spent considerable time drinking beer, but exercise have been increasingly more important for me by the years, so pub crawls are nowadays carefully timed exceptions, far and few between, in order to not disrupt my carefully planned meal schedules. The pub wasn't the best place to meet you. I like our talks. Your eyes have always been special: The mix of intelligence and mischief is nice, and their colour looks like it sparkles in a strange way. I mean 'strange' like fascinating. Not something bad. People of Kevin's sort irritates me. A confident man doesn't behave like that. But it embarras me to admit, that I was like them at early secondary school. If it hadn't been for the PE teacher, the scout patrol leader and Sister Jane, I could have turned out a rotten being. I abhorred (See? You taught me something: abhorred) most adults at secondary school. Abhorred. I will soon start speaking like you and your fancy friends (although I learned PT lingo at the courses Jack and Sam sent me to). Only adults who impressed me were worthy of my attention, and I wasn't easy to impress. The PE teacher was cool. He had competed in weightlifting when he was younger, and despite his intimidating looks, he wasn't an idiot like my considerably smaller dad. Dad had stopped hitting me when I began to play rugby, and the divorce happened shortly after. The scout patrol leader was stern if needed, but he was always fair. And Sister Jane was an unlikely person to feel comfortable with: What does a testosterone crazed teenaged bully have in common with a feminist nun with a Ph.D.? But she had a sense of humour and an ability to understand. I don't know how I shall express it... She understood. I don't know if the three of them had talked with each other about me, or if it just happened by coincidence, but after speaking with them I felt bad and confident at the same time. Bad for what I had done in the past, but confident of what I could do to change things in the future. I was able to apologise to most of the kids, and then on I became their guardian angel. When I saw bullying happen at school, I intervened, and I was good at it. When I met you, it was already ten - no twelve or thirteen - years since I reformed my life to the better. We had known each others for a year or so. Within your personal limits and conditions, your achievements at the gym were good, but not optimal. Since we were friends, I had begun to take an interest in your case which probably exceeded the professional. I felt very worried that night when you rang on my doorbell and stood with a very sad and very upset facial expression at my doorstep. 'What has happened, little buddy? Come inside! You look devastated.' You really looked devastated. All my protective instincts kicked in. I handed you a low-carb amino drink from my refrigerator, and grabbed one myself. We ended up in the sofa, your tiny frame leaning on one arm of the sofa, my bulk relaxing in the opposite end. 'What is it? Did you fail in any exam?' 'No. No, it is nothing like that.' You fell silent for a while. I gave you time, took a sip, and waited. 'I am so sorry to make you disappointed. Please, be not upset about this, but there is something I must tell you. You may find it terrible.' Your sad expression gave me a heartwrenching icy feel in my gut: 'But what is it? You can tell me. We are friends, right?' 'Oh, Brad. I'm so sorry, but I would be dishonest if I... If... If I didn't tell you that I am gay.' I was probably a very bad friend when I exploded in laughter, but I couldn't control my reaction. Several expressions rapidly came and went in your face: Sadness, surprise, resentment and bewilderment (Look! I can use more fancy words!) 'Little buddy. I wasn't sure if you are or not, but does that matter? I'm gay too. Haven't you understood?' I love that facial expression. You are so cute when you do that. My perplex little power hobbit. It was not the last of our very long and very late discussions about personal experiences, straight people's expectations and prejudices, and gay people's expectations and prejudices. Why many of these are wrong or misguided. About closet cases. About bears and the fetish crowd, and how they differ from the twinks. About muscle worship. Your were, and you still are, much better than me to express your feelings in speech, but I was at least, to a certain extent, more experienced than you: After a handful of rather disappointing dates with girls as a teenager, I had a few short encounters with gays my own age at that clubbing street. My muscles seemed to be popular among some, perhaps more so than me as a person. That disturbed me, although I was flattered too in a sense. I don't know. Anyhow, I had hanged around the blocks for a while longer than you, although it would be an exaggeration to call me experienced. It took us two days to admit to each other that we were very much into each other: Your small frame resting in my vein-covered arms, and your cute nose nuzzled at my meaty pecs (of those I was rather proud), our rods enthusiastically bouncing against the inside of our underpants, waiting for all clothes to be taken off. My little buddy. Although your hungry admiration of my muscles couldn't be hidden, now when the lid was off, you always took an interest in me, myself, who I am inside, and I am sorry for not telling you about how I was a bully when thirteen and fourteen. I was ashamed. I knew that Sam would consider it unprofessional to live with one of the gym members, but I was lucky: Jack, who owned The Steel Factory, was an old mate, and wanted me to work for him instead. As soon as I had changed job, we could move to our new flat. Your were delighted at my assistance with new training schedules, eating schedules and supplements, and I felt proud giving you that assistance, seeing how you transformed from your old, shy self with its awkward pose, into a toned young man with a considerably more confident expression. But you were definitely a hardgainer. When you first stepped inside Sam's Gym, you looked like a sea mammal (but without any fat): No visible pecs (just a flat chest) and no visible abs (despite the low level of subcutaneous fat). After one and a half year, your high metabolism had the good side with it, that your abs were visible. They were small, sure, but they were there, and nothing hid their well-defined existence. Your wiry pecs now showed that they existed, but not beyond that. Your exercise had changed your upper body form: Traps and shoulders were distinctly visible in a way they were not before, but you were still at the very slim end of the spectrum. Once my tiny little friend, you were now my little power hobbit. You were a typical ectomorph, but at least I tried to make your calorie intake higher than before, looking for new and fancy nutrition drinks. I have to admit that I had used gear before taking the job at Sam's. Jack and the Steel Factory crowd didn't mind, but Sam had a strict zero level policy when it came to such substances. Back at The Steel Factory, I began hearing rumours about that top secret experiment the Military in several countries had performed on marines: The guys came back from Service like brickhouses, but were forbidden to talk about it. It had obviously started years ago, and pirate copies of the needed equipment had began to circulate on the black market. It was rumoured, that some guards at global corporations had went through the treatment, and another rumour claimed that wrestling federations had made investments in such research, in order to make the business more eye-popping in the future. It wasn't easy to know what was conspiracy theories, what was pipe dreams, and what was true. Until the night I met Tvrtko. He had exercised at The Steel Factory for years, and always been a big guy, but now he was huge. No one dared to ask. Well, except me. He knew me rather well, and he told me. He had probably told me for half an hour, when we made the deal. 'No, there would be no problem with any crime syndicates. It could have been, if you wanted to buy their services in giving you The Treatment... Shady business, you know... But it is entirely different if you buy a second hand machine and give yourself The Treatment. No strings attached. Just buy it, store it where the authorities doesn't look, use it, and if you want to sell it to another user afterwards, it your private matter. It doesn't concern me. Am I clear? Am I perfectly clear?' * * * Your birthday occurred on a Saturday, and there was no need to take the day off. We had the entire weekend for ourself. When you came home Friday evening I gave you an envelope. 'It is better to open it tomorrow, isn't it?' 'No. Open it now.' ' "Do you want to be big?" What sort of question is that? You know that I want to be big. If a miracle could occur, it would be amazing to be tall like you, but I have to limit my goals to pack on some brawn.' You sighed. 'I eat and I eat, and nothing happens.' 'I wouldn't use the word nothing. Think how you looked when I started training you?' 'Yes, there have been some changes, but I am not like my favourite cuddling monster, am I?' Your arms around my waist. Your head against my chest. Your ear against my abs. I was beginning to feel horny. 'No. I mean it. If you really want to become big, that is your birthday present. To begin with, I have a new supplement to you.' 'Another one? Well. You know what you are doing. You've got the PT education.' You let me go when you felt the nice smell of food. I had tried to use the supplements I got from Tvrtko as creatively I could. The spaghetti on the table was a mix of wheat and soy, and therefore with a slightly higher protein content than ordinary pasta, but it was available in ordinary supermarkets. The pasta sauce contained ordinary food, such as mushrooms, spinache and a lot of spices to hide the mildly unpleasant taste. That taste came from the powder I had got from Tvrtko. I had also used it in the sauce which was mixed with the salat, and the pudding in the refrigerator was a mixture of Tvrtko's powder, a milky liquid of similar content, and lots of sugar, vanilla and egg to hide the taste. 'I have used a lot of new supplements in this meal', I remarked. 'You have? It tastes considerably better than some of the gainers you have been feeding me.' 'Ready for your surprise?' 'I thought the new supplements were the surprise, and a slightly underwhelming one.' Oh, how I like that spark in your eyes. 'No, there is more to come, if you really want.' 'I like surprises. You know it. What are you up to?' 'It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you.' Two hours later we sat in the car together, and I drove into an empty parking lot, close to a warehouse. It was dark. The light from the car reflected in the moist asphalt and the rainwater puddles. It drizzled when I unlocked the warehouse. I put a blind before your eyes, and you smiled, when I carefully led you through the warehouse. You seemed to have expected something else, when I removed the blind. 'What's that?' You observed The Machine. According to Tvrtko, it was smaller than the military equivalents, and it required the specimens to drink large amounts of nutrition drinks and nutrition powder a few hours before operation. Tvrtko had heard something about the Army using IV or something. Large gas cylinders were connected to The Machine on the back, and looked considerably newer than the rest of the equipments (Gas cylinders had to be renewed often, and were hard to find). 'It's a muscle enhancing machine. It's your birthday gift.' You looked slightly angry, when you began looking up in the ceiling: 'I expected a surprise party at an unusual location, but now it seems to be candid camera or something like that. Who's hiding and filming this right now.' 'I am perfectly honest. It is a muscle stimulating machine.' It hadn't crossed my mind, that it could be hard to convince you that The Machine was for real. It took a few minutes. I could see and hear how you slowly went from annoyed to surprised, from surprised to suspicious, and from suspicious to something less obvious. 'If you have gone through these lengths to make this possible, I will not disappoint you, but it is hard to believe. How could it possibly be true? Don't you think it feels a little unreal just now? And I am beginning to feel funny, warm or something.' 'It is probably the supplements I told you about. They begin to work now. If we opt out, we will probably gain some muscle and some fat anyhow, but far from the results I have been promised if we use that.' I nodded in the direction of the slightly intimidating presence in the room: The Machine. We stood silent for a few seconds. Then you gave me a sly expression: 'What if you tested the machine first?' It hadn't occurred to me that this was an option. It felt exciting to take part of the experiment myself (I had brought equipment to do that after you), but it was meant as a gift to you. I kept silent. I didn't know what to say. 'It is a double birthday present, if it really works: I have to watch you became even more brilliantly big, which is a really exciting thought, I can assure you, and then I can take part of this experiment myself, if it really works.' Doubt still emanated from you, but mixed with expectations that the impossible would be possible. We went through the operation of The Machine. 'It is obviously a dumbed down pirate copy: You change what you wish to achieve at this panel, and increase power levels at this panel, put the gas on with this control, and this must be a speaker with microphone, so that we can talk. It sounds reasonably simple?' I unpacked the training bags: Towels and soap (The warehose had a shower once meant to be used by workers), tracksuits in large sizes (I didn't know exactly how much The Treatment would affect us) and then two pairs of odd things. I held the posing trunks made of leather before you. You took it in with humour: 'Any new ideas how to kink this up? That's something new!' 'Actually, there is a reason for them. According to Tvrtko, cotton fabrics take fire and synthetic fibres melt inside The Machine. He tested, by putting some piece of clothing inside, since he wanted to avoid 'to look gay', as he expressed it. It seemed to have passed him by that you and I live together.' 'Cotton take fire? And synthetics melt? And we are to believe that human beings are just fine, and don't become radioactive or something else?' We discussed shortly, decided to do it anyway, changed clothes, and prepared for the use of The Machine. I began to feel hot, despite the fact that I was naked. It was probably the supplements that kicked in. The inside of The Machine was spacious enough for four or five persons at least. The walls were covered with some sort of glass lenses or something. Strange equiment hang in the ceiling, but since I am not an engineer, I could not guess at their functions. 'This gives the word closet case a new meaning.', you joked from the outside. The speakers worked. 'Can you hear me?' 'Yes, fine, can you hear me?' 'Yes, perfectly. Good that some things on this wreck works.' The inside smelled rather much like the smell I knew from tanning salons. I could sense a vague hint of smoke, perhaps from Tvrtko's mishap with the cotton pants, but there was also a whiff of cleaning solution. I felt very warm. The posing trunks emitted a whiff of leather. I wasn't normally into leather, but it felt naughty to stand there in the buff, excepting just this small equipment of clothing. Black. Glossy. A hissing sound. 'I opened the gas transmission. Everything alright?' 'I am able to breathe as usual. I tell you if I begin to feel funny.' It felt like ordinary air. Perhaps slighly more... chemical. I took a deep breath. And another one. 'No, nothin special yet. Don't worry.' 'I put the powerfield on now, whatever it is. Are you really sure it is safe?' 'How many times do I have to tell you, taht Tvrtko used it months ago, and haven't suffered any... Ungh!' The powerfield hit me, but in a good way. God! What was that? It felt... Oh! 'Oh, it feels good, little buddy. Everything alright outside?' 'I think so. It looks like you are glowing. It's pretty cool. Just tell me if...' Unh! It felt like my entire body was buzzing. Buzzing of something. Buzzing pleasantly. Buzzing... o my God! 'It's good! It's so... mmmm. You will like it when you... oh. Um!' 'It works, Brad! You are growing! You are actually growing! You look awesome!' I had been proud of my pecs for years, but now they were trembling, while they grew larger. Unlike you, the abs had always been a problem spot for me: They existed, alright, and I had been able to feel their hard presence under my belly fat, and even sense a visual hint of them now and then, but the remaining fat had always hid them from sight. Now, the fat melted away, under the pressure of my scientifically heightened metabolism and the strange God-knows-what radiation that was released into The Machine. The Treatment had begun to race through my body. 'Unngh, Brad. You look incredible! You should be able to watch yourself! I can't take it! It is too alluring! I change the settings, yes changing the settings like this, and this.' 'What are you doing? Ummm. Uh. Safety... ummm, oh! Yes!' 'My cuddling monster is becoming a super cuddling monster. Oh! Look at you! Look at that awesomeness! Did I tell you that these posing trunks actually are beginning to feel comfortable?' Your voice came from afar. My transformation experience was beginning to be overwhelming. I didn't know what settings you may have changed, and what safety protocols you could have disregarded, but I wasn't able to object, since the feeling was so intense: The feeling of growth. My shoulders was becoming volley balls or bowling balls. My biceps swelled into monstrous globes of hot, steel hard flesh, and my triceps turned into corded steel wires. You said something, but I couldn't hear exactly what, since the humming sound from the machine, the hissing gas, the sound of my own pulse in my ears - like a sledge hammer - and the raw feeling of growth all claimed my attention. My thighs became pillars of might. My calves exploded into rugby balls. Rugby balls of granite. My traps, my titanium traps... I felt dizzy, but not in a bad way. My back could now carry the entire world, or so it felt. I dont know how long time had lapsed, when I felt your hand against my abs. One part of my brain probably had a vague idea about us taking turns in the machine, but in my enraptured state I didn't care. You were here, with me, inside The Machine and shared my experience of The Treatment, just as I shared yours. My rod pulsated against the inside of my posing trunks. I could hear you roar, as you shared the effects. Effects of the gas. Of the settings. New settings. What we wish to achieve? Power levels? Of the... POWER LEVELS! It was even better than before. Whatever you had done, The Machine now worked on an entirely new level. I held you, standing behind you, as many times before. My little buddy in front of me. I could nuzzle my nose in your hair. It was just a few months since you changed that old fashionable haircut into a fierce buzzcut. The buzzcut suits you. You look much more masculine in the buzzcut. I let my hands - my growing hands? - rest over your pecs. It was obvious that you were growing just like me, perhaps even more so, since your beginner level was... different. What a pair of amazing pecs you had got! And they were still growing! Is my power hobbit turning into a little Lesukov clone, eh? You shivered. I shivered. And then I felt it: You were growing in every way. You were growing taller. You roared. I nuzzled your buzzcut. My rod had pulsated against your back not so long time ago, but now it pulsated against the hollow in your lower spine, and you were still growing. I had to change the angle I nuzzled your buzzcut. Taller. Definitely taller. My little buddy becoming big. Mmmm. Big. I felt bigger, but you grew faster than me. I liked how you grew faster than me. Birthday present. Power. Mmmm. My big hands explored your abs. They had been defined before. Now they had turned into six cannon-balls of uncrushable might. I shivered again. You groaned. Or moaned. I explored your traps. Massaged them while the new settings executed their work on us. So hard and full. Amazing. Your were now beyond what I was when I entered The Machine, and you were approaching what I was becoming. Still becoming. Both of us. Together. Am I not thinking clearly? Oh, it's so good. So good! The new veins running on your arms. Oh! I shivered. You shivered together with me. I could feel the smell of sweat. Sweat rich of testosterone. And the smell of leather. Warm leather. My big hands explored your hard washboard abs again, and then continued further south. You shivered. I could feel your rod bouncing and pulsating on the inside of the trunks. It felt larger than before. Than ever before. You moaned. You shivered. Your leather trunks ripped apart, unable to resist your tool, giving my unprepared hand a lash. Your body against mine. Hot in every sense. My rod at the height of your diamond hard bum. You shivered. New settings. Of what we want to achieve. And power levels. Power. Levels. It felt so... so... Yes it was filling me. And it was filling you. The Power. All these power bolts! Making our metabolisms to packing on more brawn. More! Power emissions into us. Into our brawn. Bolts. Of masculinity. No, hyper-masculinity! Hitting. Surging. Loading. Beyond physicality. Becoming power beings. Of power muscles. Your back! Now with ridges. Valleys. Hard. Against my chest. My mind-blowing pecs. What are you doing? Turning. Around? Mmmm. What. Are. You. Doing? Trunks. Gone? When? Oh you little... Oh. Um. My big little. Unnngh! Now? During... Treatment? My big little... Oh! Enormous little buddy between my legs. You...kidding? Nnngh. Your titanic traps. My Quads. My gigantic little buddy. Protect. Growing. Power levels. Invincible! Yes! YES! YES! BEYOND ALL REASON! BEYOND ALL

Ok so I've only ever posted like one other story here before so I'm too experienced at this. Lol I'm currently vacationing in Fort Morgan, AL and this little idea just kind of popped into my head yesterday so I'm just gonna see how it goes so I hope you guys enjoy! If I do end up doing multiple parts I will just post them all in this thread...(constructive criticism appreciated ) A Strange Occurrence at Fort Morgan Part I It had been a long and stressful senior year, but my buddies and I finally survived college and graduated this past May. In celebration, the three of us decided to rent a house down in Fort Morgan, AL for a week and just relax. There were only two rooms so two of us had to share a bed while the other got a bed to themselves. This decision was obviously made with a classic round of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Ben ended up winning so he moved his stuff to his room, while Cresley and I moved our stuff to our room. The bed was a king-sized bed so there was still plenty of room for both of us to be comfortable. The company that owned these houses supplied us with a golf cart for us to take down to the beach so as soon as we unloaded our things, we changed into swim clothes and hopped into the cart and headed down to the beach. We got to the beach and found our spot and took off our shirts to get into the water. I'm usually kind of self-counsious about taking my shirt off, especially in a public place. I've always been known as the "tall skinny guy" growing up and even in college, but those four years were full of bad eating habits and broken promises of getting into a steady gym routine. Needless to say, I am not quite the "stick" that I used to be. I am not fat by any means. I just have a little extra weight that gives me kind of a funny shape. Cresley and Ben are my best friends, though, so I know that they aren't going to judge me and I could care less at this point about everyone else on the beach. Cresley has always been one of those guys that you can see by his body type that he has so much potential to look good if he would just go to the gym on a regular basis, but he doesn't. He has a fairly average body type, about 6'1, 160lbs with a thin layer of flab. Ben is the most muscular out of the three of us. He's not huge or even ripped by any means, but he is the most committed to the gym of the three of us and it shows. He's just a little thicker than both of us and he has some muscle to show for it at 5'9 and 180lbs. We quickly ran into the water and dove right into the crisp, cool ocean water. After the initial shock of the chilly water on our bodies, we noticed that the waves were minimal, which was disappointing. My favorite part of going to the beach is the adrenaline rush of hopping huge waves or trying to catch a good wave with a boogie board. The water was very clear, due to the lack of waves. We could see all sorts of fish, sand dollars, and crabs scurrying around our feet. I was busy trying to catch a crab when I heard Cresley yelp in pain. I immediately looked up and saw a very unique-looking fish swim away. It was probably a foot long. I had never seen anything like it. Cresley seemed fine, but he was looking at his ankle. All I saw was a spot of blood on his ankle. "What happened?", I asked. "I was just looking at the sand dollars in the water and I took a step back and felt a sting on my ankle. It felt like there was some sort of worm on my leg, but when I looked down I just saw this crazy ass fish swimming away and this small hole in my foot. I guess I accidentally stepped on the thing and he freaked and bit me!", said Cresley. We probably stayed in the water for a couple more minutes before just calling it quits and going back to the house. The water just wasn't doing anything and Cresley was acting a little strangely after his encounter with the weird fish. We got back to the house and cleaned off his cut and put a band aid on it. We settled in for the night and made a few snacks to eat while watching a movie. I kept kind of glancing at Cresley during the movie because he was acting a little funny. He seemed to be sweating quite a bit and he was totally pigging out on the snacks. He didn't seem to be paying attention to the movie at all. The movie ended and we all turned in for the night. As we got into the bed, I asked Cresley if he was feeling alright. "Yeah man. I feel fine! It's just so hot in this house right now and I'm absolutely starving!" "Oh. Ok then. We don't need you to be playing Mr. Tough Guy and playing off this fish bite if you aren't feeling good. The last thing we need is to spend the rest of the week at a hospital." "Nah dude I'm fine. I'll feel better in the morning." With that, I turned off the lights and we went to bed. I crashed and slept straight through the night. I woke up the next morning to Cresley right next to me. I was really annoyed because I knew how big this bed was. We almost had enough room for a third person to sleep in between us. I tried to push him back over but he didn't budge. He felt really thick too, which was really weird. I nudged him and tried to wake him up and he just grunted, but it didn't sound like him. This grunt was a lot deeper. I freaked, thinking someone else was in the bed with me. I flipped on the lights and whipped the covers back. What I saw cannot be logically explained. Cresley was....well. He was enormous. It definitely explained why he was almost on top of me on my side of the bed. He now took up over half of the bed with his massive body. He usually just slept in a pair of comfortable stretchy gym shorts and no shirt, which was a good decision on this particular night. Somehow in the night, Cresley had grown into a muscle-bound behemoth. He had most likely surpassed Jay Cutler in size. His neck was thick and bulging, which explained for the deeper grunt. His already handsome face was even more chiseled and masculine with a thick beard to accommodate the bull sized neck. His traps practically swallowed his neck leading down to a set of shoulders that were the size of bowling balls. And his arms. Sweet Jesus his arms were huge. They had to be at least 23 inches around. His forearms were just as impressive and covered with a thick layer of dark hair and thick, bulging veins. His pectoral muscles were just as unbelievable. They were like two big watermelon halves just jutting straight in the air covered in dark hair. His back was so unbelievably broad and tapered down to practically the same size waist that he had before his freaky transformation. His abdominal muscles were thick like cobblestones with a trail of hair heading down to his goods. His shorts were clinging to his body for dear life. His quads were the size of tree trunks, so thick and sinewy with muscle. His calves had to be bigger than my head. I could see the outline of his huge member trailing down one side of his shorts. How his shorts managed to not bust at the seams between his quads and his enormous cock and balls baffled me. He was laying on his back but I could tell by the way that he was laying, that his butt had to be just as glorious as the rest of his bulging body. I just stared, mouth agape, taking in the sight. I nudged Cresley again trying to awaken him and he stirred. "What the hell man!?", I screamed. "What the fuck are you talking about dude? Whoa what the hell is wrong with my voice?" "Try looking in the mirror, Mr. Incredible." Cresley struggled to get out of bed, due to his new size and he immediately started to notice that things were obviously different. He noticed his big, meaty hands that led up to his thickly corded muscular forearms and just stared in wonder. He noticed how his chin was now able to rest on his enormous chest for some reason and how he could barely see past those enormous pecs to see that his shorts were painted onto his thunderous quads. He snapped out of it and continued to struggle to get up, adjusting to all of his new weight. Once he stood up, I finally saw his ass. That beautiful, glorious ass. It jutted straight out, defying gravity stretching the fabric of those poor, poor shorts just about to their breaking point. He waddled over to the full length mirror, attempting to get used to his thicker legs. When he reached the mirror, he just stared, mouth agape. "Holy shit man! Look at me! I'm fuckin' huge! I feel like the strongest person in the world right now! This is fucking incredible bro! Everything just feels so tight! My skin feels paper thin!" His arms jutted out at forty five degree angles because of the thickness of his lats. He flexed his triceps and they exploded with power. By now, my cock was hard as a rock, staring at this behemoth that was my best pal, Cresley. I never really considered Cresley as anything more than a brother to me, although I always thought he was a great looking guy. Now it took every ounce of restraint to keep me from just jumping onto him right now and just worshipping every inch of him. He started flexing different muscle groups and I was losing myself in all of his glorious musculature. It was when he did a most muscular pose that I lost it. I think I orgasmed harder than I ever have in my shorts that morning. His muscles just exploded with size and power and I lost it. Luckily, he didn't even notice me. I mean why would he even pay attention to me when he has the body that he has now? He spent at least the next fifteen minutes just exploring his new body. "I can't wait for Ben to see this." To be continued...?

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The Testosterone Effect Part III: Intensity Blake reflected on the events of the past few days as he walked across campus to meet Sampson at the lab. First it was the huge display of manly masturbation he put on at the lab. He reflected on how he felt during that time... it was as if some force had come over him and taken over his mind, making him unable and unwilling to do anything other than furiously beat his dick off in a sexual frenzy. And it was the same way with Matt, too, except that something else had happened to make Matt full of lust and desire. It was like Matt saw him sitting there, naked and erect, and was so overcome with sexual desire that he couldn't resist Blake. But ordinarily, Blake thought he would have rejected Matt's advances - they were roommates, and friends, and didn't want things to be weird between the two of them. But when Matt came over to Blake, that force again took over. It was weird; Blake thought hyper-testosterone would make him aggressive and want to fuck Matt, not the other way around. But in a way, he DID feel hyper-aggressive; it was just that his aggression was turned towards being fucked. All of the thoughts made Blake's cock twitch and tighten during his walk to the lab, and he struggled to hide his boner as he made his way across the quad. "Yikes, this is so ridiculous and embarrassing," he thought, but was turned on at the same time by the prospect of doing more kinky sexual experiments with Sampson. He arrived at the lab and was directed to Sampson's office. Sampson further elaborated on his theory about Blake's condition: "You see... the average adult male's testicles produce testosterone at a base line level, all the time. During times of arousal and sex - or masturbation, they start producing more testosterone, to a level about 10x the base rate. However, during your test, we measured a base testosterone of 5x higher than that... if you've done the math, your base production is 50x that of the average man. We weren't able to measure production while you were masturbating, but..." his voice trailed off. "But it was probably insanely off the charts," Blake replied. "Yes. Your body is producing testosterone at a tremendous rate. And judging by your reply to my e-mail... it has an interesting effect on other men as well. We are extremely interested in studying this and I'm sure you are, too. If that's the case, we should set up a schedule for more experiments." Blake agreed. "This is all sorta overwhelming... but I have to admit, it's really hot, and I can't imagine the regret I'll feel later if I don't take this opportunity." The two men talked over a schedule and plan. "We'll be doing more tests to measure your testosterone output and how it affects your body," Sampson reasoned. "We can start today, with a test not unlike the first one we did. Only we'll be using more intense stimulation." Blake agreed and was eager to get started, so Sampson escorted him out of his office and downstairs to the examination room. "We've made some upgrades in anticipation of finding subjects of interest," Sampson told Blake. "This time, you won't need to wear any leads; we've got state of the art biosensors in the panels of the walls now, which should give us even more data and interfere a lot less." Blake entered the pure white room and sat on the hard plastic bench in the middle of it, as Sampson retreated upstairs to the control room. His voice filled the room via intercom. "Alright, Blake, we're ready to get started. Go ahead and disrobe, completely." Blake got naked, throwing his clothes into a corner of the room. Several thousand white lights twinkled on the walls around him: the biosensors flared to life. "Hold still," Sampson ordered, "we're doing some base calibrations with the sensors, now." The sensors blinked for a while, and about a minute later, faded from the wall. "Alright, we're ready to begin in earnest, now. A few things to note: for this test, we won't be able to give you privacy, I'm afraid. We'll be recording what goes on and saving it on a server in the lab, so we can review it. The server is internal and not connected to any external networks, so it'll be totally secure and private, only accessible by our research group. We'll also be showing you some porn on the screen as before... any preferences?" "Sure," Blake laughed. "How about some muscular jocks? I've got kind of a sports fetish lately..." "Coming up," Sampson said. Four videos flicked on to the wall, each covering up a quarter of its surface: first were two men sitting in jockstraps in a locker room, next came three guys playing football shirtless, third came two guys nearly naked in a weight room, and finally, a group of guys participating in a wrestling tournament. Blake recognized a few of the videos (he was a horny college kid and average porn watcher, after all), and became a little turned on already. "We've also got something to stimulate you a little more than just the videos..." Sampson said. A panel in the rear wall of the room opened up, and a machine moved out from the wall and towards the back of the bench. Attached to the machine was a large dildo mounted on a motorized rod. A bottle of lube sat next to the machine. "Is... is that ok?" Sampson asked. "Fuck yeah," Blake commented, staring down the sex toy with lust. The experiments really were kinky. He couldn't wait, so he grabbed the lube and squeezed some onto the toy, coating it in a thick layer, and fingered himself to prepare for the huge dong. He sat hands and knees on the bench, staring straight ahead at the front porn wall, and spread his ass cheeks apart as the dildo moved into position. The thick 7-incher pressed up against Blake's ass, slowly inching forward, uncaringly pushing into Blake's hole. "Fuck!" Blake screamed. The large dong moved further and further into Blake, causing him to wriggle and writhe in a mix of pleasure and pain. After it was fully inserted, the toy began to vibrate and pulse, and slowly fucked Blake. His cries devolved into grunts, his voice deepening as his body's extreme hormone production began to take over. He felt his muscles tighten and thicken slightly. Next, he felt his mind slip away as the primal feelings of sex took over. Blake began to sweat profusely, and although he couldn't notice it, the room was filled with a thick musky smell, intoxicating to anyone who encountered it, as glands in his pits and crotch worked overtime to pump out pheromones into the air. Blake noticed a few hairs begin to appear on his chest; the testosterone was tightening its control over his body. The images of muscular hunks on the screen in front of him were pleasing, but a huge wave of lust took over his emotions. The dildo in his ass, fucking him hard and fast, now, wasn't enough. Just a few minutes ago even the slow pace of the machine was nearly too much for Blake to take, but the hormones now controlling his body craved even more. His cock was fully erect, 6.5" inches of thick meat pulsing and trying to grow larger. From the control room, Sampson watched Blake's body stressfully trying to grow. It was apparent that Blake's body was pushing itself to the limit, trying to produce muscle and tissue to grow bigger as his balls churned and worked overtime to produce more and more testosterone, and cum. "He seems to want even more," an intern commented, looking up from a computer screen collecting and collating all of the biosensor data into a summarized chart in real-time. "We're already at the highest speed and intensity," Sampson commented. He turned toward the internet, a 5'7" guy with light brown hair. "We'll leave him at this setting for a while, and in the meantime, we'll need to figure out something else to stimulate him even more for the next experiment. Max, can you start making plans?" Max the intern nodded. He was a pretty athletic guy himself, although he paled in comparison to Blake even before sex with Matt grew his muscles. Max was curious about how much more stimulated Blake could be, and what the results would be. The stud downstairs was already a primal sex beast, craving more and more- wait. Max grinned and had an idea. "Sir, if we're leaving the subject on this stimulation level, can I step out for a moment? The computer will collect the data automatically." "Yes, go ahead." Max nodded and exited the control room, bringing his universal access key card with him. As he hurried downstairs and into the hallway, his heart rate soared and his cock twitched at the idea of what he was about to do. Max approached the door of exam room, which was sealed tightly and had a red "IN USE" light angrily forbidding access. Max gulped and inserted his key card into the door, then typed the four-digit override code. Blake's bestial screams were muffled by the door, but Max heard the grunting and howling and became very turned on. The door shutter quickly rose to admit him access, then slammed behind him loudly. Blake screamed, "FUCK YEAH, I NEED MORE!" at the top of his lungs, as he intently glared forward at the porn projected on the screen as the huge dildo was relentlessly pounding his ass. Max took a deep breath, and at the instant Blake turned over and saw him standing at the door, he inhaled a massive dose of pheromones. "Holy fuck," Max muttered, instantly intoxicated by the smell. It was like a drug... the feeling of it was so intense, he was overcome with a desire, not just to enjoy more of the smell, but to get to the source of it and completely immerse himself in the masculinity it represented. Max instantly ripped off his shirt and pants. His 5" cock was fully erect, pitching a tent in his tight briefs. Blake moaned and howled, crawling away from the dildo machine. He stood upright, his cock now swollen to 7.5" and muscles nearly double their size when the test began. Blake ran over to him, and the two began making out, their cocks pressed up against each other. From the control room, Sampson slammed on his desk in rage. "HOW DID HE GET IN THERE! I told you I wanted the door locked and un-overrideable!" "S-sir... it's a safety precaution. We can't fully shut ourselves out from the exam rooms," stammered another intern. "Fuck! We weren't ready for testing with another man yet!" Back in the exam room, Blake was now lying on the table, the dildo machine pushed away, its purpose fulfilled. Max was on his hands and knees above Blake, his muscles and cock thickening and growing slightly, now 5.5", dangling over Blake's face. His own face rested in Blake's crotch as he sniffed and inhaled straight from the source of Blake's musky scent. Max ran his tongue up and down Blake's huge shaft and across his balls, slurping up sweat and precum. After some teasing, he wrapped his head around the tip of Blake's cock, slowly sucking on the huge meat, unable to take even half of it into his throat without gagging. At the other end of the table, Blake was sucking Max's cock furiously, deepthroating its entire length, feeling it grow and lengthen in his mouth. The two men were obsessed with each other, unable to stop having sex even if their lives depended on it. After some time spent 69'ing, Max stood up and grabbed the bottle of lube, which had been knocked to the floor in the commotion. He furiously lubed up his ass and Blake's cock, then squatted down and pushed as much of it into his ass as he could. The men fucked for a while, Max impaling himself with Blake's massive member, riding the dick with abandon. All the while, their bodies were producing more and more testosterone, resulting in a huge increase in muscle size. Max, who looked pretty strong, but nothing too out of the ordinary, now looked like a huge stud, definitely the strongest guy at any average gym. And Blake, who previously was a huge guy, was now resembling more of a giant muscle god, 7' tall and over 275 lbs of pure muscle. Finally, Max and Blake couldn't take any more, their bodies begged for release. Before getting up off of Blake's cock, Max unleashed a massive load all over Blake's chest, squirt after squirt of hot seed coating Blake's pecs, abs, shoulders, and face with white cream. It pooled up in the crevices between Blake's muscles and looked incredible. Blake lifted Max up off his dick, commanding him to kneel on the floor. The smaller man complied, and Blake unleashed an even larger torrent of his jizz all over Max, the force of which was almost enough to send him recoiling. The cum hit him with the force of a super soaker, spraying everywhere and pooling up on the floor. Blake screamed and yelled as load after load came gushing from his massive cock. Max, who got a little taste of cum from one of the earlier blasts, was positioning himself to be hit and covered with the most cum possible, and after Blake's orgasm had subsided, he was greedily licking his body, the floor, and Blake himself for every last drop of cum. There was far too much for him to finish, so he resorted to lying down on the floor, covering himself in it. Blake laid there with him, embracing his partner and kissing him intensely. The two men's muscles slowly shrunk, but settled on a resting point still quite a bit larger than they had begun the day with. Blake's cock, before softening, was around 8" long, having begun the day at only 6.5". Sampson surveyed the room from the control area. "Jesus Christ," he commented. "This is much more intense than we could have imagined." He commanded the interns to cycle the room's air several times before entering, incase of any lingering hormones, then to collect the now unconscious men and separate them into two different recovery rooms. "We have a lot of work to do," he concluded. Author's note: Dang, this was a hot part to write. The next part of the story will turn its attention to Matt, who's been changed in more than a few ways since his experience with Blake. Continued here! https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6435-the-testosterone-effect-part-iv/

The Testosterone Effect Part II: Revelation About 5 days after the "incident" at the lab, Blake was sitting in his dorm room studying, while his rooommate Matt sat on the futon, playing video games. Matt was an overall average guy in nearly every way - average build, average height at about 5'10", and average personality. He was a nice guy, and a good friend, but no one to necessarily write home about. Matt was rushing a fraternity, which Blake thought was stupid, but Matt figured it would help him broaden his horizons and make friends. Matt tried to get Blake to join him in rushing the frat, but Blake wasn't interested. "C'mon, man, they're all pretty big guys. I'm intimidated. If they knew I were friends with a bigger guy like you, it'd be a lot easier," Matt pleaded. "Getting me to rush isn't going to help you with your insecurity," Blake replied. Fair enough. Matt had a rush event, so he asked Blake if he wanted to grab dinner in about an hour. "Sounds good," Blake replied. Nice, Matt was going out for a while. Perfect timing. Blake had been feeling extra horny on top of his usual above-average libido ever since he lost all control in the lab. He opened up a new browser tab on his laptop, pulled off his shirt and shorts, lubed up, and started beating off. Another thing that had changed since the research exam was that Blake now had fully-fledged cravings and fantasies. It used to be that he would feel horny and beat off to porn without thinking about the specifics of his desires. Now, he had specific and vivid cravings to suck cock and ride on a fat dick, despite never doing those things before. After about 5 minutes of pleasuring himself, Blake was getting sweaty, and a strong smell filled the room. His pits and crotch were emitting a massive amount of pheromones in the form of an intense musky man smell. Suddenly, the dorm room door unlocked and swung open. Shit. Shit! Shit shit shit! Blake thought, quickly reaching for his clothes without trying to flash Matt, who had come back extremely early. "Meeting got canceled," Matt said glumly. He hadn't turned around yet from closing the door. "Well, just for me. They don't think I'll fit in. Which is really sucky, because- whoa." Matt had turned around now and saw Blake standing there, half naked. He was partially across the room to retrieve his clothes, and feebly tried to cover his fully erect cock with his hands. "Shit man, I'm sorry, it's just that you said you'd be back in an hour and I needed to-" Matt interrupted him. "Dude. I don't know... what's coming over me but I feel like I really want you right now. It smells... so strangely good in here." In an instant, Matt was naked and pressed Blake up against the wall. The two roommates kissed passionately, and Matt slowly licked Blake's nipples, chest, armpits, and biceps. Blake started sweating even more, and the stench from his pits and crotch intensified. He felt his cock get harder, certainly harder that it ever had been. It looked bigger, too, maybe about 7.5" in length now. His muscles began to feel tight and he swore he could feel them pulsing, growing slightly firmer and larger. He felt like his sex drive just kicked into overtime, suddenly becoming overcome with a desire to suck Matt's cock. Blake dropped to its knees and took Matt's hard 5.5-incher into his mouth, slurping and sucking like a professional. Blake greedily gagged himself on Matt's cock. Meanwhile, Matt was overcome with his own lust for Blake, seemingly intoxicated by the smell of his crotch and the firm pumped appearance to his muscles. He ushered Blake over to his bed, where he laid down and Blake turned around and squatted over Matt, on his hands and knees, slowly feeding his own cock to his roommate while still sucking and gagging on Matt's dick. The sound of slupring and gagging filmed the room. Neither guy could get enough of the other. Eventually, Blake's desires reached a fever pitch. "I want you to fuck me, in the ass," he begged Matt. Matt simply grunted in approval. At this point, he was completely possessed by sexual desire. Blake got into position on his hands and knees on the bed. Matt lubed up his cock and fingered Blake's ass gently, then plunged his cock into Blake. The even more pumped up bottom moaned loudly and often at the feeling of his ass filled with hard cock. The two men took turns, alternating between Matt pounding Blake's ass, and Blake backing his ass up or riding Matt's cock. Eventually, it was time for the two guys to cum. Matt went first, blowing a pretty big load onto Blake's ass cheeks. The warm jizz felt nice on his ass, and prompted him to return the favor to Matt. Matt broke his silence since returning to the room, begging Blake to unleash his nut all over Matt's chest and face. Blake obliged, spraying and shooting Matt's chest with spurt after spurt of warm hot seed. Matt slurped a little jizz up and swallowed it, rubbing the rest of it all over his chest and stomach. Now his muscles and cock were looking a little - no, definitely bigger! His cock had swollen to about 6.5" and he could actually notice definition in his muscles - they were undoubtedly a little bigger than before he took Blake's load. After finishing their orgasms, the two men were exhausted and spent, so they cuddled right on Matt's bed. Matt wrapped his now decently big arms/biceps around Blake's built frame. Blake was so happy about what went down, but wanted to know why. He happened to check his phone (at this point, Matt was out cold). A new e-mail, from Dr. Sampson. Dear Blake, Thank you again for participating in our first stage male sexuality and development research. We've processed and compiled the results from your blood test, questionnaire, and stimulation test, and we think you'd be perfect to further participate in the study. Specifically, we think you have a condition which causes your body to produce testosterone at a hyperactive rate. We want to know how the condition effects you, and we also want to know that your condition might have on others. Could we set up a time to meet and discuss future steps and tests we'd like you to complete? Yours, Dr. David Sampson Well that explained it pretty well.. ultra-testosterone man, eh? Blake could get used to that... Author's note: next time: more growth, as Sampson learns about Blake's power, and Matt copes with his change and plots to beef up even more. Stay tuned and thanks again for all the warm feedback!

The Testosterone Effect Part I: Discovery Blake Rodgers had always been different from the other kids in high school. For starters, he was really tall, towering above his peers at 6'5". He fairly built and athletic, weighing in at about 190 lbs; a back-up wide receiver for his school's football team. Blake was well liked and had plenty of friends, but there was something about him that was different - something that he could feel, and that others could feel, but no one could quite place their finger on what it was. Everyone knew he was gay - that wasn't it, and he lived in a liberal city in New Jersey, where people had long stopped caring about things like that. He graduated high school near the top of his class and was accepted to a fairly prestigious research university, where he quickly moved in to the dorms and made friends with his fellow hallmates. One day, a few weeks after the semester started, Blake noticed a flyer on his dorm's community advertising board. VOLUNTEERS FOR A RESEARCH STUDY WANTED Seeking healthy male volunteers aged 18-22 for a paid research opportunity $30 for 2 hours, with more opportunities available if qualified Below there were several strips of paper with an e-mail and phone number printed on them. Blake shrugged and tore one off. "Can't hurt to make a little money," he reasoned. Blake made an appointment with the lab conducting the study and learned a little more about it - it was a research study about men's health and development. Ok, whatever. Apparently all Blake had to do was fill out a questionnaire and complete a few simple medical tests, and then a small blood draw. Easy. So at the time of his appointment, Blake marched across campus to the lab and entered the small waiting room he was directed to by several signs posted in the hall way. The waiting room was not unlike a doctor's waiting room. A few other guys were sitting down with clipboards and forms, some reading magazines while they waited. Blake recognized a few of them from his hall: Liam and John, who were roommates. Blake didn't know them well, but they seemed like nice enough guys. They were pretty cute, too, he thought. Blake checked in with the guy sitting at the front desk, who handed him a clipboard with a form. "The questions are kind of personal," the attendant said. "But you have to answer them truthfully and fully, to get paid. Everything is anonymous." He pointed to a sticker with a barcode on the top of the form. "From now on, everything you do for this study will be tied to your barcode. No personal or identifying information collected. You should read the consent form on the front carefully. Basically, it explains that there's no risk for this part of the study, except for the stress test which you may be asked to do, and the blood draw, which is standard procedure. You can stop at any time if you feel uncomfortable, but you'll only get paid if you stay until the end. If you have any questions you can always ask me. When you're done, put the form in that slot over there," he motioned to the wall, "and return the clipboard. Then I'll call you when we're ready for you." Easy enough, Blake thought. He grabbed a blue ballpoint pen and sat back in one of the plush blue waiting chairs. After filling in some information like height, age, weight, and reading the consent form, Blake moved on to the longer part of the questionnaire. What is your sexual orientation? What is your relationship status? How many sexual partners have you had in the last year? Blake grinned and pridefully checked "homosexual, single, and virgin." Although he had come from a progressive town, there weren't many gay guys back in his high school. Which of the following describes your build? Do you naturally (without shaving or trimming) have an average, above average, or below average level of body hair? The questions were getting weirder. Athletic, and above average (although Blake had a perfectly smooth and hairless chest, and back, he shaved all the time to keep it that way. Blake hated his body hair, but he did enjoy having exceptionally hairy armpits and a thick treasure trail). How often per week do you masturbate? Is your sexual drive average, above average, or below average? Jeez, these questions! Blake checked 12-14, and above average. He was one horny motherfucker. A few more questions followed, none too personal, mostly about health issues and medical history. Blake turned in the form and returned to his chair, playing games on his phone while he waited. About 10 minutes later, the door at the end of the room swung open and the man from before called out, "Rodgers, Blake!". Blake got up and followed the researcher down a long white hallway and into an exam room. "How's it going there Blake, I'm Dr. Samson, I'll be your liason for the study. For now we're going to just do a few tests, take some blood, and you'll be out of here $30 richer. We'll analyze your results and let you know in about a week if we think you'd be suited for future rounds of the research - we're only looking for individuals with specific characteristics for this study. In future rounds, there'd be a lot more potential for payment, but whether or not you're qualified isn't something you can control. My colleagues are monitoring what's going on through that window (he pointed). Again if you'd like to stop at any time, or have questions, let me know. "First we're going to be doing some tests on how your body responds to various stimuli. We'd like to attach a few leads to your body, so could you take off your clothes - leave your underwear on." Blake complied, removing his gray tank top and blue gym shorts, revealing a slightly pale, perfectly hairless and built chest. His package filled out his tight white briefs nicely. Dr. Samson was over the corner of the room, grabbed a bundle of white wires with small adhesive pads on one end. When Sampson turned around, he was really impressed with Blake's body. Damn, I'm straight as they come, but this kid is a real hunk, he thought. He attached the leads to different parts of Blake's body: a few on each pec, his abs, his biceps, several on his back, his calves, and down his leg; finally, two in his armpits. When Blake lifted his arms, he revealed a massive bush of dark brown hair. Sampson looked back at the window then back to Blake, grinned nervously and stepped away, retrieving the equipment for the blood draw. He had Blake flex his bicep and skillfully withdrew only about 35 ccs of blood from his arm. He patched Blake up. "Ok, I'm going to leave the room now. We're going to project things onto the wall in front of you. You can sit down. Just do what comes naturally and don't worry about your surroundings, just focus on the images we show you. It might seem weird at first, and it might seem like nothing's happening, but we'll be picking up subtle responses your body makes with the leads." Sampson closed the door behind him and walked into the projection room behind the window, where is colleagues were sitting. "Ok, we're ready to start in room 3," he said. "I think this kid might be one of them! Something about him... and his survey answers..." One of Sampson's female associates shh'd him, and queued up the first round of images. Blake sat in his plastic chair staring at the wall. Suddenly, it lit up with pictures from a projector: about one every 10 seconds. They were mostly pointless images: a ball, an apple, a playground, a woman, a man. Later, another woman, wearing only a short skirt and a tank top. Blake guessed she was supposed to be hot. Next, a man, shirtless and flexing. Now he was hot, Ryan thought. "Ok, that's it, just like his survey said," the woman said, motioning towards the monitor tracking the leads' measurements. "Move to M2." Next up, another guy, just his face, smiling into the camera. Not bad, thought Blake. A few more inocuous pictures: a football, a palm tree, a high school cheerleader, then a pair of briefs. Blake was getting bored, but the researchers were getting excited. "M3?" More pictures, getting more sexual in nature. Three guys standing in a lockerroom, in their underwear. This was getting hot. Next, a guy lifting weights, a wrestler, a bowl of cereal (wtf?), another woman (boo, bring back the guys!), and finally, a guy in a speedo. "You see, we show him neutral images to measure background readings, and to prevent his response from going too high after showing too many stimulating images in a row. We show him feminine images to measure his negative response, and a string of positive images to get him really riled up! Mostly we've seen what you'd expect, straight guys getting hot and bothered about girls, and gay guys getting hot and bothered about men. But the goal is to make him lose control," Sampson explained to an intern, who was taking notes. "Go to M4." M4 was basically one step below porn. It started with two shirtless guys kissing, next a man modeling in a tight jock strap, a group of naked guys standing side by side with their hand covering their junk. Fuck! I really want to jerk off right now! Blake thought. He was sweating and had a half boner forming in his briefs. He eased the tension by rubbing his chest and crotch, being careful to avoid the leads. "Sir? Do you think we can push him to M5?" the woman asked. The images of M4 cycled on screen and Blake's readings of horniness increased steadily. "Close the shutter," Sampson said. "And do it. M5." M5 was porn. Image after image of muscular studs fucking and sucking, everything under the sun from orgies to 69s to hardcore jackhammering. A red one minute timer appeared on the scientists' screen. A time limit for Blake to respond how they wanted. Blake was freaking out. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How can they do this to me, this is torture! I'm so embarrassed! A full boner had pitched a tent in his briefs and he was softly rubbing it through the fabric. He was sweating like a pig, rubbing his chest with his free hand. Slowly though, Blake was losing control. As sexy image after image came up in front of them, he felt a mysterious feeling building inside of him, telling him to stop caring, to stop holding back, to just let it all out and be the primal man he wanted to be! Blake moaned and grunted loudly. "FUCK!" he screamed, out loud this time. Finally, he couldn't stop himself. He ripped off his white briefs and sprung his huge 6" cock free, jerking furiously. "He's responding favorably," the female scientist noted. Although the window was now closed, they could tell what Blake was doing based on their readings. "Excellent! This is the first man we've had who had a full response!" Sampson beamed. "Prioritize the results of his blood test. I'll monitor his readings until he's done and send in a sample recovery team when he's gone. Lyanne, prep room 4 for the next patient." Blake continued beating himself off in a rage. He was pleasuring himself like a beast, sweating as if he just completed a 10K in 90F heat, grunting and howling like a monster, stroking his balls, nipples, and chest. Images on the screen had subsided for short clips, with no audio, of guys fucking and sucking each others' cocks. Finally, Blake couldn't hold it in anymore, and unleashed a torrent of jizz, spray himself in the face, chest, and stomach. When his huge orgasm had finally ended, Blake breathed heavily. What the fuck have I done? Holy shit! I'm a freak! I just beat off in front of those scientists like an animal! I've never seen that side of me before... "I'm so, so sorry, " Blake said. "I've never been more embarrassed... it's like I just lost control of myself." Sampson's voice filled the room. "Don't worry, Blake. It's alright. We knew this was a possible result of the test; we have a shutter on the window and you had total privacy... aside from the readings coming in. There's some towels in the corner of the room which you can use. Just leave 'em on the floor when you're done. You can also use the shower down the hall to get cleaned up - totally private." Blake nervously wiped the cum off his chest, pulled his briefs back on and carried his clothes with him out the door and down the hall to the shower. Once he had left, an intern entered the room and gathered the cum-stained towel and brought it down to the research lab. "I think we've finally found one..." Sampson said. "This boy's life is about to become a lot more interesting." To Be Continued... Authors Note: Hey guys, hope you liked my first story. This is just the beginning, I'm hoping to write a lot more parts to come and I'll try to be consistent with updating this. I know this part didn't have any muscle growth but it was mainly to set up the storyline and introduce the main character. Next time, we'll learn exactly what's different about Blake and how it affects his life... stay tuned! Feedback appreciated!

1. The row of tanks stretched deeply into the cavernous recesses of the warehouse. In each tank, imposing bodies hung suspended in a transparent liquid, each one seemingly larger and more impressive than the last. The man in each tank appeared as yet another perfect specimen of athleticism, vascularity, and dominance. Indeed, this was as it should be, as Professional Solutions specialized in taking men at peak physical condition and improving them so much that the reputation of their three-month intensive program of suspended animation conditioning was known to most athletes in the world and many professional sports teams had sent their top players to the secretive, state of the art facility which no one really knew the exact location of unless they went into the program. Dr. Moravian knew that most of his "boys" returned to their home teams as H.A.M., huge alpha monsters. He had reported all his findings to his alien overlords. He was always rewarded for obeying their orders. They gave him what he desired, what he lusted after: power. If they wanted him to be their dog on a leash, he was happy to do it, so long as he exercised absolute control over his "boys". He had reported the increased vascularity, size, strength and power, but above all their increased performance on the field. Football players once top dog on their teams were now literally machines, utterly focused on their gains and their game. Wrestlers appeared in tune with their opponent and excelled in dominating them, mentally and physically. Their shockingly bulging muscles helped. And they certainly helped PS, whose fame spread around the world as quickly as you could say “this time, you’re gonna swallow.” The overlords approved and prepared their takeover. The plan consisted in releasing a substance containing tiny parasites with swarm consciousness into the bloodstreams of its thousands of grade A athletes and champions, turning them slowly into little else than docile, cum producing muscle bodies, whose cum contained tiny copies of the parasite, which quickly reproduced a clone of the host except more completely bound to the swarm. Moravian was also bound to the parasites, having been the first "victim" (as he liked to see it, the parasites "released" him from bondage). This meant the Overlords could reward him in more direct ways, as well. Moravian, it turned out, had one of the largest cocks on any man in the world, and it was attached to a body only emblematic of the ethos of PS. As he filed the latest updates, just such a "direct reward" was initiated. Moravian's gargantuan cock slithered from between his lab coat and, as if predestined, snaked its way into a receptacle under the terminal he was updating his "boys'" information on. The bulbous tip at the entrance gave way, and the grand cock continued don the warm, wet tube, whose spongy surface continually sucked him further in. A prick on his steely shaft told Moravian the procedure was underway. This prick ensured that his parasite levels were of an absolute high grade: his "boys" always needed him at the top of his game! His muscles bulged even wider, his cock grew larger and longer with the increased parasite load. At the same time, a familiar sensation -- a gentle nudging at the lip of his cockhead. Moravian spread his arms behind his neck as the tube entered his dick. It crawled slowly down into his scrotum, where, as soon as it reached its designated point, a remote program initiated Moravian's orgasm. His parasite laden spunk was taken up by the hose and drawn to the individual tanks, where it entered into the nutritional devices secured to each athlete. As they put this plan into motion and watched on their screens, the muscle flesh bodies occupying the tanks began slowly spasming and releasing blobs out of their dicks. These quickly grew into translucent balls and were picked up by small roving cranes, who moved them to an adjacent room to incubate. Here they quickly grew appendages, and became fully-fledged, yet pliant, musclebound beefcakes in fifteen minutes. These were put to various tasks depending on their particular host’s qualities. The lighter ones, swimmers, gymnasts, soccer players were put to work assisting in the reproduction facility (ie., the cum-draining facility) whereas the bulkier ones set about establishing the foundation upon which the total takeover of the planet would occur. Some went about constructing the facilities which would be used to create further reproduction centers. Others donned uniforms and prepared for a war against humanity. After 48 hours, an army of 10,000 existed. After a week, the army was larger than any in the world. The plan was ready to implement… 2 The Steelers’ state of the art gym was packed. The team’s starting wide receiver, Rodney Vasquez, was finishing up a set of lethal squats when he noticed a crowd gathering near his station. He removed his headphones, silencing the pumping in his ear. He walked over to the crowd, and saw a rather humongous figure at the center of it. Whoever this was, he was huge! As Rodney approached the crowd, he tried to squeeze his way forward to get a better look, which his overdeveloped legs easily allowed him. When he got to the front, he was presented with literally one of the largest and most impressive specimens of masculinity he’d ever seen. Suddenly, the huge figure locked eyes with Rodney, smiled and shouted his name. At this point, he recognized the bassa profundo as a deeper and indelibly richer toned version of his friend Stanley McMichaels, a linebacker who had some months ago been transferred to a training program none of the teammates knew much about, but which they’d all heard amazing things about. And here, in front of them, stood a testament to the wonders the program worked. Stanley was now by far the largest and most impressive player on the team, and his wide girth, huge legs and arms as if cut from granite in fact hid his slightly taller stature. Rodney suddenly felt a huge wave of elation at seeing his friend in such amazing condition. He went to hug Stanley, and as the two commenced sizing another up, Rodney noticed a strange dullness in Stanley’s eyes. He didn’t have long to consider it, though, as the sense of elation he’d initially felt transformed quickly to euphoria. Rodney felt incredibly horny, and his cock quickly expanded in his jock. As he started losing self consciousness, he noticed he was cumming. The cum, much more than normal, quickly dribbled down his legs and formed a puddle between his feet. The puddle morphed into a sphere, and the sphere began rolling towards the trainer’s office. As he looked around in horror, he saw the crowd around him at various points of arousal, many experiencing earth-shattering orgasms as extreme as his own. Stains and puddles were forming all around, and one of his last recollections before becoming a permanent cum dispensary for improved and more muscular versions of himself was that he was growing! The Steelers facility was soon complete, and built according to the blueprints of the alien overlords. The stadium was turned into a breeding ground, with tanks housing all the original players, their trainers, coaches and even some of the male cheerleaders producing a steady flow of mutant musclezombies to feed the growing army. The improved copy of Stanley McMichaels sent to convert the facility looked on in approval. As the huge muscular bodies in the tank churned out more and more cum, he flexed into the heavens. His huge back, traps and lats condensed into an intimidating display of power, and a remote signal sent from the overlords caused his stiff 11 inch member to visibly lengthen. As it did, it stretched upward between his rock hard abs, eventually sidling between his deep pec cleft. As it continued to grow upward, a bead appeared on the head of it. Stanley took his cock head in his mouth as he continued to flex for the heavens. Instantly, his enormous balls began filling his mouth with a delicious sauce that the clone swallowed down. He immediately began to grow, all of his musculature swelling obscenely, until he was nearly twelve feet tall and six feet wide. He continued suckling and growing, greedily receiving his reward from the alien overlords for a conversion complete. His muscles bulged outward,, impossibly dense. As his now 2 foot long cock plopped out of his big mouth, he let out an animalistic roar that could be heard for miles. The city would never know what hit it. 3 Greg Morrison was a competitive bodybuilder who took the “competitive” in his title very seriously. He had dedicated himself without abandon to his craft for over thirteen years, perfecting a technique that was without parallel. At least,until recently. A certain challenger by the name of Pedro Gonzales had appeared at Greg’s local gym, and had, within a few months, busted all of Greg’s old records on the benchpress, squats and anything else Pedro could get his hands, legs or other appendages around. The feeling of being scuttled from alpha dog to just beta enraged Greg, and so it was with a delicious air of inevitability that he latched onto the offer for a “three month intensive muscle conditioning program” that he’d seen an obscure flyer for in the changing room at the gym, at another one of his defeating sessions trying to keep up with Pedro. So Greg had signed up, and in a few weeks he packed his duffel bag full of creams, vitamins, supplements and a few hours’ worth of chicken breast and rice, as he made his way on the train to the location of this “muscle conditioning program”. The prices were outrageous, but he’d heard so many swooning about the supposed results that his envy of Pedro overcame any cost-benefit analysis in this case. His cock was hard the whole way and he rubbed it through his sweatpants, looking idly out the window at the landscape lolling past. He thought of himself being larger and more impressive than Pedro, and this thought pushed all other reservations away for the time being. Once or twice he got awe-inspired stares as other passengers passed by the seemingly dazed muscle man in permanent arousal, overlarge member straining the loose material. Eventually the train arrived, and he called a taxi to bring him to the address he’d been given. Once there, he looked for, and found an entrance, and rang the bell. Two of the most impressive specimens he’d ever seen, much bigger than either Pedro or himself, and yet cut to insane levels of perfection, greeted him. Their faces were chiselled, yet the magazine good looks did nothing to hide the dullness in their eyes. There wasn’t much going on up there, and it was obvious the two spent most of their focus on sculpting an insane physique, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the had trouble spelling “deltoid”. They both wore a “uniform” of what looked like a tight-fitting lycra shirt and compression pants, that did little to hide bulges worth writing home about. The two smiled stupidly at each other and at him, seemingly seeking approval that they were, in fact, “good boys” for having less fat on their bones than a low-calorie yogurt. Hi!” said the one. “You must be Greg!” Greg nodded and the stud was obviously pleased at his discovery, the cords in his neck bulged and his cock stirred a little in its dugout. “Come in, dude!” said the other one, who introduced himself as Doug. The first one’s name was Matt, and the two had been old workout buddies who had joined the program together to advance their gains. The two had gained roughly 100 lbs of muscle in 3 months, they claimed, and flexed for Greg. Greg was especially impressed by Doug’s traps, which literally went to his ears., a huge pyramid to the only god in Doug’s life: muscle. Greg, Matt and Doug joked around in the hallway for a few minutes until they heard a voice behind them: “Boys, do bring Mr. Morrison to my office and don’t hold up his… progress.” The enormous man in the white coat introduced himself as Dr. Moravian, and he generously shook Greg’s hand. Dr. Moravian’s hands were strangely cold, but Greg shrugged it off. Either way, it matched his personality, which was certainly more chilled than the warmth that exuded from Matt and Doug, who resembled two overbuff lapdogs. Dr. Moravian led Greg to a small door on the corner of the hallway, with the wall of muscle following behind. “As you can see from our boys here,” said Dr. Moravian, gesturing to the two muscleheads in the corner, “our results are dramatic and extraordinary. I’m sure these two have informed you of their gains while enrolled in the program?” Greg nodded and the rest of the conversation went by in a blur. Greg agreed to enroll in the program, signing paperwork and nodding occasionally when questions were raised, but never taking his eyes off the delectable duo across from him. Dr. Moravian gave him a glass of something to drink, which he hardly heard him describe the nature of: something-something-electrolytes-something. He downed it, and was just about to put the glass down, when he froze. He couldn’t move! As if on cue, Doug moved over to his feet and began removing his sweatpants, revealing his jockstrap-covered bulge. Matt meanwhile moved over to his torso and applied pressure to his jaw, forcing his mouth open. While he felt something soft, hot and strangely wet on his asscheeks, Matt whipped his horse dick out of his compression pants and began slapping Greg in the face with it. While Doug was rimming Greg’s ass, preparing it for entry, Matt stuck his meat in Greg’s mouth and began pounding it, slowly at first, and then picking up speed. Suddenly, his asshole was exposed, and in one motion, Greg felt himself being speared to the hilt. Strangely enough to him, it didn’t hurt so much as it filled a deep longing in him to have a cock there. Doug began rocking and Matt picked up his pace. The two high-fived each other as they fucked Greg from both ends. Greg felt strangely aroused from the whole experience of being fucked by two ridiculously muscled studs, and his arousal increased as the two neared orgasm. The two came in unison, filling him with a liquid that burned as it spread inside him. His cock stood on end suddenly, and his whole body buzzed. He felt like he had an incredible gym pump, and felt himself swelling a bit. At the same time, his cock erupted by itself, and a hot, translucent goop collected in his corrugated abs. He strangely kept coming, it was the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced -- he didn’t want it to end -- and the goop began running down the table, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Unbeknownst to Greg, the puddle began forming into a blob, and the blob grew as he came more and more. Soon, a replica of Greg, identical in every way save for being much more densely muscled -- and taller --- and sporting a larger cock -- stood beside him. Greg could still not move, and at this point, his improved twin was chatting with Matt and Doug: “Hey, what’s up, dudes?” “Not much, brah. About to strap this sucker in and take him to the tanks. Wanna come?” “Hell yeah, brah. Count me in!” Matt went over to a cabinet and retrieved some folded clothes, which Greg’s bulkier clone put on: the same tight-fitting stretch shirt and compression pants the other two dimwitted musclestuds wore. As Greg II was dressing, Matt and Doug began strapping Greg I to the table, which converted to a gurney, which they pushed down the hallway towards to large doubledoors, from which could be heard a loud mechanical buzzing. They passed through the doors and Greg, still immobile, was presented with an enormous warehouse filled with huge tanks, in most of which huge, strapping musclemen hung suspended in a liquid resembling glass cleaner. Attached to each one were hoses to his face and mouth, and another to his cock, and a third snaked up their asses. All of the men were at peak physical condition and each seemed to spasm every few seconds. Greg was wheeled to one tank that was not yet occupied, where he was unstrapped. A crane was activated that gently lifted the big man like a toy, and he was slowly lowered into the tank. The liquid felt warm, and it seemed to adjust itself to his body temperature. His facial mask lowered and attached itself to his head, and shortly thereafter he began feeling a strange sense of abandon and arousal. Just then, a tube snaked up his ass, which had been loosened earlier by Doug’s big python. It immediately began stimulating his prostate and injecting a special nutritional paste into his ass. He saw another device directing itself toward his cock and balls, and suddenly felt intense pleasure as it locked into place and began sucking him of his vital juices. Just then the parasites entered his mind via the special nutritional paste being injected into his ass and mouth, and he prepared to produce the second (of many) soldier offspring for the alien invasion. Greg groaned in pleasure as he fed the tube what it wanted, bigger and more muscular than Pedro, finally!

Hey guys, me again. Bit of a long chapter but a lot certainly happens. Enjoy, comment and all that stuff. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapters Three and Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapters Seven and Eight Chapter Nine Hard Mountain - Chapter Ten: The forest at the base had been uneventful and the incline up began to increase. I'd managed to find a trail that seemed to lead upwards. When I reached a clearing I would plant a stick in the ground to measure time. It was getting into the afternoon now and the sun was still very warm. My feet were aching, I kept standing on stones and my blisters were only getting worse. The slightly mossy brush disappeared once I'd left the forest so I was walking on mostly dirt and rocks. The path wound left and right, growing steeper and steeper. My legs burned but I kept going; if I stopped now then I would never get going again. Eventually the path began to level out and stopped as I reached the mouth of a cave. I couldn't see anywhere else to go except inside, the side of the mountain was very steep so without proper equipment there was no way up. I entered the cave and it was pitch black, I held my hand next to the wall to guide me forward. There were no forks in the road but it wound left and right. I had no perception of time in the darkness and I was going forward very slowly so I didn't stumble. I started to shiver as the temperature dropped the further in I walked. Occasionally I'd jump as an ice-cold drop of water hit me from above, blind as to its source in the darkness. I had no clue how high the cave was but I never came across any stalactites to bash my head into. A dim light started to come into view as I edged around a corner and the path started to illuminate the closer I got. I came out into a larger cave with a pool of water in the middle, much like the one I had visited with Jack and Danny. There was a large opening above where the light of the early evening sun shone through, casting a reddish glow around the cave. On the other side of the pool was a set of stone steps that looked like they had been carved into the rock face that led upwards and, I guessed, outside. The shore of the pool where I stood only stretched about twelve foot by six and the cave walls were smooth so there was only one way forward, through the water. I dipped a toe in and remarked at how warm the water felt. I waded in and the water never went higher than my waist. It was certainly refreshing after walking in the freezing cold for so long and the bed was smooth underfoot. As I reached the middle I felt a gust of wind start to swirl around me, and the water started to ripple a few feet in front of me. A pale, sickly-looking and hairless figure in a hospital gown rose up from the water. I recognised him instantly and my throat choked up. The hollowed out eyes and gaunt, sallow face staring at me with sorrow, pain and disappointment. I tried to turn back but something had stuck my feet to the bed of the pool and I was failing to hold back my tears. The figure was stumbling towards me, the water splashing with each of its laborious steps. I was crying, sobbing loudly, trying to look anywhere but at him. “No!” I screamed. “No! You aren’t real! YOU’RE NOT HIM!” “I am,” he said. “Please… Sammy…” “NO!” I cried. “Make it stop… make it stop…” “Why do you hate me, Sammy?” he asked. “Why do you hate your father?” “BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T STRONG ENOUGH!” I screamed, blood boiling and my face growing red with an explosive rage. “YOU GAVE UP! YOU FUCKING GAVE UP! YOU SAID YOU WOULD ALWAYS BE STRONG BUT YOU WEREN’T! YOU LIED TO ME! You… you… Why did you leave me?” The figure never answered, it fell face first into the water and the haunting sound of a flat heart monitor echoed in the cave. I ran to the figure and pulled them into my arms. “No, no, no, no, no,” I whispered. “Don’t go, keep fighting Dad. Please!” I felt like I was six years old all over again, back in the hospital the day he died. We were both pulled under the water, but I found myself back in my house. “Hey!” said a familiar voice. “I’m home!” “DADDY!” said another familiar voice. A young boy of about three ran past me as a man entered the room. I felt my throat close up as I remembered where this was. Reaching down to pick up the boy was a broad shouldered, muscular man in a fire fighters uniform. The man was my father, before he was sick. He was thick chested, wide-shouldered, strong-armed and had a handsome, scruffy face. The younger version of me was in his arms, almost strangling him as I hugged him as tight a young kid could. “Did you save lotsa people?” I asked. “Not today, but I did help a cat that got stuck up a tree,” said Dad. “Yay!” I cheered, kissing him on the cheek. “Would you save me if I was stuck up a tree?” My Dad chuckled. “Of course, I’ll always get you out of trouble Sammy.” My Mom came in and Dad put me down, pulling Mom in close as his hands rested on her waist, kissing her gently. “I missed you, honey,” said Dad. “I missed you too,” said Mom, stroking his chest. “Sam made up another story today.” “Another one?” Dad chuckled. “We’re gonna have to start writing them down.” I smiled, my cheeks wet with tears. This was the father I remembered. Loving, caring, strong. The scene faded as I started telling my dad my story about a rabbit that had lost its ears. I then found myself in my backyard. The younger me was lying on the ground with a kid’s tricycle on top of me. “Heeeeelp!” I cried. “Help! Will nobody save me!?” “I’ll save you!” said a deep, confident voice from behind a tree. Out popped my Dad wearing a tablecloth as a cape and some speedos over his jeans. He stuck his arms out on front of him and jogged in a zigzag around the garden before stopping at my younger self. “Looks like you need a hand!” said Dad. My younger self pretended to gasp with relief. “SUPERDAD!” My Dad took hold of the tricycle and he pretended it was very heavy. He grunted with fake exertion as he slowly lifted it up and over his head. He put it down on the floor and crouched. “Are you injured citizen?” asked Dad. “Yes, SuperDad,” I said, feigning injury. “The evil Barbie stuck me with a jelly-legs poison and I can’t walk. The only cure is ice-cream!” “Ice cream, eh?” said Dad. “Well I’ll take you to my hideout and I’ll cure you of the evil Barbie’s poison!” He lifted me up under his arm and ran around the garden in circles. My Mom and sister had been watching and giggling from the patio where they had been gardening. “I want ice-cream too!” said my sister. My Dad ran up and grabbed her in the other arm, spinning us all in a circle until he finally ran into the house. My mom shook her head and I followed her as she walked inside. My Dad had put us on the kitchen counter and he was pulling ice cream out of the freezer. He popped the lid and got three spoons out and we all began spooning it in our mouths, my Dad eating huge mouthfuls and making us laugh. The scene began to fade again until I was in a hallway in a hospital. My younger self, about six now, was sitting on a bench with my sister, waiting. My parents came out of a door looking like the world had ended. My Mom had clearly been crying and my Dad was slimmer, not quite as muscular; his hair was missing in patches on his head and he was incredibly pale. We ran to them when we saw them and my Dad crouched down and pulled us into a tight hug. “Daddy, are you gonna be okay?” my sister asked. My Dad looked like he was about to speak but he didn’t, he just held us tighter. “Of course Daddy’s gonna be okay!” I said. “Daddy is real strong, he’s never lets anything beat him, right Daddy?” My Dad smiled. At the time I took it for a happy smile. But now that I was watching the memory again, now that I was older, I recognised it as a lie. He knew the truth but he didn’t want to scare us, to let us down. No, it was a smile that said: “it’s not okay, it’s not going to be fine, I’m going to die.” “Daddy’s gonna keep fighting until he gets better,” he said. “And you two are what keep me strong. Sammy, Gemma; you have to be good to your Mommy and help her out lots, okay? Daddy might get a little weak, I might have to go to the hospital more and I might not always be able to play but if you’re good kids for Mommy then it’ll make me stronger, okay? Promise me?” “Daddy, are you going to die?” my sister asked. My Dad froze again, my Mom bit back a sob above us, but he saved face with another smile. “No, sweetie,” said Dad. “So long as you’re good, Daddy will be strong and I’ll… I’ll get better in no time. So no fighting, no bothering Mom or making messes; you both have to promise me, okay?” “We promise,” my sister and I said in unison. My Dad began to tear up and pulled us in as tight as he could. The scene disappeared and I was in a different part of the hospital standing behind my younger self, my sister and Mom as we walked down the hallway. My sister was holding a “get well soon” balloon and flowers, while I was carrying a handmade book with an illustration on the front in crayon. A doctor stepped out of a door and noticed us approaching. I recognised that doctor, as he would later become my Stepfather. “Can we see Daddy?” I asked. “In a minute honey, let me talk to the doctor first,” Mom said. We waited patiently as the doctor pulled Mom aside. They spoke in hushed voices that even I couldn’t hear but Mom hung her head and the doctor put a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. We walked into the room and my younger self ran out almost instantly, dropping the book on the floor. In the hospital bed was the same figure that had appeared in the water, my father after month and months of very intensive chemotherapy. As I remembered, he’d been staying at the hospital for a month and hadn’t been home which was why we had visited. Mom ran after my younger self and grabbed me. “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t you want to see Daddy? He wants to see you.” “THAT’S NOT DADDY!” I screamed. “MY DADDY IS BIG AND STRONG AND HE’S A SUPERHERO! HE DOESN’T LOOK LIKE THAT! WHERE’S MY DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY!” “Daddy’s a little weak right now,” said Mom. “He’s not very well.” “NO! DADDY IS NEVER WEAK! HE TOLD ME HE WAS STRONG AND HE PROMISED HE WOULD BE STRONG FOREVER!” My younger self began to cry and so did Mom. She hugged me tight and I continued to beg for my Dad, the one I remembered and not the sick man lying in the hospital bed. I suddenly felt my body being pulled back, the hallway getting further away from me but I wanted to stay. I emerged from the water, gasping for air. I was back in the cave on Hard Mountain, alone in the pool. I began to cry, really cry. I was crying for the father I had hated for so long because he had died of cancer, a childish hatred that he hadn’t kept his promise to be strong and let it take his life. I cried for the memories I had shut away out of that childish hatred of him, the replacement of my grief, the years of repressing all happy thoughts and memories I’d had of him. I cried at my own self-hatred because I had refused to see him after that last memory, even when he was moments from death. I had never said goodbye, I sat outside in the hallway, even when the haunting sound of the heart monitor going flat was all I could hear above the sorrow of my family. I stood up from the pool. In my heart I wanted to drown myself, let the water consume me. I could do it right here and now and no one would know, not even Jack and Danny, until it was too late. I wanted to, so badly; the temptation and the water were so inviting. But I knew I couldn’t. I had to be strong and keep going, keep climbing Hard Mountain as they had told me, or else I would die anyway. I walked to the other side, wiping my face clear and taking the stone steps slowly. Up and up and up they led until I was at the end, coming out onto the mountain. -- Chapter Eleven: The higher you climb, the harder it gets...

Mysterious Comet A Dark, Dirty story about a young man who gets possessed by a sinister alien race, controlling him, the alien sets out to spread its presence across the newly discovered planet. Who can stop him? Author Note: I wrote this story after watching some really crummy horror movies. It's a little schlocky and maybe even cliche. I did take the TFs in a slightly different direction. There's possession, sex, M/F TFs, nerd to jock, jock to more jock, etc. I've never done anything in the Continuous Stories section, but I think if this is something people might be into, their/your stories would be really cool contributions. Again, some of the premises here are probably standard and maybe even boring, and others might be bordering on the really weird. But if readers enjoy this, I'd love to see others stories too. I have part I and part II here. Feel free to post or PM questions but clearly since this is in the Continuous section...make things up as you go along. Oh, a quick shout out to alwaysmyway, his stories kinda inspired this. Pt I – The Arrival: Steve & Heather's Transformation My hands were shaking as I drove the car up to the top of Sunnyside Park, a bluff that overlooked our town. I spent better part of senior year spreading my seed casually around to any girl who wanted it, using my good looks, athletic build and charm to woo them out with me. Fellow football jocks had made a pack to try to get to any girl who was on the cheerleading team, then the girls' basketball team, then the swimmers. I was nervous when we first set out to do it in the fall, now it was a fun challenge to finish before graduation. We'd go after any girl who we knew wanted us and we knew were into it. Only Tyler tried to coax the more shy girls out of their shells. Brad and I, and most of the other guys, tried playing on a simpler, even field. Still, didn't make me any less nervous. I looked at Heather as she bit her lower lip, smiling, she was getting started pulling her shirt off, slowly, running her hands down over her bra as she continued peering into my sight. “Damn,” I whispered, “you know what you're doing...” “More than you think,” Heather answered as she shoved me against the door of the car, unbuttoning my shirt, and quickly throwing it off. She yanked my t-shirt over my head and smiled as she looked at my chest, pumped from my years of playing hard football, lifting weights and pushing my body to its athletic extent. “Just what I always wanted,” she said as she continued to dig into me. I knew she was referring to the hair on my body. Most of the team shaved, she must have been with a few guys before me. I pushed her bra away and felt her breasts with my palms. They were large and well developed, and she knew how to use them on me. My dick started to get an aching, cramp pain within my jeans, and I moved her hands down toward my belt. She backed away from my mouth and smiled at me, something sinister in her eyes. “You're not gonna get away with me that easily, beefy boy,” she said, a wink in her eye. Shoving me against the door of the car, Heather unbuckled her skirt and kicked off her flip flops. “Summer heat is wearing me out inside this little car, no space for my big man. Let's step out,” she said, opening the door and tumbling us out and onto the soft grass. Only in her tight pink panties, Heather stood and walked a few steps away from me, I tried to regain my balance and lift myself out, kicking my own sandals off. “I want to play a little game,” Heather said, turning back to me, flaunting her body in the warm, night air. “I'll make myself available right here, looking this quaint little town, we can fuck like we own every bit of it, but I want you to strip for me, take off every bit of your clothing and show me just how strong and athletic you are.” My eyes opened wide with excitement. “A challenge?!” I asked, a smile growing on my face. I had never been with a girl this aggressive before. “You jocks always take pride in your bare bodies, in your ability to go unabashedly nude and show off. Steve, take pride in the bodies you have, show me that it's worth it for me, that you deserve me, take pride in it, and prove it to me.” Heather wasn't requesting, it was an order. I was going to take her up on it. My barefeet touching the damp, warm ground, I unbuckled my belt and unbottoned my jeans, standing with pride for Heather to take me in. “This is what you want?” I ask her, teasing. “Can you handle what you're going to get...” Heather smiled, “I always get what I want.” Tucking my thumbs underneath my briefs, I decided getting naked in one motion would be the better way to impress her. My dick had died down after the makeout and I figured she might respect me seeing it in its semi-flaccid state. I pushed my jeans and briefs quickly down, bending my knees and concealing my package for a moment longer. “Ohh, I like an aggressive man,” Heather said, increasing my confidence, and my drive. Stepping out of my jeans, I slowly stood to reveal myself in its natural form. I smile at Heather, stepping forward to show her my whole self in all its glory. I looked down to see my work, my body, strong, athletic, attractive, hairy. I could tell Heather was impressed, “what do you want me to do to prove myself to you?” I asked. But before she could answer a loud buzz came from overhead, a sharp spark of light lit right above us and it roared into the nearby tree coverage to the west. “CRASH!”, the wave of air pushing Heather and I back a few steps. “Jesus,” I said, “what was that?” Heather was equally spooked, grabbing my arm, almost forgetting the game we were playing. She rubbed it, giving her confidence again, maybe she liked the body, maybe I did provide something more than mere fun for her. But her attention dwindled from me. “Uhh, Steve, go check it out,” she said. “I don't know,” I answered, “I'm sure it's nothing, can't we just...” “Do it Steve!” she said, shoving my back toward the fallen object which lit a flame on the bushes nearby. I walked toward the bushes, my mind still on the game we were playing. How I could I forget? I was still buck naked. I could tell her eyes were glancing on my ass muscles. I turned around to smile, Heather giving me a small smile back, but still worried. Looking down, I saw a small, black orb sitting in the bush, smoke billowing off of it. “it looks like a rock of some sort,” I said, “an...orb or something.” As I looked into it, I couldn't help but notice the rock-like substance starting to bubble, starting to, liquify almost. “Something's happening. Fucking weird...” I said as I started backing away, “Heather, can you grab my clothes, I think we should probably get out of here.” Heather moved ahead of me but as the liquid started to bubble out of the rock, I couldn't help but stare. Something was beckoning me to watch, to see what would happen. A stream of liquid rose and snaked its way toward me, and before I could turn back to the car to leave, it quickly accelerated and attached onto my feet. “Woah!” I shouted, the oily substance felt smooth, and warm, it was nice, comforting in an odd way. I could tell it was sentient somehow. It was, almost, feeling me out, seeing what kind of person I was; and as it crawled over my feet I could feel it getting more aggressive, burrowing underneath my nails, under the pores of my skin, and as it did it seemed to give me an extra boost of strength, of confidence. I immediately liked it. It felt as if it were designed for me. As if, by being naked, I made myself the perfect thing for it to bond with. “Steve? STEVE!” Heather shouted, but I couldn't listen to her, all I could do was feel the pleasure of the orb integrating into my body. I turned my head back to Heather, having trouble moving my feet with the substance covering them. “Heather check this out!” I shouted, “woah...it feels fuckin great!” What was I saying? The substance racing through me could not have truly been something that I wanted?...or could it? I started to chuckle as I felt the oil crawl under my skin, break off and like mini snakes, it traveled under my skin, racing underneath my hairy shins and up toward my body. As it did I started to feel myself change. To grow. It was so strange, so foreign and yet I couldn't help but revel in the pleasure it was giving me. As the liquid orb buried itself into my feet and legs I felt it swim and burrow itself into every part of my body, integrating into every possible organ, every muscle that it could. I opened my mouth, I could feel myself changing, bringing on some other kind of ability, and I was loving it. I felt its energies stimulate me. As it did, something truly amazing started happening all at once: My muscles started to grow before my eyes, taking on new strength and new forms with each passing second. Every muscle in my super-evolving body surged in pleasure as they absorbed the energy of the oil like a thousand nuclear reactors, surging in size to the proportions I had only dreamed of. I felt as if I was the strongest man alive. I hadn't noticed that the oil had advanced up my body as far as it had. The oil wrapped itself over my exploding legs and quads, pushing itself into my ass and through my pecker. As it did, they both started to lock in and grow, hair pushing with aggression to match the definition of the purest masculinity. I doubled over as I felt my abs contort themselves into deep-grooved slabs of stone, dense, thick and strong. My pecs continued pushing outward as hair wrapped over them. “Steve! Oh god Steve what's happening to you?!” Heather screamed, though I could barely hear her, I couldn't pay attention to anything other than my miraculous transformation. The oil from the orb swam into and rocked my mind, I could think of nothing else but the incredible, foreign power increasing its energy over me. I was becoming thankful for what I was given, for who I was becoming. I smiled and soon after a purpose formed in my head, an objective, a way to pay back the powers that were gifting me with this colossal body. An image of a race, of a species entered into my consciousness, an alien of some sort. Yes! And they chose me! Me, of all people, to integrate their powers and assimilate into humans. No, it was more, I was to take over the human race! To spread my seed and influence, allowing my race to rule again on a new planet. “Yes...” I shouted, “YESS!” I could feel the powers of the race borrow into my body, it was the most immaculate thing I had ever experienced. My vision blurred briefly as my eyes metamorphosed not only into the perfect seeing instruments, but into the perfect weapons as well. Every superhuman muscle in my ultra body became reservoirs for the powers they now possessed, using that power to transform into whole new kinds of super-strong tissue, evolving me even further. I learned I could transform into anything I wanted, I could influence people in ways not known before, I was gaining some sort of extraterrestrial power that was before now was completely unknown to any human. I wasn't a human, I was becoming something else entirely. And I loved it. I experienced one final, spectacular surge of full-body orgasmic pleasure as my new, hyperstimulated nervous system realigned itself throughout my body, becoming conduits for the powers I was now armed with: Immortality, possession, the ability to control other people, and of course, my true purpose, to spread my seed and my race, to take over the planet with my new powers. I wanted nothing more. I was no longer human, I was the Orb, the Orb was me, and I intended to use it to fulfill my true purpose. My naked body soaked in the last of my oily essence as I turned back toward Heather, terrified with what she had just seen. I smiled at her but couldn't look for long without first admiring my newly evolved body. “Ahh, what a perfect specimen,” I said, “young, male, athletic, it's the perfect vessel with which to push my influence and spread my kind. And a male...yes...I think my kind will enjoy being male.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” Heather whispered, not intending me to hear it, but I could hear perfectly now, I could read her thoughts too. “This body is perfect,” I shouted to her, “I integrated perfectly, the melding of Human genes with our essence...should prove to be the perfect host with which to finally build our army...” I continued examining my new body, my newly evolved body. Hair stretched itself over my hulking quads, my swagging dick wider than I could have ever imagined possible, my testicles holding my new power-ridden seed, bouncing between my thighs...begging for release. Smiling at Heather, I took a step forward. “What?” I asked, smiling. “This is what you wanted, your man naked, strong, to be before you for you to...admire...” My dick started growing as I took more steps toward her, Heather backing toward the car. “What are you talking about, Steve?” She asked. Thinking of the name I remembered my past self, a former consciousness that no longer existed of his own. He was altered, he became me, a hybrid of a human with my evolved, transformative, possessive race. After years of searching for a species to take over it seemed we had finally found one worth working to obtain. “I have become more than human, something you will get to soon experience, get to revel in as I have, as I am now...” I mysteriously said as I took a few more steps toward her. My dick was jumping to attention, aching with release, excited to expel its new seed. “Don't you want to feel what I've become?” I asked, pushing Heather against the car as I tested human lust, digging my mouth into her's.” “You aren't Steve at all,” Heather whispered, “you just have his...ummm....memories,” she said as she fell under the spell of my lust. “Oh...wow,” she said, feeling the power of my lust. Reaching down into her panties, I ordered them to dissolve having them fall off before I turned my attention to her slit, Heather moaning in pleasure as I touched it. I could feel it wet and aching for something to fill it. The human was clearly into me, wanted me, the body was aching for my seed. I dug my tongue back into her again, feeling her lust exude completely from her body. She finally spoke again, “take me, Steve, take me...you...I want it, I want it!” I pushed my dick into her body, the warmth and wet home beckoning me, begging me to pump, to deposit. The human slipped her legs over my ass and massaged them. She pulled me closer and dug into my mouth further. I pulsed, and pushed, every bit of the female's body begging for my release. It didn't take long for my testicles to churn, my body to push its energies toward its orgasmic purpose; the feeling of 10,000 orgasms racing from every muscle of my newly formed body into my testicles, my entire being built for this moment. “Oh fuck...” I said as I crested, my ass tightening, my leg muscles spasming, my dick rocking with the power of a volcanic explosion into Heather, continuing to push harder and harder into her. “OH!” she shouted, voice immediately becoming deeper, “OH I can feel it YES! MOOOREE!” she commanded as I continued pumping, ounces of my seed rushing into her. I let go of her lips and looked into her. Our minds met. She was becoming one of us. She was changing. My seed was working. I looked down to see her breasts flattening, pulling against her chest as her nipples shrunk while a strange, liquifying substance washed across her. Heather shut her eyes, “oh yeah...” she said, her deeper voice sounding more masculine. I looked down to her abs as they started contorting, rotating, forming deep grooves similar to my own. As they expanded her mid section expanded with her, legs staying tightly wrapped across my body as they began to shake, first slimming down, looking younger, before beefing out to monstrous sizes, hair starting to grow on them. “She is becoming one of us!” I said, almost surprised to see my duty taking effect so quickly. Soon I felt immense pressure on my cock, slipping it out I noticed her genitals reforming themselves, her slit closing as hair started growing on it, dark pubic hair growing up toward her belly button. Her flat chest started bulking out as her pecs formed a tight groove, pushing monstrous sizes out, snaking its sinew out across her tightly wound arms and forearms, becoming more masculine, gripping me tighter as her strength increased. Her eyes stayed, a smile growing wider and wider as Heather lapped up every orgasmic moment of her transformation, just as I had moments before. Brown hair started forming under her pits, brushing itself out across her arms and toward her hands, bulking up and reshaping into a new, masculine build. I couldn't help but be impressed. What I did was working! She was becoming one of us, taking my deposit and adapting into a male human form, and she seemed to be loving it. Muscles continued to expand across her body, clumps of her long, blonde hair falling out and curling into a wispy, surfer like, hair-do. As it did her face re-contorted, , flattening, becoming wider, and more masculine as a shadow graced across her face, dark blonde hair sprouting to masculine measure; her neck thickening as her throat grew to show her deeper vocal chords. Heather, or my kin that Heather was becoming, seemed to be so lost in her transformation that she didn't even notice I was still tightly wound her wrapped, expanding body. As the muscle in her quads snaked up, locked in and met her waist, a deep adonis V grew over her, all of her muscles pointing toward the new tool that her body was incubating. I could see her midsection pushing out new lines of flesh, ,a new and evolved sex organ growing to massive and mature size; as it grew out of her waist it grew with such force that the size of the dick and balls were mature even before they appeared. They dropped fast and pushed hard against my own evolved package. Pushed against each other, they were like twins, perfectly formed and suited exactly for the same task. I couldn't help but be in awe. This was my creation, this new creature was mine, and it was perfect. Heather dropped its legs and pushed me back as they continued expanding, the creature's new dick continuing to grow and wag, the body's ass reshaping into a boxy, hard bubble, one that exuded pure masculine force. Heather bent at the knees to stretch the new muscular ass and thighs. “YESSS!” he shouted, “YES I can feel it, I'm one with the Orb, one with you!” The creature crackled with the same immortal powers that graced me only moments before, and stared at me in all its new-found glory. “Ohh...this is perfect!” the creature shouted, “Mmm, it feels so good to be back! And in this perfect state, this perfect specimen of a species...that of a human.” My creation looked up at me. “Brother...it is good to see you again, to be here.” The creature again stretched itself, every muscle relishing in its existence. “You, Steve, the human name...what shall I be called? For it's because of you that I'm back. And does it feel good.” “Zack,” I said, the first name coming to my mind. My brother nodded as he continued examining his body. “Yes, the second one. Zack. I like it.” Zack rotated his head as he thought. “This orb couldn't have landed in a better place. A small town, possessing a young couple, you and I: we now started the perfect group to spread ourselves, to breed. Human high schoolers, seniors just about to graduate, it's the perfect place to start our campaign, to start our rite to take over the galaxy once more.” Zack and I smiled at each other. Yes it was. – Pt II – Chris Grows Zack and I looked back toward Steve's car. We knew we wanted to assimilate more humans, to transform them to our kind. We could have driven the car back into town, or simply teleported ourselves. Unlike the humans we merged with, we didn't need to eat or sleep, though we knew we had to figure out ways to assimilate into this town one way or another. “We don't want people being confused about the car, let's take it back to Steve's house,” Zack said. “We can turn invisible and wait the night out, then we can morph ourselves back to Steve and Heather and continue living their lives at school.” “Yes,” I agreed, “tomorrow the football team is going to lift together, in the locker room we can both resume our natural selves and corner the team, we can transform 20 of them at one time.” “You're getting me excited already,” Zack responded, his dick growing in anticipation. “You already got to have the pleasure of it, I need to use my tool soon.” As if a wish were coming true, Zack and I heard a car pull up across the small lot at the top of the park. “Quick!” I said as we turned ourselves invisible. The car thankfully didn't see us. As the human came within closer approximation, I could feel his thoughts. “Another high school senior,” I told Zack, “your lucky day it seems.” Zack smiled back at me. It was a man, Chris, a loner who Steve and Heather knew from school. He was not one of the in-crowd, he was a science geek and a lover of astronomy, one who wanted to meet alien species even, and dreamed of leaving earth. “This guy is going to love this!” I said to Zack. “Let's see what he'll do...we'll find the right time to introduce ourselves,” Zack replied. Chris stepped out of the car, not noticing Steve's clothes from his strip earlier, and walked to his trunk to pull out his telescope. As he was setting it up, Zack signaled for me to walk around to introduce myself to him first. As I did, he heard the crunching gravel and looked around, finally noticing Steve's clothes on the ground. “What the fuck?” he asked, walking over and picking up the jeans and underwear, going through the pocket and finding Steve's wallet. “Perfect time,” I told Zack, who stayed invisible. “Hey Chris,” I said, stepping toward him. He dropped Steve's wallet and took a step back, shocked to see someone there, then again to see a naked man. “Woah!” he shrieked, “Uhh...Steve? Is that you? What are you doing here?” “No worries, man,” I said back, “just doing a little naked mile workout, you know...” Chris blushed, “yeah, I guess so,” he said, looking down. “You're kinda making me uncomfortable, your muscles are huge too, have you been working out lately?” He couldn't help but take a glimpse or two at my dick, wagging as I walked around him, I could sense the jealousy, and the admiration. “Yeah man!” I said flexing, inviting him to look at me. I took a few steps closer, Chris backing away. “No need to worry, man, you can be like this too, if you want...” Chris looked up at me again, getting more nervous, but also with a hint of excitement, “really? What are you talking about, Steve?” “It's easy,” I answered, “it might not be fun at first, but you'll appreciate it as soon as we're done...” “We?” Chris was clearly confused, he started backing toward his car, “what do you mean? Uhh, maybe I should just go...” I could tell he wanted the body like mine but was too confused and worried to say any more. I disappeared from his vision and walked up to his back side before whispering in his ear, “We're the species that you've dreamed about, Chris, become one of us...” He jumped in fear and turned back toward me. “What the fuck, man?!” he said. I touched his tshirt, causing it to burn off as it shredded around his skinny, pale frame. “Jesus, who are you?” “I told you,” I said, walking toward him again. “Give Zack and I a chance, we'll make you one of us, you'll love it...” Zack and I knew it was a point of no return, it was time for Chris to become us. I teleported around Chris and at his back I grabbed him in a bear hug, lifting his small and light body slightly into the air. He started kicking in fear but said surprisingly little. “Wait!...Steve, just...I don't know what you want but just wait...” Zack phased back into vision and walked toward us, Chris freezing in fear. With every step Zack's dick swayed longer and slower before it started growing at attention, higher and thicker before extending to full attention, eagerly awaiting command from its captain. At a mere few inches from Zack I gently lowered Chris toward the ground, keeping his feet from touching. Chris was in complete fear, staring at the muscular monster before him. “don't worry, dude,” Zack said, “when we're done, you'll be one of us, you'll be, perfect.” Zack grabbed his tool and slowly, deliberately, started pumping, admiring his body as he looked between himself and his soon-to-be brother. Chris couldn't help but stare, “oh my god,” he said, “quit it, don't do it man!” he whispered, worried, but not moving his attention away from the dick an inch away from his abdomen. “Just a second...” Zack said between breaths. As he continued pumping his breathing increased, his muscles began twitching, the alien was building his body up to its purpose, every organ aligning itself for its first ritual. “Mmmm, I can feel it...Ohhhh SHIT!!” He shouted. As his cock tightened, it locked in and his balls flung themselves into his huge waist. A thick black load of cum sprayed out and hit Chris square in the abdomen. Then another, and another. Multiple loads as the virility and thickness gained. Zack lost his balance and pushed himself onto Chris, his dick landing on the oil that quickly awoke and started swimming over Chris's body. Chris could only wimper. “Just you wait...” Zack said between breaths, grabbing his shoulder before I let our host go, soon to become our newest brother. Chris started running once again toward his car but he was disoriented, dizzy, he tried scraping off the swimming seed over his body but he couldn't get it off. He ran toward his car once again but froze as the oil gained direction and immediately dove under his pants and boxers and toward his ass crack and pecker. Zack and I both closed our eyes, we could feel our brother connecting with his new body, soon to assimilate into Chris. “ARGH!” Chris shouted as he bent his back forward. “Woah...what the fuck is...happening to me!” Chris's jeans, shoes, socks and underwear ripped in one full motion, leaving the human completely naked. He stood back up to look at himself in horror. Zack's seed had completely collected over the human's midsection, forming a tight bound over his body like a pair of small, tight, liquid briefs. Chris could tell the oil was positioning itself to intrude into his body but he also knew there was little he could do about it. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was actually good for him. Chris's ass quaked as the seed found an orifice to climb into, I could see it pull itself into his ass and have his cock drink it in. As it did it gained length and girth. Chris shut his eyes as he paused for a moment to take it in. “Umm...” he said quickly, perhaps he was going to enjoy this. “Woah...” he said again, looking down as his cock grew, integrating with the seed. Zack and I could feel him assimilating to us, becoming us, we smiled as our creation continued to grow over this body. “Oh yeah!” he shouted, more enthusiastic this time, “I can feel my muscles growing! Haha, it feels fucking great, oh yes I love the body, the confidence, the assurance!” Chris moved and stretched his body as his bones cracked and muscles thickened. Bending his shoulder muscles back to their relaxed position, I saw the first bouts of muscle grow over his shoulder blades, protruding out, then wrapping down and into his biceps. They were becoming refined, strong, and assured. Looking down at his lower arms Chris noticed the veins protrude and additional muscle warp itself around his forearms. Grabbing his abs, Chris chuckled as they begin to expand. His abs contorted and slimmed liquifying into almost a puddle of water, then began to grow outward: even, defined muscles forming an eight pack. They hardened as the creases grew deep grooves into his body. As the muscle growth hit his waistline, new muscles begin to form on his quads and under the last bit of black seed, creating tight contours pushing against the oil. As the last of it entered into his body, Chris grabbed his butt enthusiastically massaging its growth. His rear formed hard muscle on itself, growing outward, strong. As the side ass muscles flexed and locked in place, rounding to become a tight bubble butt, hair wrapped around and onto his legs, creating a new thick layer of black hair over him. His thighs snapped tall and grew, becoming refined and strong as he gained height from his short 5'6” to an athletic 6'3”. His quads peced outward and began matching the growth of his ass. They became like footballs as rock hard muscle grew into them. Soon, the hair spread down to his legs, then up and around his man package. His pubes began to grow over his waistline, wrapping itself around his belly button and up, in a thin line toward his chest. There, his black hair began growing, slightly but evenly, over his new man-pecs and chest. His arm hair grew and darkened and his arm pits tuffed additional hair underneath. Looking down and checking out his growing body, Chris, or our brother who was becoming Chris, began to chuckle at the pleasure. Chris could feel the athletic endurance rushing over him. Admiring himself as he continued to grow, Chris looked down to his package as it begin to fill out with our seed, his cock and balls becoming large and clearly accentuated between his hulking legs, dropping with aggression. As our brother assimilated into Chris's personality, our immortal powers rushed over him, “YESS!” the creature shouted with excitement! “Our powers!!” Even the original Chris couldn't help but enjoy what was happening to him. All he wanted was to evolve beyond being a human and we were allowing it to happen. He was a pure piece of athletic masculinity while also being an all-powerful extraterrestrial, able to woo and pleasure any human—man or woman—who he wanted. He was becoming one of us and he was the happiest he ever imagined. As the power transformation completed, our new kin turned to us with a wide smile. “FUCK YEAH!” he said. “Oh...brothers! Thank you for giving me this, I couldn't be happier, this is who I am, what a perfect fucking body...” Chris clearly had more aggression than I did, in personality and body, and even his muscles were a little firmer than mine or Zack's. But he was one of us, and happy to join our party, and our cause. “How does it feel, Chris?” Zack asked. Chris kneeled to him. “Feels like being a fucking god, a fucking ruler. Thank you.” he restood and ordered his body to levitate before flying up. “Yes!” he said laughing. Chris and I joined in as we flew higher and higher into the sky, our naked bodies relishing in the night air as it became thinner and thinner. We laughed as we raced around the stratosphere, high above the town. I paused as the other guys caught up with me. “Tomorrow we can continue our agenda,” I said. “Zack and I can infiltrate the football locker room. Chris, do you think you can spread ourselves with the chess and astronomy teams?” “Absolutely!” Chris said, ecstatic. “there's only about 5 per group, but we need to get the nerds assimilated as quickly as the jocks. With all of us on the same side it'll be tough for any one group to get suspicious. I'll meet with them both...and use this new tool to show them how amazing this actually is...” patting his dick, Chris smiled. “Tomorrow is a Friday,” Zack said, “Cindy, Heather's friend, is hosting a party for the football players and cheerleaders, we know it'll be a fuck fest. We can start transforming more women tomorrow night. Fuck, this is going to be fun...” We laugh as we fly back toward town, I use my power to phase Steve's car back to his house. We camp in the clouds tonight. Tomorrow, we continue our mission, and our fun.

Since all criminal organizations ceased to exist, petty crimes became an increasing unsolvable problem. Dad and his personal task force sent more people to prisons than ever before in history, and now all other nations, even Russia, were willing to accept his divine intervention to solve their own problems. With that, bureaucracy and paper work increased exponentially as his powers. For more formidable his powers were, dad couldn’t be in two places at once and shit was always happening. Also surely, his godlike powers wouldn’t change human behavior. The economy was bad and bad behavior was spiking again, at least since dad started to bring justice for all. At a long red table with dozens of nobel prize scientists and analysts, wall street attorneys, bankers and some of the wealthiest people in the planet, they sat with me all too anxious or nervous for not having a single positive report to give him. He was also three hours late, we had no clue when he might appear, increasing the apprehension. My seat was beside George Mills, an Oil Tycoon, arguably the richest man in that table, four-comma club, looking at his watch and answering messages repeatedly ‘god is not here yet’ he typed, he seemed to be on the edge with sweat falling down his crooked nose. ‘Where the fuck he is? Taking a tan?’ In spite, he cracked his phone on the table. Everyone stop to look at him, after the silence after his rage, he apologized, even if dad wasn’t there to hear. Actually, and that’s the thing: dad was taking a tan. Dad also couldn’t hear us since he is in space… taking a tan. It usually took an hour for him to reach the Sun and come back. Lately, he could travel faster, his velocity record was 1/4 of the speed of light, ‘the equivalent of 1000 tons of rocket fuel’, the scientist said in wonder to me. Lately dad was spending more time there hovering our home star, sucking it, as if his batteries grew as much as his herculean proud pectorals. When he had Superman levels, and a Superman-level physique, Sun’s light over a day would only give him a small surplus for more heavy-duty feats, like lifting a building or to impede an ocean liner from sinking. Little by little, the ability of absorbing pure energy from the Sun started to grow together with him. Closer and closer of the Sun he went, which the output per inch raise exponentially as you come closer. Now he baths in the giants waves of plasma hitting his massively huge torso like a water park. Wandering my eyes to outside, at the seven-stars hotel’s Versailles-like garden and the blue sky above it, I noticed the sunlight to flick, yes… the whole sky seemed to flick like a bad fluorescent bulb. With my mouth went wide open as I walked to the terrace where I could see the press and the big crowd behind the gates and the cops, also looking up at the sky empty of clouds, all scared and asking each other of what we saw, the cops included. There was no clouds, or planes, or anything. Just the perfect blue sky… and then it happened again, more intensely, like complete darkness… our eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough, looking at the far horizon domes of dark engulfed it all. Like everyone else, started to search answers over the internet, the side of the hemisphere noticed the Sun’s light abrupt oscillation, many entering in panic that our Sun exploded or something. People sent twitters with photos of record-breaking auroras in the artic, the whole planet stop to understand what dad’s tan was becoming to be. Of course, at that moment, all astronomers pointed their instruments to the Sun, including amateurs and people with pinhole projectors to see eclipses, the internet flood with pictures, and everyone could recognize the muscular outline blocking the sunlight, we all could recognize his torso blocking the light. They were estimating that dad, from his position between the star and Earth, was of the size of Manhattan, increasing by a kilometer from his last record in his size-shifting power. Which this… it also meant he was naked. His second-skin uniform could stretch only up to four times his current size, it was a power he avoided to use in public. Not that would stop leaking pictures… And of course, he must know people were watching. I bet that there was the gigantic bone out there. Like a bodybuilder in heat, he flexed the classics, his traps, doing crabs. All inhibition and humility had vanished like dust in the wind, “deal with it”, was what dad said to the critics that his body was becoming too obscene for public display, and anything that weren’t shiny spandex looked wrong on him. TV news tried to avoid to show his body at family’s dinner time, just his neck and shoulder would emasculate most male viewers, or making them to sigh uncomfortably. Every guy I knew was super-gay for dad, they couldn’t hide it anymore. Then, satellites photos from space started to emerge, dad’s left bicep projected a diffuse shadow that covered most of North America. The earth stood still trying to comprehend such hyper-power. Of course, in the red table the breaking news all over TV and Internet just made them all to feel smaller. He could destroy everything by just slamming his body over the planet, to tear out the atmosphere just with his breath. We were all at his mercy, and no wanted Derek Armstrong to be unhappy. Still, dad hated sycophants. It was struggling difficult for most people to come up to talk with him, dad wanted people that defied his opinions, and it was increasingly rare; he hated weak, subservient yes men that populated every place he went. Dad always listened to the Devil’s advocate. I was actually surprised of his tolerance over the people and blogs that constantly criticized his actions. After a while, he stopped his posing and vanished from the screens, the show was over, I guessed, but some ten minutes later, some astronomers found ionized disturbances in Venus atmosphere, as if half of the planet was catching fire. An european probe space mission orbiting Venus was able to take pictures of the event, explosions of thousands of nukes being deployed in jet streams of white-purple hot energy, which I could identify immediately as dad’s heat vision. ‘Is that him?’ A scientist asked me, not believing on such power magnitude dad was showing to the universe. ‘Soon, our star won’t be enough for him’. I said to him. Ever since dad went out to space to take a tan, his muscles would come back pumped, veiny, and his eyes shining white from the overcharge. His patience would drop to absolute zero in this state, his mood would swing like an axe pendulum, he would become restless and impulsive until the overcharge was absorbed or spent. It could last hours or days, everyone avoided his path, including me. No one touched yet the food. No one had the stomach, it was a bad decision to make a meeting just after his tan. An hour later, we heard his signature sonic boom making the ground to vibrate. Everyone looked up at the sky again and there was dad hovering over the pebbles, they all holding their phones to capture the moment of his 8’7 monument of muscularity slowly approaching them, letting them see his last upgrade, more mass, more power. Even the burly men eyed up at him like shy schoolgirls. He was measured 8’4 before this last tan. While he had attained size-shifting powers, dad couldn’t stay smaller than this new plateau, and now, by absorbing energy directly from the Sun in larger and larger straws, he was growing like ever before. I could see that he was wearing the latest skintight armor uniform. The new one had an irradiance purple-blue effect that you see in butterflies and some exotic fishes, designed to give a shimmering contrast to the smallest muscle and making any bulge to shine and sparkle. Nowadays, he had no shame at all of his absurd unattainable muscularity, he had the confidence of a peacock. “Sorry for the disturbance, citizens. I can assure you that our Sun is fine,” he said with his powerful voice for all to listen, his thunderous voice seemed to come from all sides. Then, from half a mile away, he turned and gave me a paternal wink. I just waved my hand as usual. Sometimes I think he does that only to show that he always has his eyes on me... and those eyes were shining like lighthouses, the solar power overcharging his body leaking like holes in a dam. Before I could react, in a bursting blast of wind he was here, in front of us in the terrace, bigger than ever before; everyone went suddenly dead silent, I could hear a pin if it fell on the floor. Dad had no time to spare on dumbfoundedness, “So, shall we begin?” He walked inside to the red table and we all followed his ass, I mean, his steps. Like anyone else at the table, I avoided to bring any issue about his beaming glowing eyes, it was super-menacing. Yet, his warm smile and perfect white teeth left the people somewhat at ease. Everyone using ties but dad, he had a leotard. People concentrated on the task at hand but mostly they found themselves speaking to his loaf sized pecs; seated they had them at their eyes level, but besides that, his pecs dominated his chest nowadays, they were so proportionally larger, wider and heavier than the rest of his immensity, that were ludicrously distracting. To add to injury, those huge pecs didn’t rest… it was not only their size and shape, they seemed to have a life of themselves and manifested spontaneously, when he shifted his position, or thought of something funny they would bounce inadvertently. The bigger he got them, more bouncing mass, they flexed in greater fashion, he could not move a finger without a reaction from them. At times, he played with people’s senses by flexing them, removing them out of their trance, or making their eyes to follow his pectorals to jump side to side, like a tennis game. He has been doing this with guys as well… which was super awkward. He thought that this would be a good lesson to make people more respectful of his body. “We have a lot to talk today… but I will let you to talk first. You seem pretty nervous to me.” Dad said as the wise super-giant-hero he was. A hot executive, all flushed and probably all wet down there, was at his right and nervously started to read the briefing of recent developments. 'Since the last reunion of the FATE committee, the general unemployment grew…' 'Wait.' I asked to stop, since no one was asking. All eyes turned to me; I was the fiftieth guy in the row from dad’s right side of the table. 'Dad, we just need to know, did you do something with Venus?' He laughed, “Did you guys saw that?” 'Some people reported that saw Venus flashing like a star, and then a space mission around the planet took some photos… tsunamis of fire and plasma backed half of that planet.' “Yeah… it was blast.” He said while stretching his arms, his muscles lazily dancing around and eclipsing each other, “I couldn’t come back in that state to Earth. It was more power than I could handle, I didn’t want to devastate humanity with a sneeze.” He let tiny arcs of energy to flow between his fingers. “I need more size to control it better...” He said closing his fist and bringing his battleship of a bicep into a peak, while we all gulped in unison. Of course, no one brought the issue that he could dump all that energy into deep space instead of barbecuing one of the few planets we had. “Since you already brought it, I might have the most remarkable event to report.” He stood up, our necks bent to follow his pecs, I mean, his face. “Perhaps the most important event of all humanity… after me and my powers, of course…” The bootlickers laughed at his half-true dad-joke, he rested his hands over the table, his shoulders and arms so wide that overshadowed the two hot execs by his sides, giving us all a new perspective of pecs. “I might have encountered extra-terrestrial intelligence watching us.” ‘Oh, God’ was the default answer. “Yep.” He said. “Sometimes having such a good vision has some drawbacks. I can see more stars and galaxies than the Hubble telescope, and because of this it was hard to focus of such small speck of deflective light thousands of miles away. Probably they thought that I couldn’t see them running away from me.” ‘Did they see what you did to Venus?’ I asked, I was the only one there to have balls to make questions. “Surely. That was how I discovered them. Whatever it was, they were scared, running like a rabbit. So most undoubtedly I… we can terminate it, if it is a threat.” ‘You did noticed something before, didn’t you?’ I asked him. “Yes, on my trips to the Sun to recharge my powers, I usually blast some steam before returning Earth, like chasing city-sized asteroids and pulverizing them so they are not a hazard to the planet anymore. I should film for you guys, it is quite a fireworks show. Anyway, I saw something like an UFO before, but this time I have no more doubts. There is life out there. We need to tell the people.” Dad said, and it was the right thing to do. This information shouldn’t be under secret. ‘Do you think there is a chance that they are benign?’ “I can’t tell. They might be… but possibly are just like us, with good apples and bad apples.” ‘There is any chance that your actions out there might have attracted them here?’ One of his pecs flexed involuntarily, “Yes… there is a chance.” ‘Shit… dad… if they are bad apples, people will blame you for bringing them here.’ “Shit.” He said in realization. “You are right, son. Let’s leave it under secret until we have more information. Under regulation 3-O-5, I have the Congressional authority to terminate anyone accountable for leaking FATE strategic affairs… so mouths shut.” Suddenly, the general unemployment became a petty problem.

Another short little hulk out episode. Construction Hulk Dennis checked in at the site. New office building, nearly completed. He had heard the news the night before. Some kind of storm and repairs needed or something like that. Jake, the foreman, called Dennis over and explained the situation. "We had some kind of freak accident last night. A large object came hurtling out of the sky and blew out the back wall of the building. The owners are pissed as Hell and don't want to pay for the extra time and damages so we are going to have to eat those costs. I need you to go inside and assess the situation. See what we need to do to get rid of the damn thing and get repairs completed pronto" Dennis sighed, "For sure. I'll get on it. Has anyone else been in?" "No you're the first one here. I want to keep everyone away until we figure out what we're going to do. I was about to go in myself when you showed up. I have to get on a conference call with our finance and the owners again, so do you mind? I hate dumping this on you but you are my best worker and know the deal." "No problem. I'm heading in now" Dennis walked over to the building which looked fine from the front. It would have been only 3 more days to completion until this happened. He cautiously opened the front door. Still looked good, but something smelled....hot....coming from the back. He went through a conference room door and there was daylight coming in through a massive breach in the back wall and a huge rock about twice the size of a football laying in a hole in the floor. Dennis shook his head in frustration and walked over to the rock and kicked at it. It didn't budge. "Thing must be heavier than it looks" Dennis was no flyweight. He spent 6 days a week at the gym and eating healthy. He bent over and tried to lift the rock but it wouldn't budge. "Must ....be.....stuck....Ugh" he grunted as he tried to free it. He suddenly felt light headed and backed away to sit down for a minute. After a few seconds the dizziness passed and he got back up to try again. He strained and grunted with the veins standing out on his arms and suddenly, the rock shifted. Encouraged by that small success he put all his strength into it slowly raising it from its berth. Dennis started to smile when suddenly the rock just crumbled into fine dust and, even though there was no wind, it spiraled up and blew out the breach in the back wall. Dennis stepped back a little bit freaked out by this odd turn of events. Then he decided he might as well get to figuring out what repairs would be needed. He looked at the hole in the floor, they would most likely need to replace the entire marble slab of the floor and fill in the foundation underneath. Then they would have to shore up the hole in the wall and repair the broken studs. He shook his head and walked back out front to let Jake know what was going on. When he stepped outside he felt dizzy again and leaned against the door frame for a moment. Jake looked up concerned and came over. "Dennis, you ok?" Dennis shook his head and Jake saw something like a green flash across his eyes. "Ye...yeah. Just feel a little dizzy." he tried to laugh it off, "You know like after a great set of squats" Jake still looked concerned. "You sure?" "Yeah, why are you looking at me like that?" "I thought I saw...well never mind. What did you see in there?" Dennis relayed the whole episode with the rock, but didn't tell him about feeling strange inside there too. Jake might send him home sick and he needed the work. He was planning a bulking diet and food was damn expensive. "All right, Dennis. Thanks for checking this out. I'll get on the phone to order the materials. I got approval from finance for repairs." The two men started heading back towards the main construction trailer to meet up with the rest of the crew. Another incredibly strong wave of dizziness came over Dennis and he dropped to one knee with a groan. Jake grabbed his friend's arm in concern. "Dennis. Are you all right?" Dennis only groaned in reply and gave a few gasps. Inside the dizziness was quickly replaced by a euphoric rush of power and strength like nothing he had ever experienced. He felt like his whole body was having an erection. Jake backed up a few steps in alarm as it looked like something was happening under Dennis shirt. He saw Dennis whole body undergo a tremor. Then Dennis blurted out, "I...feel....awesome!" His voice dropped in pitch. He looked up at Jake and his eyes had turned completely white, with tiny little pupils. His already thick arms began to swell with veins rising up all down their length. The short sleeves of the shirt began to strain. Dennis stood up slowly, breathing heavily and his head rolled back like he was in pure ecstasy. Jake stared dumbfounded as the name patch on Dennis chest began to stretch out and with a loud pop tore free exposing a thick pectoral muscle. Jake was struck in the face by something and realized the top buttons on his shirt had burst off. His already well built physique was expanding further. He saw the cuff of Dennis jeans rising several inches and getting caught on bulging calves as he realized his worker was growing taller. "Fuuuuuuck" Dennis suddenly roared in a deep bassy voice as his back flared out and he hunched over in a bizarre imitation of bodybuilding pose. The shirt split in two down the back and Dennis' shoulders exploded from the seams. He dropped his head a moment gasping. Jake saw green streaks running through Dennis' hair. Dennis shook his head and raised it snorting and blowing with the intensity of the transformation occurring. It felt like the longest most intense orgasm he had ever experienced and it wasn't stopping it was building. His own dick was standing ramrod straight in his jeans spasming wildly. The green color was racing across his entire body. At all the noise the other crew had come out of the trailer and stood staring, some in alarm, some in fear but more than a few in jealousy and desire, unconsciously rubbing at their crotches and fondling their own erections. Thick ripping sounds accompanied the appearance of Dennis massive legs through the jeans as the seams gave way. They were larger than most tree trunks and still he was growing. His ass swelled outwards, tightening up and thickening, causing the seat of the jeans and his boxers both to explode outwards Traps had risen up so thickly from his back as to make his neck completely disappear. "Ahhhh....fuckin' A" he rumbled. His 30" arms had destroyed what was left of the short sleeves. Another loud popping occurred as the waistband of his jeans split open from thick obliques and abs in a swollen gut. He finally stood fully straight up in the tattered remains of his boxers with a 10" pole sticking up out of them. A couple of the workers gasped and then blushed in embarrassment as wet stains appeared on their crotches. The monstrous creature turned towards a large oak tree and then ripped it out of the ground and hurled it in the direction of the crew. Roaring at them in frustration. They scrambled quickly out of the way. Jake yelled, "Dennis! Dennis! Stop listen to me!" The creature turned towards him. "Don't do this. Stop. I'm your friend. Most of those guys are your friends. Don't hurt them. Don't hurt me...please" The creature seemed mollified. It turned and walked away behind the building. Jake followed at a distance. The creature sat down near the breach where the stone had fallen through. Jake slowly came up to him. "You ok?" The creature looked up at him. It was slowly shrinking. It's dick was still sticking up like a it was made of iron and pre was leaking from its tip. The muscles were slowly pulling back in and the bones were restructuring to a smaller size. Dennis would occasionally spasm and more pre would leak out as the transformation continued. Jake watched fascinated. Realizing that he was kind of turned on by the display he had seen. The green color bled out of his skin and Dennis face looked more relaxed. He still had to weigh somewhere around 400 pounds and he was smiling. Jake moved in closer. Dennis watched as Jake reached out tentatively to stroke the massive chest. Dennis flexed them almost involuntarily and gasped as more pre leaked out. Jake realized his own dick was dripping in his boxers. "Dude" Jake murmured. "Dude" Dennis rumbled back. Dennis was almost back to his 5'10 220 pound build, which was still impressive. Jake still had his hand on Dennis chest, when Dennis suddenly grabbed Jake and squeezed his eyes shut and muttered "Shit...cumming" Jake felt the thick globs strike him in the face and his arms and it seemed like it wouldn't end. Dennis opened his eyes and had a shit eating grin on his face. Jake saw they had returned to their blue color. Dennis laughed, "That was fucking AWESOME!" Jake stood up, "Maybe I should have gone to check that thing out." "Too bad. You snooze, you lose" Jake just smiled, "all right. I need to clean up. Wait here and I'll get you some clothes." Dennis just shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss man" Jake turned to leave, then suddenly staggered and fell against the side of the building. Dennis asked, "You ok?" "Yeah...just a little dizzy" The end.

I found this old one on my hard-drive, and thought you'd all enjoy it. ------------------------------------- Four Weeks Later by Magus The streets were dead quiet, but Cory knew that could be deceiving. He held his breath, peering out of the subway entrance, his eyes wide and searching for any sign of movement, knowing that he was wasting precious minutes by hesitating like this, but he couldn’t make himself move. Too many times he’d thought he was safe, only to lose friends to the Virus, to the Lust, almost losing himself. And now there was just him. “Okay. Okay. Just across the street, into the store, and then back here.” He said to himself quietly. He steeled himself, tensing the muscles in his slender legs, feeling the tension build between his narrow shoulders. He looked up the street, then down. The only movement came from a plastic bag as it was volleyed about by an errant wind. “Now!” He whispered through gritted teeth, and forced himself to move. As quietly as he could, as quickly as he could, he darted across the street, wincing at how his sneakered footfalls echoed back from the blank-faced sky scrapers around him. Seconds later, he was at the storefront, and he ducked inside, quickly getting his bearings, making sure one of Them wasn’t inside. It seemed safe. He didn’t feel he had more than a few seconds to make sure. If there was one in the back, he would just have to hope it was sleeping or…or doing the other thing they did. Quickly, he slid the backpack off his shoulder, ripping it open and going straight to the canned goods. The last twenty-eight days had left the shelves almost empty, but there were still a few treasures: canned beans and vegetables, a couple small bags of chips, a bottle of water that had fallen off a shelf and half-rolled underneath a shopping cart. This was how he’d been living for the last four weeks, scouting out small stores and robbing them of what they offered. If he was lucky, they’d hold enough food for more than one or two trips. The last store had had two boxes of protein bars, a cornucopia for his new existence. Eric had been with him then. Don’t think of him. He scolded himself as he piled a few small cans of corn into his backpack. It was getting easier to stop thinking about things. After that first chaotic week, when the virus was spreading from person to person so quickly that most hadn’t even realized what was happening, he’d had to learn a lot about survival. He was reaching for a can of powdered drink on a high shelf when he froze. A loud, heavy clunk had just come from the back room, like someone knocking over a heavy barrel. Shit. He cursed silently, not daring to move. His ears strained, attempting to hear past the suffocating silence around him. He heard a footstep, just beyond the staff doors that lead to the backroom. The infected could move fast, faster than Cory could. His only hope would be to get out of the store before he was discovered, to get back into the subway terminal, where he’d already secured a home base behind a security door. For some reason, the infected didn’t like going below ground anyway…once he made it that far, he’d be safe. If he made it that far. He left behind the can, pulling his arm back, not daring to even touch the shelf, not daring to spare more than a glance behind him. The door was still closed, but he could almost hear breathing behind it. Carefully, he turned, setting his feet down with utter care with every step he took. He heard meaty fingers scrape along the door, but it stayed closed as he passed the checkout counter, scarcely daring to breathe. He had no idea how acute their hearing was, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He was almost to the door. He peered outside, aware that he hadn’t much time left, and looked up and down the street, seeing no movement. Almost there. He thought with something close to relief. He turned partway, looked at the staff door across the store. Still closed. He just might make it. He took a step, felt an odd tugging at his back, but before he realized what it was, the candy display that had caught on his backpack was already falling over with a crash. His heart stopped. A rage-filled roar filled the store, and he heard the door behind him crash open, could hear frenzied, panting breath – a monster in heat – and that was all it took to break his sudden paralysis. Cory didn’t even spare a glance behind him; he knew what the Infected looked like. His legs pounded into the pavement, his eyes locked on the Subway entrance, his arms pumping beside him, all the while the lumbering scrabble of over-grown feet following him, getting louder. He was maybe ten feet from safety when his feet slid out from under him, sending him scraping against the pavement. He’d barely even let out a groan when he felt massive weight on top of him, the naked flesh burning against his cool skin. He also felt something large and hard against his ass. He tried to struggle free, but powerful arms held him in place. He could smell the infection in the creature’s sweat, smelling like old sex, a humid, cloying smell. The creature started thrusting against him, and with a shock Cory realized his struggles were only exciting the infected, that the creature, judging from his hurried grunts, was getting close to cumming. Cory struggled against the pavement, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, trying to get out from under the rutting beast that was once an ordinary guy like him, but it was no use. He was as good as dead. Suddenly, there was a crash of glass breaking and heat exploded from nearby, a flash of light and Cory looked to see flames sprouting up just a few feet away. The monster on top of him froze, its hard cock still throbbing against Cory’s backside, twitching, just moments away from orgasm. The creature let out a strange cry and leapt off of Cory’s back. Cory scrambled away, trying to put the flame between himself and the monster. But the creature – Cory could see it clearly now – had no more interest in him. It stood up, its huge muscles flexing. Cory had never been this close to one of them before, not for so long. He was amazed at the almost inhuman size of it, all of it. The creature was naked, its cock, still hard, stuck out from its groin nearly a foot long, thicker than a beer can (it wanted to stick that in me!), its massive chest heaving with breath, its shoulders, wide as mountains rising and falling. Only its face looked human, and that only barely, its eyes blank of all thought and reason, filled only with lust and, now, fear. Before Cory could blink, the creature turned on its mammoth legs, legs so large they forced its cock and balls forward, allowed only for the most rolling of movement, and then the creature was running, powerful legs propelling it to safety. “Did it cum?” A voice asked, and Cory turned to look, slowly getting to his feet. “Um…no. I don’t think so.” He answered, in shock. He turned to see a slender figure – someone even skinnier than he was – silhouetted against the flame. “Good. You should be safe. No need to thank me.” The stranger turned to walk away. “Wait!” Cory exclaimed. He hadn’t spoken with another human in days, he was almost desperate for more. The stranger turned, looking back. “If you’re still okay tomorrow, I’ll find you.” The stranger said, and then kept walking. “Better get someplace safe.” Cory watched the young man walk away, still trying to figure out what had just happened, but before he could follow, he heard a distant cry, another of the Infected, and Cory decided to go back to his home base. * * * It was when he got home that he realized he was horny. This was the worst part of living with the Virus. He was human, he still had human needs, and one of those was sex. Most times he barely even thought about it – getting off often takes a back seat to survival – but he’d found that after tense moments he was almost always horny. The first few times it had freaked him out – the first symptom of the Lust was, well, lust – and even while he told himself that getting a hard on every now and then was perfectly normal, it always gave him a sense of unease. “Home” was a small room, probably where the transit staff had kept the bus fare until the bank could collect it. The door was solid steel, there was only a small window near the ceiling, and there was a small bathroom that still had water in the form of a filled sink and an unflushed toilet. He hadn’t done much to personalize it, as he didn’t expect to be here longer than a few more days. There was just his sleeping bag, his large flashlight, and his backpack, which he now tossed aside. He sat down on the floor to maybe play some cards, but it looked like his dick was going to be insistent tonight. And why not? This had been the closest he’d been to getting infected by the Lust, he could still feel the adrenaline pumping through him. It wasn’t like he got turned on by near-death (or near-whatever happens to you when you catch the Virus), and he’d decided that it was just a physical reaction, maybe evolution’s way of turning a close call into a chance to send his genes into the next generation. Evolution would be disappointed today, he thought with a smile, unless evolution wanted to supply a woman, too. He’d learned that the best way to get rid of the jitters was to deal with it right away. He would cum and by the time he’d cleaned up he’d realize that once again, it wasn’t the Lust, it was just plain old lust. So, he sat against the cold wall, unzipping his pants and pulling them down around his knees. His cock instantly sprang up in front of him, hard and insistent. Without giving it much thought, he reached out and started stroking it. “…god…” he gasped with pleasure. It was rare that beating off brought this much sensation, but not unheard of. He stroked the cock, enjoying the feel, letting waves of pleasure wash over him, leaning his head back. He wasn’t infected, he rationalized. You had to get their cum in you. Contact with bodily fluids. Just enjoy it. He told himself, and he did. He felt pleasure crest in him, building to orgasm, reaching that point of delicious abandon, he was going to cum…. But he didn’t…the wave crested, crashed against his pleasure centers, started building again. He started stroking with more intensity, letting out a soft moan of pleasure. This was maybe the best jerking off session he’s had in a long time, he realized. He hoped it would last. He started to feel warm, his clothes restricting. With his free hand he reached up and lifted his shirt off of his body, letting out another groan of pleasure at the freedom. “Fuck, yeah…” He kicked off his pants, now naked and free to just look at his body, to enjoy the nakedness. His new lifestyle had clearly had an effect on his body, he realized. It looked bigger, tougher. As he jacked his cock, he saw muscles bulge in his forearm, his biceps. His chest was bigger, too, with a cleft between his pecs, a straight line fading as it approached his cock. His big cock. “Yeah…” he grunted again, looking at his big cock. It looked bigger, its head a bright red, his dick hot in his hand. He slowed his stroking a little, enjoying the sensation. Some precum dribbled at the tip, giving his hand some lubrication as he stroked. His legs were bigger, too. He could make out the different parts of his quads, could see how weeks of running had given his calves a solid, diamond shape. It looked good, it felt good. He was getting the same shape as the Infected. He stopped, his dick suddenly aching, demanding for attention, but for a brief second his arousal took second place to panic. He sat up, getting to his feet, his dick hard and heavy in front of him. He tried to look over his body, to see if it was different, but his brain felt cloudy. Was he infected? Did he have the virus? But…it wasn’t possible. The monster hadn’t cum, though he’d been close. His hand went to his cock again, almost of its own will, as he tried to remember everything, feeling the inhuman weight of the Infected on him, that strong, warm body, rubbing against him, that large cock, so thick, rubbing against his clothes… His clothes! He looked around, his hand still on his dick, getting more horny by the minute. A part of him just wanted to deal with his cock and worry about the rest later. Just close his eyes and go with the pleasure. A low moan at the possibility escaped his lips before he could stop it. His pants were nearby, and he picked them up, absently noticing how his arm flexed as he did so (Is my arm bigger…?). The back of the fabric was covered with a clear fluid; the smell of it was unmistakable. He had the same type of viscous substance dripping from his own cock, sliding along his flesh as he continued to jerk off. Pre-cum. The monster’d been dripping from that huge cock, covering his body with the stuff. He looked at his free hand with a start – there was a cut there, probably from when he tripped. If that cut had even touched a drop of the pre-cum… “Nooo….” He said, his voice sounding just a little deeper. He could be infected! He ran to the small bathroom, looking in the mirror. It was true. He was bigger. He ran his free hand against his chest, feeling the thick muscle that had grown there, probably in the last few minutes. The feeling gave him pleasure and he stroked his nipple even as his eyes widened in terror. He was no longer a slender man; he had the build of an athlete, a hockey player, verging on a football player. He was taller too, maybe by a couple of inches. And every inch of him seemed to vibrate with strength. He looked down at his cock, seeing it jut out from his groin proudly. His hand kept stroking it, kept sending wave after wave of pleasure. It was bigger too, looking larger and thicker, shining brightly with slick precum. He could feel the weight of it, the power. It felt good. “No!” he said, forcing his hand from his dick. “I… I sick….” He moaned. He couldn’t think straight. He had to get out of here, hand to run. He ran from the bathroom, struggled with the door. It was difficult to open, it was as if he couldn’t quite understand the doorknob. A few panic stricken moments later, he managed to force his way free, using his new strength to pound the door down. It was too dark down here, he needed to get up, into the fresh air. He ran across the abandoned subway station, running to where daylight streamed through the exit, his strong legs carrying him faster than he was used to. He felt his pecs bounce solidly, felt the curve of his arms against his widening back. He took the steps three at a time, his dick bouncing in front of him, the weight reminding him every second of its growth, of his growth. He reached the sunshine and stopped, grateful for the freedom, breathing the air, taking it into his wide chest. His wide, hot chest. He reached up and stroked it with his left hand, his right hand went to his cock. It felt so good, so very good. He felt his powerful muscles flex as he came, and he let out a violent, guttural roar. Pleasure washed his brain free of any thought as he shot his load, spattering the pavement with more cum than he might have ever thought possible. The creature that was Cory looked around. He was horny, so horny. He needed more sex. He took a sniff of the air, and followed the scent. There would be others like him.

Another of the mini-Hulk series. Hope you like these. Gang Hulk DJ looked nervously at his older brother as they cut through the street. "Stop worry Deej. I tole you we'll be fine" "Man, the dudes in this street are bad, Li'l H" "Yo!' a voice yelled from a house on their right. "Whatchu doin here?" "We just cuttin' home" Li'l H replied "Dont want no trouble" He nervously hitched his pants up a bit. His baggy white t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame. DJ pushed in closer to his brother. 4 big men came down from the porch and circled them, "Well maybe you found it" DJ pushed closer, "I tole you we shouldnt be here Li'l H" "Shut it Deej" The biggest man smiled, "Li'l H?" he sneered. "Li'l Hot shit?" one of the men smacked him in the head. "Li'l Ho?" another smacked him. "Li'l Homo?" a third taunted and they all laughed. Li'l H said, "I don' wanno trouble" "Li'l Homo needs a lesson" the third repeated shoving him against the others. "Take the kid" shouted the leader and one of them grabbed DJ. "H...No....Don't let them hurt me!" "Put him back" "Li'l Hot shit thinks he can tell us what to do!" There was a punch. Li'l H staggered and shook his jaw. "You need to stop" Another punch and a shove. Dj screamed from somewhere out of sight "H! Help me" Another punch another shove. H went down and spit blood out of his mouth. A hand jerked him to his feet. "What's this Li'l Ho? Someone try to wear Mommy's necklace?" he pointed to a thin scar around Li'l H's neck. Li'l H just looked at him. Then he smiled. "You wanna find out? Hit me again" "Oooooo tough guy" said the leader and swung hard sending Li'l H reeling back onto the pavement. At last he felt the release. It had been a long time since the last one. knowing that the first phase his eyes turned white, he smiled and closed his eyes and held back. Didn't want to give anything away too soon. But it felt so damn good. The pain vanished and power replaced it. Sensual, dark, mind blowing power was racing through him like a freight train leaving the station. He felt himself get jerked to his feet. Did they notice his shirt was a bit tighter? He smiled and kept his eyes down. A light gasp escaped him. "That one hurt ya, huh tough guy?" Another punch but this one didn't register as much. He only stepped back a bit. Shirt tighter, pants straining. DJ yelled, "H! Can ya hear me? I need the big guy! Help!" One of the thugs yelled, "Ain't no big guy here, cept us" He smirked an shoved but this time Li'l H didn't held his ground. "Fuck, bro you wimpin out? Hey Li'l Homo your Homey is callin' you" and the third guy shoved hard but his hands felt like they smacked against stone. Li'l H grunted again but this time small popping sounds were heard. With his head still down he smirked. "Told ya I didn wanno trouble" his voice was deeper and raspier. "Da fuck?" the leader said. "Yo look at me homo!" and grabbed Li'l H by the shoulders which suddenly thickened up under his hands. Li'l H finally raised his head and smiled. His white eyes open for all to see, "You in trouble now" That's when they noticed his chest pushing out against the shirt. and his clothes straining against a suddenly athletic and muscular body. Li'l H's dick rose up as he enjoyed the full sexual power of the change and embraced it. The leader staggered back but two huge fists grabbed him and held on. The other three fell back staring not sure what to do for their friend. The leader goggled as the front of H's shirt split and two huge pecs spilled out. His ass swelled outwards against his sagging pants causing the belt and waistband to snap. They fell to the ground around thighs that were thickening to the size of redwood trees. And H was growing taller. The leader felt his feet leave the ground as H hung on. "He's turning into a freak!" one of the thugs yelled. The back of H's shirt split as his back widened and thickened and streaks of green color ran through his hair and down through his skin. He was grunting and snarling. The boxers burst open and fell away as well. At last it slowed and a 7 foot 500 pound green behemoth stood there holding the thug leader. The creature snarled at him then hurled him across the street and crashing through the porch roof to lay stunned on the deck of the house he had come from. DJ hollered, "Woo Hoo, the big guy is here!" The other three tried to scramble away, but the creature ran in front and pushed over a massive oak tree blocking their way. They turned and ran back towards the house and the creature followed. He smashed the door open and found them cowering in a corner of one room. A strong smell hit the creature's nose and it looked down and saw that two of the thugs had pissed their pants. The creature went back to the driveway and pulled the basketball hoop out of its concrete foundation and brought it inside bending the thick metal pole to wrap around the three thugs and hold them. Then he slowly sat down on the floor and blinked stupidly for a moment. The thugs stared at the creature as it slowly shrank back down. The green color fading from its skin. DJ came cautiously into the house. "H? you here?" "Yeah" came a deep raspy voice. DJ rounded a corner to see Li'l H still semi-hulked out and slowly reverting. He loved watching his brother change and smiled. H smiled back. Breathing heavily. He looked like a heavyweight bodybuilder now. DJ came over and sat by his brother, who threw his arm around the boys shoulders. "You knew?" one of the thugs hollered to DJ "You knew that homo was a freak like this?" H rose to his feet and started to swell back up. His exposed dick rising to attention. Green color seeping back through his skin. "Shit! Don't say that dude!" Yelled one of the guys trying to squirm away from his poorly spoken friend. "We're sorry...I'm sorry... Please" Suddenly, H shuddered and his balls pulled up and a huge load of green thick cum shot out and covered the three thugs. They groaned and yelled as 6 more volleys of green oily cum covered them. The thug that tried to apologize got a mouthful he inadvertently swallowed. H turned back to his brother and slowly sat down. His brother put his head in H's lap who stroked his hair as he slowly changed back. With a last shuddering gasp, Li'l H was little again. "Deej. I need to get up and get some clothes" DJ stood up and they went out to the porch where the leader was just regaining consciousness. "Hey give me your clothes" H ordered. The thug looked at him. "Don't make me ask again. Strip. Now" With a scowl the thug obeyed. The clothes were a little big for H, but only for now. He smiled and he and DJ walked off the porch and back down the street as if nothing had happened. In the living room, the three thugs tied with the pole tried to holler for help. "Hey. THe homo's gone. Help us man" "Dude shut it. We shouldn't a done it" "What are you a homo for muscle now too? Did you like it?" "We're all stuck here. And it's our own fault" The leader came in and saw the mess. "Hey man help us out of this! Help us" The apologetic one stopped talking he felt....funny. The others continued to yell and bully, "Help man. Get a chain saw or something, cut us out and...stop pushin damn it.....oh shit" The thug who swallowed looked up with a smile. He was thickening up and his eyes had turned white. "This feels fuckin.....awesome" his voice deepened. From outside the house could be heard shouts and grunts and the sound of bending steel.

Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: Sorry for the long delay. For this chapter, I thought I'd change the pov to Ty. As for Ty's gymnastics at the end of the chapter, I'll link a video of what I had in mind below the chapter in second A/n, along with an explanation to a term I decided to use. As always, any feedback, critique, questions and praise are very appreciated. Enjoy! --- While I was still beaming from the "sex day" Eli initiated a few days earlier, (Eli even mentioned that I seemed much more energetic lately. When I said that it was because of him he acted all embarrassed, but that cute smile of his lit up his face. I'm not sure he's aware, but when he's embarrassed, he starts scratching his tummy. It's so adorable!) we decided to go on a date. I reminded him that my folks will be helping at that midnight poetry reading thing. I'm not really into poetry, but Eli enjoys it occasionally, and it would be a nice opportunity to let my folks know about the change in our relationship. They were always fond of Eli. Since my vacation ended, we naturally spent less time together, but I went to his apartment after work everyday. We had another sex session/afternoon (less intense than the previous, but no less satisfying) yesterday, which was actually suggested by me. I wasn't quite sure if that counted as 'pushing', but I figured he could always say no. I'm still getting used to our situation. Don't get me wrong, it's totally fine and I love all of it, but there's a difference between just knowing about asexuality, and actually dealing with the different stances and preferences in the actual relationship. Anyway, in preparation of the midnight reading, we decided we would sleep in the afternoon beforehand. I'd sleep on the farm to save on travel time and we'd meet in front of the food hall where it would be taking place. I took my 'special occasion' vest with me to work, neatly packed away in my bag, but someone saw it in the changing room, and people started teasing me throughout the day. I still wasn't used to that kind of attention; I'm not sure if people are that intimidated by my stature. People are kind to me, I just don't get hit on as much as the other guys. I guess that would be part of why Eli's attention turns me on so much, his willingness to please me, almost in spite of his asexuality (not exactly accurate, but that's the closest I can describe it)... Well I better stop thinking about it, or my giant dick will give others more reasons to make fun of me. Even though it's slightly embarrassing, I like the cheeky support. Boss allowed me to sleep for a few hours after work at the farm, when I explained that I had a date at the midnight reading. She gave me a room in the back of the house, and warned the kids, which were there helping out with minor tasks, to not disturb me. She's like a fourth parent to me sometimes. Thanks to that I woke up refreshed when the alarm I set up beforehand rang in the evening. I took out the vest. It was sleeveless to enhance the volume of my upper arms, and made from a slightly stretchy material that hugged my torso. The tailor made some special mechanism that put the buttons at the chest level on a separate layer, so when I breathed in, the main cloth of the vest could separate, while the buttons would be still in their place, and the chasm between my pecs would be momentarily revealed without any damage to the vest itself. To cover my legs I just wore my normal stretchy boxers.It was always nice to see people stare at my considerable ‘assets’ as I walked by them, to feel the fabric hug my thighs and support my package. Though I did have to be careful not to get hard when wearing them. The best case of that would be the cock flopping out over the top, but once I was a bit too absorbed in my daydream while working on the farm, my hard cock straight up ripped through the fabric. Luckily, I was just taking a break inside the farmhouse and I had a spare in my locker, so any awkwardness was averted. I knew that my whole body was amazing by any standard, but I hoped that Eli would appreciate the vest. It probably wouldn't turn him on, but he still liked to look at me, and that was enough for me to try and enhance his usual experience. I used my perfume, adding some cinnamon to my natural smell. Eli said that he didn't mind my body odor, but I figured he wouldn’t mind if I changed it up sometimes. Especially for the date. I made my way over to the food hall by foot, and saw Eli already waiting in front looking the other way. He looked great, opting for a thin see-through cloth that draped over the front of his body. He had black trousers, the left leg missing below the knee, torn away because he messed up horribly when he tried to repair a rip there. So he made it into a fashionable outfit. Or something. As far as I'm concerned, he looks hot in pretty much anything. I’m no fashion expert, I'm just happy that I have some things that look good on me that fit. If other people like them, it’s a bonus. I crept up to him (not an easy task for someone of my stature, let me tell you), crouched down and said "Boo!" in his ear. He jumped in surprise. "Aah! Ty! Don't scare me like that, you big lug!" The smile on his face and his tone told me he didn't entirely hate it. "Heh, sorry, I couldn't help myself, I don't get to surprise people often." "That is true. Ok, I guess I'll let you scare me sometimes." I love the wrinkles that crinkle the skin around his eyes when he smiles at me. He gave me a hug. His small arms wrapping around me as far as they could felt amazing. I reciprocated, stooping down and enveloping him in my embrace. We let go after a few seconds. Ty was still smiling, “You smell especially yummy today.” “Thanks, you look amazing. Ready for the poetry?" "Truth be told, I lost track of time and didn't get any sleep in the afternoon, so I may fall asleep..." "That's okay, I can just carry you home if you do. If you want." "Okay, that'd be great." With that he raised his arms, like he was praising some mystical entity. After a second of me staring confusedly at him, he sighed. "Ty, could you give me a lift to your face please?" "Oh, of course!" I finally understood what he wanted to do and grabbed him under his arms lifting him to give him easier access to my face, which he immediately took advantage of, kissing me on the lips. After a few seconds, I felt his small tongue licking along my lips, and I opened them to allow it entry, but I reached out with my bigger one, playfully filling his whole mouth with it before retreating it. We enjoyed the kiss for a few moments before the sounds of someone clearing their throat snapped us out of it. I lowered Eli back down and turned towards the person voicing displeasure. "I'm sorry, we kind of got lost in the mome- Pops! What are you doing here?!" That was a surprise for me. Pops, or Rafael to most people, is one of my three parents. He’s pretty built and he towers over most people, his dark olive skin, straight short black hair hinted at his Filipino origins. He’s the same age as Rima, my mom and they’re younger than Yannick, my dad. He was grinning smugly. "Watching you make out with Eli, apparently." "Uh..." Eli came to our defense, "Sorry Rafael, as Ty said, we were caught up in the moment, we're still new to the relationship." Pops chuckled, "I can see that from a mile away, Eli, your technique is pretty sloppy. But I'm sure you'll have a lot of practice to improve it." I facepalmed. "Pops, seriously?" He grinned, "Yes Ty, seriously. At your age I could turn most people on like you wouldn't believe with just a kiss." "Really? That sounds interesting!", Eli said, obviously interested. I looked at Eli incredulously, "Don't encourage him!" Pops rolled his eyes, "Anyway, are you two coming in or do you intend to scare more people off with your ‘kissing’”. He had the nerve to add the finger quotes. I groaned, “Yes pops. Are mom and dad helping too?” “Rima is currently in another town, for an education conference, but Yannick is here, we’ll come to you when we’ll have a free time, okay?” “Okay, see you then.” “Bye, Rafael!” “Nice meeting you again Eli.” Pops turned around and went in. Eli placed a hand on the small of my back, “He seemed to take our relationship in stride.” I put my arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to me. “Yeah, about that… They actually bet on whether we’d have one, beyond friendship…” He giggled, “Somehow that does not surprise me. I’m guessing Rafael bet on us.” “Yeah, if I remember the bet accurately, the options were ‘a relationship before they're thirty, a relationship after they're thirty and no relationship’.” He turned to me and gave me one more hug, before he lifted his head, "We should go inside." He turned around and went in, while I idled a bit, enjoying the sight of his cute butt flexing with his steps. The things I would do to it... I sighed and started after him, forcing these thoughts out, not wanting to cause another scene. The inside of the food hall looked different than usual. Most of the tables vanished, along with most of the chairs, but there were thin mattresses, blankets and sitting rugs added instead. Some were already occupied by the first arrivals. The center of the room had a simple podium added, with a few bioluminescent flowers to create a spotlight of sorts. More of the lighting plants were distributed around the hall to create a soft lighting. With my long legs, it took only a few strides to catch up to Eli, who was headed to a place next to the wall with a table that would give us a good view of the podium. As it was a usual-sized table and chairs, I sat down on a pillow with my back to the wall, my thick legs stretched out. Eli took a chair, turned it so the table would be on one side and me on the other. But since there was still time before the start he sat down on my thighs and cuddled up to me. After a few minutes I noticed his breathing deepened and he relaxed. I put a blanket around him and let him rest for the half hour it took until the hall filled and the host approached the podium. I rubbed Eli’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Hey, sleepy head, should I let you sleep or do you want to listen? It’s starting.” He stirred awake, rubbed his eyes and looked around a bit surprised, “Did I fall asleep?” “Yeah.” He stood up and sat down on the chair, the blanket still around him. He poured himself a glass of water. He offered to pour me one too but I declined. He stuck one hand out of the blanket and put it on my shoulder and squeezed affectionately. I returned the gesture by tensing the delt under his hand. He managed to stay awake while I found that the poetry wasn’t that boring. The running theme was distant countries, the poets sharing their adventures in Eurasia, Australia and the Americas. After another thirty minutes I saw Pops and Dad head towards us. I poked Eli and pointed them out, he nodded when he noticed them. When they came close enough, they whispered their greetings and sat down. Dad (Yannick) was black like me. He was a bit more slender and shorter than Pops, but he still had the start of a belly and his face was marked with the scars of heavy acne from his youth. After he acknowledged us, he turned his attention to his tablet. He usually was in charge of managing events like this and liked to know what was happening. He fired off a message, dimmed the tablet and sat up, smiling widely at us. “So I heard you two are in a relationship now. Congratulations!” I squatted near the table, at Eli’s side so I could keep my voice from disturbing nearby people too much. I told them, “Yeah, it’s very recent and we’re still figuring things out, but so far it’s going great.” “Ty is very patient with me.”, added Eli. That made me reach out and squeeze his hand gently out of happiness. He smiled at me. Dad’s smile widened a bit, “Good to know that our upbringing stuck.” Pops added, “It’s not that surprising. You’re great at parenting. I don’t think he’d be half as great if it was just me and Rima.” Dad grabbed and rubbed Pops’ shoulder, “Don’t be self deprecating Rafael, you two are not that bad.” With a grin, Pops retorted, “Did you forget that one time both me and Rima were having a nervous breakdown because we couldn’t get Ty to stop crying and you calmed all three of us in like five seconds?” “One mistake doesn’t define your capability as a parent, Rafi.” It seems like this isn’t an exactly new topic for them. Pops turned back to us, “Fine, fine whatever.” He turned back to us, “So, you two, have you done the horizontal tango yet?” All three of us yelped some form of “Rafael!” at the same time, drawing shushes from the people around us. When we apologized, Dad said: “Rafael, we have talked about this, you can’t just ask them if they had sex yet.” “So you want to wait and hope they’d spill the beans? You’re just as curious as I am.” Dad looked guilty, but replied: “I admit I am curious, but I can control myself, and I wouldn’t mind if they never told me.” Rafael rolled his eyes and turned back to us. “Sorry, that was rude of me.” It didn’t sound very sincere, but we accepted it anyway. And we didn't confirm or deny whether we had had sex. We chatted a bit more about other things (work, how are the kids at Eli's school doing...) before they excused themselves to go prepare the feast. I went back to my place next to the wall, noticing Eli's big yawn that he failed to subdue. "Should we go?" "No, it's fine, I'll manage to stay awake a while longer. Don't worry, you won't miss the feast because of me." "I'd survive even without the feast." "Did you eat before this?" My stomach gave the answer for me by growling quietly. "Er, no..." "Then we'll stay until the feast, I won't have you starve yourself because of my bad decision." "Okay. Thanks Eli." "No-" it turned into another yawn, "-problem." I leaned my head sideways into his side and he started lightly massaging my scalp. We sat like that through the last poem. People started clapping to thank the authors at which point the lights started to slowly turn up so people could see the feast that was now brought in by some people under the coordination of my folks. I moved to the table again and we started eating. The meal consisted of buckwheat with a fruity sauce. During the meal I noticed Eli's eyelids dropping lower and lower, until he slowly slumped into his chair. Not wanting to wake him up, I shoveled the rest of my meal into my mouth, quickly chewed and poured the rest of Eli's food in too, as I didn't want to be wasteful. I was sure Eli wouldn't mind. I carefully pulled the blanket off of him and picked him up, my big hands supporting his knees and upper back as I held him to my chest, and I started walking to Eli's home. I can never explain the happiness that fills me whenever Eli's close to me. He's just so wonderful, I wish I could spend the rest of my life with him. He's so beautiful that there should be statues and paintings of him all around the world. He's also smart and funny, and no one seems to dislike him even a little... While I was deeply in thought, the way passed quickly and before I knew it, I was standing at the door of his house. I entered, being careful not to bang Eli on anything. I went right to the bedroom and put him on his bed. But he unconsciously didn't want to let go of me, and I stood there hunched over for a few seconds, thinking about what I should do. I noticed that the mattress I sleep on was still out, so I grabbed him again and stood up. I maneuvered out of my vest and I pulled a blanket out of the closet and laid it down on the mattress and laid down on my back, with Eli on top of me, his head in the deep ravine between my pecs. I hoped he'd be comfortable there, and went to sleep. I awoke a few hours later, Eli now curled on my belly. I checked the time; it was a bit earlier than I normally wake up, so I had plenty of time to comfortably get ready and leave for work. I carefully slid Eli down to the mattress, got up, and covered him with the blanket, which he immediately cuddled into. I felt a bit sad to leave him. I took care of my morning business and showered. I loved exercising my body almost as much as I loved Eli. The feeling of my muscles doing whatever I wanted, moving unbelievably heavy weights with incredible ease, while being more flexible than someone of my build probably should be... I moved in front of the mirror and hit some poses, checking out and feeling the hard muscles move and pump up exactly as I wanted. I started to get hard when a stray thought reminded me that Eli was willing to top me in the near future. Damn, that was such a hot thought, his beautiful cock fucking my meaty butt. I wondered if he'd be up for some rimming too, and my cock was rock hard in no time. Since it was still too early for Eli to wake up, I knew I shouldn't just whack off into the toilet, so I sat down and pushed myself up on my hands, lifting my ass forward while spreading my legs, which pushed my cock in to my opened mouth through the valley of my pecs. I started flexing my abs periodically, which made my cock slide back and forth, and the friction of the shaft against the muscle mounds of my chest combined with the sucking of my own mouth quickly brought me to orgasm. I managed to swallow the whole load. In the post-orgasmic bliss I felt in the mood to show off, even though there wasn't anyone else around, so I reversed the position into a handstand, which I fluently transformed into a bridge and finally I stood up. Then I cleaned my dick, which was slick with cum and saliva in the sink. I toweled off and put on my boxers and went into the kitchen, closing the doors to dampen the sounds and smells I'd created. There I made breakfast, putting a portion for Eli under a cover. After I ate I wrote him a letter. I put it on the table, next to the cover. Then I went over to the bedroom once again, kissed Eli on his forehead, and went to work. An hour later I got a text from Eli: "Thank you for the breakfast, it was great. Will you come over after work? :* " I fired off an answer immediately: "Yes, can't wait to see you again " A/N #2: Ty's gymnastics: manna (he autofellates in this position) to handstand I used perfume, because I feel that in the future (or at least this fantasy one ), people would have looked at language, and would stop insisting on using different names for things based on the gender of the target audience (perfume/cologne).

Hey guys, welcome to my first ever, somewhat longish, growth story! *woo, yay, balloons* Been on the forums since the old one and mainly lurked, though I know a few of you from roleplays and chatting. I've started god knows how many growth stories over the last few years but this is the first one I've actually finished so I think it should go here. It has one of my all time favourite superheroes starring. Spidey's always had a soft spot in my heart and is certainly responsible for several fetishes of mine, some of which are in the story. Feel free to leave critiques and comments, they are very much appreciated. If you feel there's anything I could have done better then please let me know, and I'll keep it in mind in the future. I hope to post more stories but whether they will ever turn up is anyone's guess. And as a fair warning, the story doesn't contain any sex (wish it did but it didn't fit in), but it does contain some non-graphic masturbation. Also as a warning, though this is spoilers so read the next part only if you don't mind a slight spoiler: Anyway, please enjoy... EXPERIMENTER: SPIDER-MAN ‘Mmpf… where am I?’ That was the first thought that came to Spider-Man’s, AKA Peter Parker’s, mind when he regained consciousness. The last thing he could remember was web swinging through the city when he went to investigate a burglar alarm at a jewellery store and then everything went black. Much like wherever he was now. Even with his eyes open, there was no light and everything was in darkness. He tried to move but nothing, like his body was frozen to the spot. “Hello? Anyone home?” he called out into the black. “Ma? Pa? Creepy Axe Murderers?” “Finally, you’re awake,” said an echoing voice. Light grew from no visible source, black becoming white. As Spider-Man’s eyes adjusted to the illumination, he noted that wherever he was had no discernible floors, walls or even ceilings. Pure white just seemed to go on forever in every direction. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he quipped. “White, white and more white. Must be a nightmare when you drop a Kleenex in here.” A man in his late-twenties with a handsome face appeared in front of Spider-Man dressed in all black, his clothes tight over his muscles and leather boots shined to perfection. “Welcome Spider-Man, I am Experimenter,” said Experimenter. “And this is my evil crib…” said Spider-Man sarcastically. “Why can’t anyone ever buy a spider dinner BEFORE they kidnap me?” Experimenter chuckled in bemusement, shaking his head. “I admire your wit, Spider-Man,” said Experimenter. “You have been most amusing to watch.” “And that’s not creepy at all,” quipped Spider-Man. “Let me guess? You’ve kidnapped me to stop me from preventing you doing your evil doing? Monologue about how you’re the one to finally stop my do-gooding ways and how your plans will succeed? Let me tell you, I’ve done this scenario more times than I can count and it always ends the same way.” “Alright then, Spider-Man, if that were true then try and stop me,” chuckled Experimenter. “What are you waiting for?” Spider-Man tried to move his body but it was still completely frozen, like his muscles were being stubborn and not listening to his brain; only his head was able to move. “Just gimme a minute,” said Spider-Man. “Finding it difficult to move?” asked Experimenter. “Try not to strain yourself, I beg you.” Spider-Man tried and tried but his body just wouldn’t respond. “Alright, maybe you got me a little,” said Spider-Man. “Congratulations!” “I’ve more than ‘got’ you, Spider-Man,” chuckled Experimenter. “You’re in my domain now.” “And where exactly is your domain? Winnipeg, Manitoba?” “Not quite,” replied Experimenter, folding his arms over his chest. “My domain exists outside of space and time, outside of reality. A pocket dimension, if you will, completely under my control. What I say goes here, including you.” “Sorry Experimenter but this isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey, I have to sign the contract first and there’s no way in hell I’m doing that,” said Spider-Man. “As if you have a choice, Spider-Man,” said Experimenter. “Or should I say… Peter Parker?” With a wave of his hand, Experimenter made Peter’s mask disappear. “H-how did you know that?” gasped Peter. “I read your mind Peter,” said Experimenter. “I know every little thing about you.” “You’re an inter-dimensional telepath?” asked Peter. “Not quite; my powers are many but you could say that they are what I need them to be,” said Experimenter. “I can change and alter anything in this plane to what I see fit, in your world my power is somewhat limited so I set a trap and brought you here. You see, I am a very curious being and people like you – special people – you fascinate me.” “So what are you going to do with me?” asked Peter, scowling. Experimenter smiled ominously. “Whatever I want. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.” “Terrific…” groaned Spider-Man. “First things first, that costume…” said Experimenter, summoning a chair from nowhere and sitting down with a leg crossed. “It goes.” With a wave of his hand, the iconic red and blue costume was gone and Peter was standing motionless and naked. Experimenter cocked an eyebrow at the sight whilst Peter couldn’t help but blush. “Nice,” purred Experimenter. He rubbed his crotch through his tight black clothes, which made Peter cringe. “Any other day, that might be a compliment…” said Peter. “So… what are you going to do with me?” “Well Peter, looking through your memories has given me quite a lot to consider,” Experimenter mused. “It’s fascinating how a science experiment on irradiating spiders gave you such… incredible abilities. Such a transformation… It was a definite improvement from before.” “So what, Clarissa,” said Peter. “Why don’t you explain it all, how has that got anything to do with this?” “Well you became so different with just one spider bite,” explained Experimenter. “So I’m curious to see what another one could do…” Experimenter held out his hand a familiar spider appeared and floated above the palm of his hand, scuttling its eight legs in mid air. “One spider transformed Peter Parker from skinny geek into Spider-Man, with the powers and proportionate strength of a spider,” said Experimenter. “So I wonder what another bite will do. How… proportionate will you become?” The spider began to float toward Peter and landed on his chest. Despite his immobility, he could feel it crawling over his body. Peter wanted desperately to do something, anything, to move and swipe the spider away. It crawled up his chest until it reached his neck. Peter grunted in pain as he felt it bite him, injecting its radioactive venom into his bloodstream and when it was done, the spider vanished as if it had never been there. Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as the radioactive venom surged through his blood, sweat forming on his brow and dripping down his body. His chest heaved as it began to take effect, his body beginning to burn and shake. With each breath, his muscles began to swell and thicken. Pecs pushing out further and further, swelling out with thick hardening muscle. His shoulders widened, deltoids becoming bigger and rounder and his traps expanded, growing further up his neck. Veins began to push further out from under Peter’s skin, extending up his arms as his forearms began to thicken, up to his swelling biceps and triceps that jutted further and further outward. While his waist stayed trim, his lats pushed out wider and wider, forcing his arms out more as his back swelled into a thick mountainous range with a deep curvature to his lower back and giving him a v-taper bodybuilders would kill for, swollen obliques pointing down to his junk. Peter’s abs contracted and swelled, his six-pack becoming a perfect, symmetrical eight-pack. His abdominal mounds were like hills, deep cuts separating each abdominal while veins pushed out from under his tightening skin. Even in his immobile state, Peter’s thickening legs were forced out wider as his inner thighs demanded more room. His quads ballooned, each quad head visible under his taut skin with deep cuts separating each one, hamstrings swelling and glutes expanding into a huge, solid, muscular ass, jutting outward like a shelf. His calves grew out into thick, powerful diamonds of pure muscle jutting from each leg. Peter’s feet and hands grew thicker to stay in proportion, though it wasn’t the only thing. To finish off, Peter felt his genitals grow bigger. What was once fairly sizeable between his legs was now an obscenely sized soft cock and thick balls. Peter’s huge chest heaved as the growth stopped, sweat covering him head to toe; he was now truly feeling the weight of his bigger body. Experimenter stood, a huge hard cock pushing out from under his clothes, examining the fruits of his experiment. At 5’10”, Peter looked like more like Venom with the amount of muscle on his body. Experimenter ran a finder along the curve of Peter’s left pec, wiping sweat away and he sucked his finger. “Sublime,” he said, taking Peter’s pecs in his hands and squeezing them. “You were already the proportionate strength of spider. It seems it’s increased exponentially. How does it feel?” “Wrong,” spat Peter, catching his breath. Experimenter let out a loud laugh. “I’m sure you feel that way now. Perhaps if I let you explore these new… abilities, you’ll change your tune. I think you’ll find your body is not the only thing that’s changed.” Experimenter vanished and in his place, the streets of New York grew from the ground, albeit empty of people, cars and completely white. Peter felt control return to his body and he stretched himself out. His body felt different, stronger and more powerful than ever. Despite his bigger size, Peter was still incredibly flexible. His spider sense was much more powerful; Peter had much greater sensory perception of the world around him. Without even looking, Peter could feel the world around him with his spider sense. Peter jumped and was instantly surprised and the speed and height of his jump, he had nearly completely scaled over a building twenty-five storeys high. Despite having no web shooters, on instinct he touched his middle fingers to his palm and organic webbing shot out from his wrist and he began swinging through the seemingly endless streets. His speed and momentum were much greater than before Experimenter brought him here, covering a city block in half the time. Peter let go of a swing to land on a building but, not used to his faster momentum, slammed into the building and caused the wall to crack where his hands and feet pushed through. “Oops,” chuckled Peter. He raised a hand up to grip the wall and as he moved, he began pulling chunks of the wall out. “Gah, my wall-sticking ability is much stronger,” muttered Peter. “Gotta focus it down a little.” It was just like when he first got his powers, Peter had to learn and explore his body and powers once again because they had changed so much. No longer did he merely stick to walls, his adhesiveness was much greater in that he could effectively use it to destroy obstacles and be immovable when climbing. As Peter went through the city testing his new body, challenges would appear out of thin air for him. On one street an assortment of vehicles appeared and Peter took great pleasure in testing out his much greater strength. Where a car had once presented a small challenge to his previous strength, he found he could now pick these up with ease, lifting them overhead with one hand as if they weighed as much as a laptop computer. Lifting other vehicles like SUVs, buses and armoured vehicles were so easy that Peter would lift them overhead and squat a dozen reps before casting them aside, unworthy of his attention. There was even a big tank that was a little more challenging that the other vehicles, but Peter was still amazed at his strength as he lifted it above his head and dropped it to the floor, muscles flaring and veins pulsating. He even grabbed the cannon and swung the whole tank down like a hammer, smashing it into the white paving. He then swung it around and let go, sending it flying a mile down the block until it smashed into a building. The power was intoxicating. "Enjoying yourself?" asked Experimenter, who appeared before Peter. "Yeah, maybe," said Peter, grinning and inadvertently bouncing his pecs. "This power is incredible... I feel like the Hulk! But without, you know, the uncontrollable urge to SMASH!" Experimenter chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. "Perhaps another test?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Experimenter disappeared and in his place, several dozen men appeared, like white dolls all wielding a variety of weaponry from clubs, knives, guns and even rocket launchers. Within seconds Peter's Spider Sense went off. Where once it would warn him of danger within close proximity, it now gave him much greater perception of his environment. Everything was... slower, yet time moved normally. He could feel his opponents' every tiny movement in his mind, able to identify each individual threat, even if they weren't in his field of vision, and form a plan in his head. He shot a dozen webs from one hand, each attaching to the men with melee weapons and pulled them from their grasps whilst simultaneously flipping around and twisting his body at greater speed than before to dodge a hail of incoming bullets. Peter noticed that his equilibrium and balance were a little off as he wasn't used to bouncing around with such weight and momentum but quickly adjusted to prevent himself from slamming into the ground and leave himself open to attack. In less than a minute, Peter had disarmed and webbed up half of his opponents without taking so much as a single hit. He had a natural control over his ability to weave his new organic webbing and formed a thick dome of webs around his crouched body as his enemies shot at him, the bullets ricocheting off his shield. When their guns were empty, Peter sprung out from the web some like a cannon, taking several out by clothes-lining them and snipe-webbing a couple of others to tangle up their bodies with thick, explosive globules of web. Soon they were all defeated, webbed up and stuck to buildings and hung from streetlights. It had taken less than three minutes and Peter was in awe at his speed and agility in taking down such a large, multi-armed gang with such ease. Though his basking was short lived as his spider sense went off and he sensed that right behind him, barrelling down the street at 120 mph was a six car train merely seconds from hitting him. Peter spun on his heel, digging his feet in with all the strength of his spider-adhesiveness, putting his hands out in front of him. The train slammed into him at full speed, the ground crumbled and trenches formed as his feet went backwards, as Peter used all his strength to stop the train. His body was racked with pain but it only fuelled his will. He screamed as he pushed back, muscles flaring and bulging, the train beginning to slow as he demanded that it submit to his strength. The wheels of the train kept spinning, but they were losing the battle of wills, until finally Peter brought it to a halt. Then he started pushing back, forcing it to reverse until he was gaining momentum and running back down the street, the train feebly trying to push forwards. He dug his hands in, bending the white metal into his palms to get a good grip. He jumped, pulling the train up with him and then slammed it to the ground, watching the train crumple into a conjoined heap, lying helpless and immobile. He landed with a thud, chest heaving and muscles twitching, examining his handiwork. “So much power,” he muttered. “Look at what I’m capable of…” “Impressive, is it not?” asked Experimenter, appearing before Peter. “Yes, it is,” Peter replied. “But it is too much for one man to hold. With great power comes great responsibility and this... I feel out of control. Like, if I don't keep my body in check then the power will overwhelm me." The White City shrank away until the two men were standing in the room they began in. Experimenter cocked his head to the side and massaged Peter's deltoid soothingly. "Perhaps, then, you need a reminder of who you really are," said Experimenter. He stood to the side and waved his hand, a full length mirror appearing in front of them. Peter took in his unfamiliar naked reflection, how much different his body looked. He felt awkward, exposed and, despite his size, vulnerable. "I've seen into your memories, Peter," said Experimenter. "Even after you became Spider-Man, you have always seen yourself as the skinny geek you once were..." The reflection changed to Peter before the spider bite that transformed his life. The reflection stood wearing thick glasses, loose pants held up by a belt on his thin, awkward body with almost no muscle on his shirtless chest. Peter felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. "You don't feel strong unless you're Spider-Man, do you?" asked Experimenter. "The mask, the costume, you feel the strength and power from them but it also reminds you of the responsibility." Experimenter placed his hand on Peter's pec and the familiar red and blue costume expanded over Peter's body. Now reflected was an Olympia-sized Spider-Man, costume hugging every bulge and clinging to every separation on Peter's body. "It's more than a costume," said Peter quietly. "It's a symbol, a reminder that these powers are not for my own needs, but to help others." "Perhaps then your new strength is not such a bad thing, Peter," said Experimenter. "In your memories I have seen how you have overcome obstacles beyond your abilities by coming up with solutions to compensate for your shortcomings. But now your power is greater. You can do more to protect the people so long as you keep reminding yourself of your responsibility. You're stronger, faster, your limitations are now fewer. Isn't that better?" Peter slowly nodded, remembering the feats he had just accomplished with his greater powers. Experimenter smiled at the acknowledgement, seeing in his mind how Peter was beginning to sway. "Perhaps you need a new symbol, a new costume to reflect your greater power and responsibilities. A new reminder." Experimenter waved his hand and Peter's old costume disappeared. In its place, a new costume formed over his body. Tight black spandex covered him head to toe and like before, clung to every bulging muscle and hugged in every separation. The upper body was sleeveless, his thick deltoids protruding and showing off how powerful his body was, with a red spider emblazoned across his thick pecs and down his stomach. His arms had long black gloves where the upper hems hugged his bulging biceps, the fingertips and elbows covered in a red web design. Covering his lats and down his waist was a similar red web design that only pronounced how wide his upper body was, whilst highlighting his solid, deeply cut eight-pack. His lower half was similarly black. Along the outsides of his thighs was the red web design, which also covered over his calves. The soles of his feet were red which led up to red webs covering his toes and heels. The mask was black up to his cheeks and up to the back of his head, above there it was red with a black web design. The large lenses covering his eyes were red, shaped like the eyes on his previous costume. Peter was impressed at his new costume, turning around to see his back. There was another red spider, the upper legs stretched across his back and the lower four going down to just above his jutting glutes. "A new look for a new Spider-Man," said Experimenter, massaging his hard cock through his clothes. "A stronger, unstoppable Spider-Man." Peter grinned under his mask, flexing his muscles and watching how his body stretched the costume. He really did look powerful, he thought to himself. "Thank you," said Peter. "And I get to stay this way? No strings attached?" Experimenter grinned, but it was a darker smile. "Who said I was finished yet?" Peter found himself unable to move again. He growled, furious. "What more do you want from me!?" barked Peter. "Tsk, tsk," said Experimenter, tutting, running a finger over Peter as he walked around him in a circle. "That's no way to treat the person who so easily gave you your new powers, and could very easily take them away again. And more." Peter went silent but still scowled. He had no way of gaining any hand in this place so reluctantly remained docile. Not that he had much choice. "Now, if you promise to behave then I will let you have control over your body again,” said Experimenter. Peter said nothing but with a wave of Experimenter's hand he was on his knees. "Promise?" Experimenter asked again. Again, Peter was speechless. Experimenter sighed and with another wave of his hand, sent shockwaves of pain throughout Peter's body. Peter ground his teeth together to stop himself screaming. "Promise!" growled Experimenter. "I won't say it again." "I PROMISE!" screamed Peter and the pain stopped. "Good boy." Experimenter waved his hand and Peter was able to move. He was a little shaky but managed to get up on his feet. He was sweating profusely and ripped his mask off to get a little air. "So... there's a memory of yours I'm quite curious to revisit..." Experimenter mused, scratching his chin. "Oh yeah?" asked Peter, his voice shaking. "Which one?" Peter was feeling like hell and it was getting worse. The pain Experimenter had hit him with before must have been stronger than he thought, Peter mused. His head felt light and he like the room spinning. "What would be the fun in telling you and spoiling the surprise," said Experimenter with a sly grin. A pain greater than what Experimenter had hit Peter with shot up his sides. Peter fell to his knees, hunching over and wrapping his arms around himself, grunting loudly in pain. "M-my sides," Peter managed to choke out. "The... The pain..." Peter's body shook, the pain wouldn't stop. He gripped himself tighter, sweat pouring off his body. "What... What are you DOING TO ME!?" Experimenter just smiled, watching Peter try and fight what was happening. "Pain... The pain, it's excruciating," Peter snarled through his teeth. He suddenly felt something touch his arms through his costume and Peter's eyes bulged with fear. And then it pushed again, several things, fighting for room. He tried to stand but he was in so much pain he could barely move. Four distinct lumps under the tight spandex forced his arms away before shrinking away. Peter dared to look down at his body and he screamed at what he saw. There were four hands pushing out and going back down under his costume. "No!" he shouted. "No please! Not t-this! Must... Control... It... The pain... No... Feels like I'm being r-ripped apart. Can't... Let it... Happen. No! AHHHH!" Peter wrapped his arms back around himself but it was too late. The pain grew greater and greater, building to a head, until he couldn't stop what was coming. Four huge, muscular arms ripped through the sides of his costume, each one as big as his usual arms. Two were attached to his lats while the lower two came out from just below them above his obliques. Peter screamed in horror as he watched his extra limbs grab each other. He could feel their individual touches, feel the muscles in each new arm bulge and flex with every movement. He wanted to rip them off and they reacted to his thoughts, pulling at each other with all their strength but it just shot pain through his body. “W-why!?” gasped Peter. “Why did you do this to me?” Experimenter just shrugged. “This… this was one of the lowest points in my life,” snapped Peter. “I tried to cure myself of my powers, depressed and questioning my life, blaming them for my personal tragedies… But it only made me like this, made me more like a spider and I was lucky to be normal again. Please, I beg you, change me back!” “No,” said Experimenter. “What is more fitting? I have increased your powers exponentially, and now I have made you what you truly are. Spider-Man. A body to fit the power from whence they came. Glorious.” Experimenter waved his hand and Peter’s costume repaired itself, as well as long gloves appearing on his new limbs. “Six arms to web around the city with, four extra arms as strong as the other two, even more power to fight crime with, even more strength at your disposal.” “But I’m a freak!” growled Peter, trying to control and coordinate his extra limbs which seemed to have minds of their own. They were grabbing at his thick pecs and glutes and rubbing their hands over his body. He had to really fight to get them to stop, despite how good their touches felt. “You were already a freak, Peter,” smirked Experimenter. “You said it yourself over and over again in your memories.” Peter was having difficulty with his extra appendages, just getting them to rest at his sides was a difficult enough task. It was bad enough now that there were four more arms, their musculature left his with even less room. Peter shut his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down, to clear his mind. The arms seemed to respond, falling naturally in place. When he felt calmer, he started to test their coordination. Each side would move collectively unless he gave them a command. He started with general movements, working out ways to move them individually without them getting tangled up whilst Experimenter watched gleefully. Soon Peter had enough control that he was satisfied, giving a sextuple bicep flex; six huge arms, their individual circumferences as big as Peter’s head, all bulging and stretching the hems of the tight gloves they were encased in. “You were more than prepared to live with six arms back then,” commented Experimenter, massaging his crotch. “How does it feel now?” Peter sighed, running his upper two hands through his hair as the lower four crossed themselves. “I guess… there’s no fighting it,” he admitted, defeatedly. “I guess you’ve seen in my memories that I’ll never be destined for a normal, happy life. No doubt you’ve seen my future too and made the same judgement.” “Of all my powers, Peter, foresight is not one of them,” said Experimenter. “I have empathic and some telepathic abilities. I can read your mind, read your feelings, but I cannot influence them or see beyond the present.” “Well that does kind of explain why you’ve put my mind through this much anguish from your experiments, and despite all you've done you haven’t forced me to accept these changes unwillingly,” said Peter. “Just… promise me you won’t change me from Spider-Man into some kind of Man-Spider.” “Oh goodness no,” said Experimenter. “I’ve seen that memory and I wasn’t keen myself.” Peter nodded and thought, ‘you and me both’. He raised his arms and shot six web lines, approving the result. ‘I could get used to this’. Experimenter smiled and waved his hand again, ready to begin his next experiment. Peter hadn’t noticed this, but he did notice the throaty, heavy breathing coming behind him. He turned around and once more, his eyes bulged in fear. A distorted black, liquid-like, form with holes where Its eyes and mouth should be began to stagger toward Peter. “The Symbiote!” he gasped. “You gotta be kidding me!” “There’s nowhere to run Peter,” said Experimenter, disappearing. Peter used all six arms to shoot webbing at the alien goo but It just absorbed it, growing in mass and size. He changed tactic, willing his webs to shoot explosive web balls to try and snare it, but the Symbiote once more absorbed them and grew even larger, beginning to tower over Peter. Peter turned and tried to swing away in a desperate attempt to escape but he just hit an invisible wall. He began to climb but he was met with another invisible wall. He felt several tendrils suddenly wrap themselves around him and start to pull. He used every ounce of power in his wall-sticking ability to keep from being pulled down, but the Symbiote was too strong and he was soon tumbling to the ground. More black tendrils latched onto him and Peter desperately tried to rip them off, but with each touch the Symbiote latched further onto him. It started tearing his costume off, pulling it away in chunks as the spandex material stretched until it could stretch no more under the powerful pull of the Symbiote. Peter tried to crawl away but he was being pulled back, the Symbiote tearing away the remnants of his costume and began to slither up his naked legs. ‘Got to fight it,’ he thought. ‘Got to reject it...’ It started to grip tight on his legs, overlapping tendrils consuming his legs, sending a cold wave rippling through his body. The Symbiote covered his crotch and dove into his ass crack, burying itself past his hole and deep inside him, tendrils reaching up to latch onto his arms and force them back. Peter grunted and struggled under the grasp of the encroaching Symbiote but he knew the battle was lost, yet he was still mentally rejecting the connection. It was crawling up his arms and back, consuming him. It travelled up his neck, covering his hair until it went into his mouth and covered his eyes, leaving him in darkness. Peter felt himself lose consciousness. “Wake up, Peter.” Peter awoke and realised he was now standing up. Experimenter was sat in front of him, still pawing at his crotch, watching him intently. “I don’t want this,” said Peter groggily. He felt exhausted but his energy levels were getting stronger. “The Symbiote?” asked Experimenter. “But you had such a good time with it once before.” “Yeah, until I realised it was slowly trying to kill me,” replied Peter. Once again Peter was unable to move except for his head. “I can feel it, trying to take over,” he said. “Trying to bond with me.” “Why don’t you let it?” asked Experimenter. “It will only make you stronger.” “At what cost?” retorted Peter. “My life? Should I just let it consume me like the Venom Symbiote tried to? Let it suck me dry until it kills me from exhaustion or when it’s using my body dangerously?” Experimenter stood and waved his hand, the full length mirror appearing again. In his reflection, Peter could see he was head-to-toe covered in the black Symbiote with a reddish hue where the light reflected off the shapes of his muscles, two red patches on his face where his eyes would be. It was like a smooth second skin; every muscle, every vein, every groove and separation on display like if Peter were just standing naked; except for his head which covered him like a mask and his crotch which pooled like a codpiece, giving him some dignity despite how much it bulged. He was disgusted at the sight; with his size he could almost look like Venom, his old Symbiote that then bonded with Eddie Brock. “I can feel it in my mind, banging on the door and trying to get in,” said Peter. “I won’t let it take over me. And you can’t make me.” “That I cannot,” admitted Experimenter. “Though it is a sentient being, perhaps if you were to ask it what it will do to you, you might change your mind.” “No!” Peter barked. His head was killing him, a powerful headache throbbing from the Symbiote’s attempts. ‘Let meee innn…’ he heard a throaty, breathy voice in his mind say. ‘NO!’ Peter screamed in his mind. Peter suddenly felt a movement around his stomach and a large glob began to extend from his abs, reaching up to his face and beginning to take form. Holes appeared to form eyes and a mouth. “If youuu will not ssspeak to usss in your mmmind, then weee will ssspeak to you outssside,” said the Symbiote. “Join with usss Peeeterrr.” “No, no, no, no, NO!” growled Peter. “Your kind has caused me nothing but pain, suffering and grief. I reject you! You are not welcome in my body!” “Weee know what our kinnn have done to youuu,” said the Symbiote, its eyehole moving to convey shame. “But weee are not like themmm. Weee only want to helllp youuu. Make youuu ssstronger.” “I’ve heard that story before,” said Peter, sharply. “Weee do not lie!” It screeched. “Youuu know the hissstory of my ssspecies, how we mussst bond with othersss to live. And while weee live on thhhrough othersss, we give them betterrr livesss. Make them ssstronger!” “The last symbiote I encountered nearly killed me when it was ‘living’ off of me,” growled Peter. “And then, when I rejected it, it latched onto another man like a parasite and fuelled his hatred, again trying to end my life.” “We cannot ssspeak for the actionsss of our speciesss asss a whole,” said the Symbiote. “But do nottt judge usss on their actionsss. We are not the sssame asss themmm.” “Why should I believe you?” A tendril extended from the glob before him and connected with his face. Suddenly Peter’s mind was filled with flashing images, memories of the Symbiote. The joys of a new host, the hosts’ bringing good to their worlds, their hosts’ corruption from being drunk on their own power, the Symbiote being used and forced to destroy, constant rejection from hundreds, thousands of species. Betrayal, isolation, pain, loneliness, drifting for hundreds of years alone in the cold of space, frozen in its prison-like rock form. Peter could feel himself crying. He was then shown some other hosts, ones that had used the Symbiote for good. Memories filled with joy and pleasure, great companionship and harmonious coexistence, some even sexual; but these memories were a handful, eventually parting with the host at the end of a long life bonded together before being used for evil by the next host. “Wee arrre not a tool for dessstructionnn,” said the Symbiote. “Many of our hossstsss usssed usss, defiled usss. Can you sssee how weee tried to ssstop them? They were ssstronger than usss, imprisssoned usss in their mindsss so they could ussse usss for their ssselfishhh vendettaaasss.” Peter nodded, speechless. “From the brrrief glanccce into your sssubconsciousss we can sssee you are nnnot evil at hhheart, Peeeterrr Parrrkerrr,” It said. “Yyyour will isss ssstrong, even now you arrre keeeping usss out. You would beee a powwwerfulll massster. Weee woullld not beee able to brrring youuu harm.” “I’m nobody's master,” said Peter. “And you are nobody’s slave. A symbiotic relationship is beings able to live equally, each one benefitting from the other.” “That isss all weee desire, Peeeterrr,” said the Symbiote. “Weee wish to live through yourrr bodyyy and innn returnnn, make youuu ssstronger! Weee would neverrr hhharm youuu, our life dependsss on youuu living. Making youuu ssstronger keeepsss you alive, keeepsss usss alive.” Peter sighed. “If I bond with you, if I let you in, it’ll be on a few conditions,” said Peter. “Nnname themmm.” “One, I will not refer to myself as ‘us’,” said Peter. “I am me and you are you. Two, I will host you but I will be in complete control of my own mind and body. You will not take over when I’m sleeping or make me angrier and lose control of my actions, or make me more violent. The only exception to this is if I am unconscious and I’m in danger, you can get me away somewhere that’s safe until I regain consciousness and that’s it. Three, I will not consume brains, human matter or suck out people’s life force in any way, shape or form. Four, if I change my mind about you and I want you gone, even if we are fully bonded, you will leave my body without question. Are we clear?” The Symbiote was silent for a few moments before it responded, considering Peter’s proposal. Slowly, the glob in front of Peter nodded. “Weee accepttt,” said the Symbiote. “Youuu will not have to worry about usss, weee will cooperate fullly. And weee do nottt feeed as you dessscribed. Weee only feeed off your hormonesss, adrendalinnne, tessstosssterone and endorrrphinesss.” “That’s… good to know,” said Peter. “Before we bond, can I ask what your name is?” “Name?” It asked. “Weee dooo not have a name though manyyy have referred to usss as beeeing living obeeediennnce.” “Obedience, huh?” said Peter, chuckling. “No wonder you called me your master and agreed to my conditions. Okay Obedience, I’ll let you bond with me.” Obedience withdrew back into Peter and he opened his mind. He felt power begin to surge through him like a sun rising deep inside him, spreading outward into every fibre of his being, his already incredible strength growing exponentially. The feeling of fully bonding, which he had never done with his old Symbiote, was incredible. His mind filled completely with the memories of Obedience and of his previous hosts. The histories and knowledge of thousands of individuals and species filling his mind and Peter was able to access them instantly, like Google now powered his brain. He willed the Symbiote to change into the costume Experimenter had given him, the black goo covering him morphing into his desired shape. The costume was even tighter than before, a perfect second skin that looked painted on. Peter didn’t even realise Experimenter had disappeared while he had been talking with Obedience and that the White City had grown around him. “Alright, let’s see how good I am now,” said Peter. “Six arms and a Symbiote, here we go.” He pushed off from the ground, ascending over one hundred feet in seconds from a single jump. “Whoa!” cried Peter, laughing, shooting a web. He swung so fast through the city that he was a moving blur as he travelled. His even further enhanced Spider-Sense enabled him to see for miles ahead, calculating exactly where his webs would hit for the perfect, fastest route through the city and with six web lines instead of two, he made short work of the distance. He was able to travel across the entirety of the replicated island of Manhattan within a minute. Peter swung back into the heart of the city and landed from one hundred and fifty feet in the air, down to a grouping of vehicles on the street, making them all shake from the impact. Not that Peter was fazed by such a forceful descent, his body was now so strong that the landing hadn’t hurt him in the slightest; he’d just absorbed the impact. For him, now, it was just like jumping down one step on the stairs instead of high in the air. Peter lifted every vehicle but there was no challenge, no matter the size of the vehicle. He could lift them with one hand, one finger even, and they weighed almost nothing. His already enhanced strength further enhanced by Obedience gave him so much strength that Peter didn’t know what to do with it. He even tried piling them on top of each other, webbing them up and pulling the web tight to crush them down. He could lift the pile of thirty vehicles, each of varying size and weight, with two hands though his muscles bulged only slightly when he held it up with one. ‘Perhapsss you neeed sssomethinggg more challengiiing,’ said Obedience in Peter’s head. ‘I know, but what?’ thought Peter. Peter looked around but nothing struck out to him. Not even Experimenter, his omniscient captor who could read his mind, changed his surroundings to give him a new challenge. Peter sighed; he had to find out what his new limits were, what his body was capable of. He looked up and down the street and spotted what he was looking for, his challenge. Peter walked up to a building on the street. It was standing singularly, no other buildings attached, at least twenty storeys high with masonry and statues along the top. Peter could only guess at its weight but he was pumped, he knew he had to lift that building, or at the very least try. Peter contained the building in a tight, intricate web to keep it together structurally. He piledrived his six fists into the ground around the building, digging a trench down to its foundations. Peter shot a few extra webs around the sides of the building to keep it balanced and prevent it from tipping over. He let out a long breath and flexed his huge muscles to warm them up, get them loose. He cracked his neck, psyching himself up. He knew he could do this. Peter crouched down and buried all six of his hands into the foundations, filling the holes with webbing to keep them from slipping. He let out another long breath slowly and deeply breathed back in. Peter pushed his legs to go up, grunting. They shook under the exertion, all the muscles in his body bulging insanely as he forced them to lift the building. The building groaned at being forced against the will of gravity, the foundations cracking as they were torn from the ground. Peter grunted and growled, putting all his strength into defeating his obstacle. It was taking a long time but he could feel the building slowly move upward, millimetre by millimetre. His legs bulged so much that even the Symbiote had trouble keeping together. It would suddenly split open in places and then quickly reform. ‘Got to… keep… going,’ Peter grunted in his mind. ‘Keeep goinggg Peeeterrr,’ Obedience cheered. Peter felt his strength surge through sheer force of will and he pushed up harder with his legs. They slowly began to straighten, the ground breaking beneath him making him sink a foot down but he didn’t care, he just kept going. “That’s it Peter,” said Experimenter who appeared behind him. “Show me how strong I’ve made you.” Peter growled like a wild animal, sweat pouring off his body, veins pulsing so hard they look set to burst under his paper-thin skin encased mostly in the Symbiote. Up and up and up the building went and then, with a scream of victory, Peter raised the building overhead. His chest heaved as he took fast, deep breaths, astonished at his feat. He pulled his arms out from the holes and began to shift the building over him until he was dead centre underneath it. “Are you fucking impressed?” Peter roared. Experimenter nodded. “More.” Peter didn’t need telling again, and began to squat the building. The first rep took some time but as the reps increased the faster they became. A whole building was on top of him, held up only by his six arms and huge muscular body, and it was only getting lighter as he repped deep squats. “Yes!” cried Experimenter, pawing fast at his crotch. “MORE!” Peter stopped squatting and threw the building up hundreds of feet into the sky. He shot more webs up at it to keep it together. He braced his arms up and caught it, the force pushing him five feet deep into the ground, causing a crater to form. Only his head and arms visible under the ten-inch gap. Peter forced his legs to move and he walked up and out of the crater, holding the building aloft and continued into the street. “Do you want more?” he barked at Experimenter, who nodded fervently. With the smallest of movements in his arms, Peter tore the building apart. Experimenter had finally had his release, moaning loudly as the rubble and debris fell around them, smashing into nearby buildings and causing them to crumple apart. Peter swaggered towards Experimenter as the last pieces of debris crashed into the ground, his muscles pumped to the extreme, shoulders and chest rising with raw power as he breathed. Even his cock was engorged, pumped and tenting underneath his symbiotic costume, jutting out profusely and swaying with each heavy step. “Is there anything else you were curious about, Experimenter?” Peter huffed. “Or are we done here?” Experimenter was shuddering, licking his lips. He managed to catch his breath and waved away the White City until the two of them stood in the familiar white room. “Oh Peter, you have no idea how satisfied you’ve made me,” said Experimenter. “But yes, I believe we are done. I suppose now I’ll just put you back to normal and send you home.” “Wait, what!?” exclaimed Peter. “Turn me back? After everything you put me through you’re just going to… send me back home, as if nothing happened?” “Well, yes,” said Experimenter, making his chair appear and taking a seat. “Did you really think this would be permanent?” “Well… yeah,” said Peter. “I thought that was the point. You played with me, did what you wanted to me and then… I don’t know...” ‘Pleeeassse, Peeeterrr,’ cried Obedience in his mind. ‘Don’t lettt him take usss awwway.’ “Even the Symbiote you gave me wants to stay,” pleaded Peter. “And you can’t exactly wipe our memories, you said so yourself that you cannot influence my mind.” “That is true,” said Experimenter, waving his hand again as a glass of red wine appeared. He sipped it, savouring the taste. “But then why should I let you keep these changes? What’s in it for me? It could be fun to observe you back on Earth, discontented with your existence as normal, boring Peter Parker and Spider-Man, always remembering what it was like to have more and yearn and long desperately to have it again.” “That would be just cruel,” said Peter, quietly. “And it’s not just me you would affect, but also Obedience. I’m sure you’ve seen his memories, seen what he’s been through. I’ve accepted and bonded with him now, I know I will be the perfect host for him and… and I know he’ll enhance my life greatly. If you are anything, Experimenter, it is not cruel. Curious, but you didn’t do all of this to me to be cruel.” “But what will you do now back on Earth?” asked Experimenter. “You’re bigger, more powerful and with some additional appendages; surely the world would notice? Surely the world would notice that on Peter Parker, let alone Spider-Man.” Peter was about to respond when the Symbiote covering him started to shift and move. Peter’s extra arms began to shrink down, his muscles decreasing until Peter stood in normal clothes, just as he would have looked before Experimenter took him. Experimenter looked in fascination at the change. Images quickly flashed in Peter’s head and he smiled. “Obedience tells me that Symbiotes are natural tesseracts,” Peter said, looking down at his normal look. “They can not only change the appearance of their host, but also their mass. Camouflage. While I am still big and multi-armed, what you see now is just an illusion created by the Symbiote. I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise if you read my memories. You should have seen that when I had my last symbiote, I was able to carry things like my camera inside the suit without adding any extra mass.” “Fascinating…” muttered Experimenter, his soaked crotch bulging again. “Please,” said Peter, walking over to Experimenter and getting on his knees. “Let me stay this way. I know it is selfish but I know that with the changes you’ve given me, I can be more than I ever was. And, if you let me stay this way when you send me back, I promise that you can bring me back to your place anytime and do whatever you want me to.” Peter changed back to his muscular, six armed state, naked except for a pair of black briefs that hugged him perfectly. Experimenter looked Peter up and down before smiling, draining his glass. “I suppose I will allow it,” he said, rubbing his hands along Peter’s swollen traps. Peter smiled and stood up, holding out three hands to shake. Experimenter chuckled and shook the middle hand. “Thank you,” said Peter. With a wave of Experimenter’s hand, Peter was plunged into darkness. When Peter opened his eyes, he found he was on top of a building back in regular New York City. He looked down and saw his body was just as it was; thickly muscled with six arms and wearing only the briefs. He grinned, willing his new costume to cover him. Peter’s ultra-enhanced Spider Sense picked up a radio signal from the police, a robbery was in progress and the thieves had gotten away in an armoured car, officers were in pursuit. ‘Arrre you rrready, Peeeterrr?” asked Obedience in his head. ‘Yes I am,’ he replied. ‘Let’s show the world the new, improved Spider-Man.’ -- x -- Experimenter sighed contently, another satisfactory experiment. He would soon be seeing Peter Parker again, that he was sure of. He waved his hand and before him, a dozen floating screens appeared, showing different people doing various superpowered activities. Experimenter observed each one, taking in what he was seeing. “Curious…” he muttered. “Curious…” THE END…? Thanks for reading!

Another of the mini hulk series.... Sailor Hulk The ship, HMS Valiant, tossed violently on the seas and a loud laugh came from the galley, "Matey, ya feelin all right?" Ben, the ship's young cabin boy, was looking a bit green, "I...I.. I'm fine." then he turned and wretched all over the floor to the joyous laughter of the crew. "Blast it lad, get to yer bunk" the cook bellowed as he came from behind the barrels of apples. Cookie, as he was known by the crew, threw buckets of water over the vomit to clean it off his mess decks. Ben staggered out of the hold in embarrassment and went below to his rack. Soon the rocking of the boat caused him to drift into sleep. He jerked awake sensing a presence nearby. Billy, one of the quietest deck hands, was standing just staring at him. When he saw Ben's eyes open, he merely nodded and then left. Shortly afterwards, Cookie came in to check on him. "How ya feelin little matey?" "Better. Can I ask you a question?" "Sure, ask away" "What is it with Billy? He never says a word. " "Aye, he's a quiet one for now. But " Here Cookie let out a little laugh, "when the gift is upon him, he is loud as thunder" "The gift?" "Aye, lad. The gift. Ya see, Billy is blessed which is why the Cap'n doesn't order him around. He does his job and when the time comes, The others step back so he can use the gift." "I've never seen a tattoo on him. Why is that? Everyone else has them, even you. I want a skull right here on my arm" Cookie laughed again, "Billy can't abide tattoos. He does have a mark. I seen it once" "A mark?" "Aye, a mark, when he was a swimmin'. A green star right back here. " And Cookie slapped the back of his ass. "Is it a tattoo?" "I don't rightly know as it seemed to be a bit personal, I never asked" The seas were calmer the next day and Ben raced into the galley to talk with Cookie some more, but stopped short. Billy was there with him and Cookie appeared to be finishing a conversation. Ben's face turned red with embarrassment at the thought of Cookie relaying the conversation from the night before. They both turned to look at him and Cookie smiled. Billy just nodded again and walked to a table. Ben studied him some more. He was much younger than the rest of the crew, maybe 19 at most. Yet he was strong and his eyes showed a deeper wisdom. They were ice blue and his long blond hair was tied in a pony tail. Ben turned and hurried over to Cookie, "The Cap'n sent me to have you send up some wine and food" "Aye lad. I'll have it ready in a mo'. How's about you be eatin' sumfin' first while I fix up the Cap'ns meal." Ben grabbed a couple of apples and walked over to the table where Billy sat. Billy just watched him quietly. "Can I sit here, Billy?" Billy looked at him for a moment, then nodded. Ben sat down and started eating. Then looked up and said, "I heard you have a gift" Billy glanced at Cookie, who turned away quickly, then looked back at Ben. He didn't say anything but just kept eating. Ben continued on, "If I had a gift, I would buy a house and settle down with my family and ...." Billy grunted suddenly. Ben looked up and saw him smiling, "It's not that kind of a gift" Ben's jaw dropped open. Those were the first words he had ever heard out of the man. He had a rich baritone voice that made the whole room seem to sing. Billy stood up then and said, "You're a good lad, Ben. Don't let that change" Then he turned and left the galley. Ben got up and went to Cookie to get the Captain's goods when a voice rang out from the deck. "Jolly Roger off the starboard bow!" Everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed up onto the deck. The Captain came from his aft quarters with the quartermaster. The whole crew stood watching. "Man the starboard cannons. Run up the warning flags." Before anyone could move a loud bang came from the pirate ship and ball splashed into the ocean 100 yards from the Valiant. "Skip the warning, man the cannon!" Everyone scurried to do as they were told. Ben went to the cannon that Billy was handling. He moved it with ease, where it seemed to take 4 or 5 of the men to handle the others. Another shot came from the pirates, but this time the crew was ready and returned fire. Suddenly the Captain was standing at Billy's side. "Billy, get into the sideboat. You know what to do." Billy gave the same nod that he always used. Then left for the small boat at the port side of the ship. Ben ran after him. "I want to go with you." Billy turned his eyes wider with concern, "No. Stay" The pirates were coming closer, more reports from the cannons. Suddenly ropes were flung over and the two ships were pulled together. There was more alarm in Billy's face. "Prepare to repel boarders!" barked the Captain. Billy abandoned the attempt to get to the boat and went to the ropes to try to remove them. The two ships pulled closer together and pirates whooped and yelled in anticipation. Ben ran to help Billy with his rope and pulled out his knife, trying to cut through it. Other men were trying to remove the pirates ropes and free up the Valiant before it got in position to board. Suddenly Billy made a sound like a snort and stopped trying to remove the rope. Ben looked up and saw that Billy's eyes had changed color. They were all white with tiny black pupils. Ben looked up, "Are you ok?" Billy made a snorting sound again and seemed to shake violently, "Get....back" He barked his baritone voice replaced with a raspy sound. Cookie appeared out of nowhere and pulled Ben back. He whispered to him, "The gift is upon him. Those pirates will regret this now." Billy smiled and then shook and snorted again. "Is he growing?" Ben whispered back. Billy's shirt had seemed to be tighter and the loosely fitting leggings were snug around thick thighs Cookie nodded and spoke aloud this time, "Aye lad, watch" Billy's eyes rolled back in his head and he shuddered and grunted. There was a loud rip as the front of his shirt burst apart and a thick barrel of a chest heaved outwards. Billy turned to face the pirates as he continued to swell outwards. His 5'9 frame was inching higher and higher. Ben's mouth was open and his eyes were wide. Billy's arms already thick from sea work, bulged further and further, Gigantic horseshoe shaped triceps split open the back of his sleeves while biceps like boulders split open the front. Billy was grunting and snarling, his voice deepening, then his skin began to turn green. The back of Billy's shirt ripped apart as monstrous lats spread outward and shoulders like cannonballs exploded from it. The shirt scraps fell to the floor. Thick traps rose up around his bull like neck. The leggings started to split up the sides then suddenly exploded as even his muscled ass burst free. Ben gasped. Where Billy had once stood was a naked 7 foot , 500 pound green behemoth. The pirate ship pulled along side and Billy let out a load roar, that shook both ships. The pirates saw the creature and realized their mistake too late. Billy suddenly leaped into the air. His massive legs propelling him forward and he landed with a thud in the middle of the pirates. The crew cheered. The pirates tried to scramble every direction. Billy ripped the massive capstan out of the deck and hurled it forward sweeping several of the pirates into the sea. He pushed up against the main mast of the pirate ship. Ben watched amazed as the thickly muscled beast swelled and strained against the solid wood. Then with a loud crack the mast snapped and the creature picked it up like a toy and swung it around, clearing the deck. A white flag was waived and the Captain calmly accepted the surrender of the remaining pirates. The crew went through the decks of the pirate ship, retrieving stolen treasure. Ben went looking for Billy. He found the creature sitting alone in a hold below decks. Ben quietly climbed down and sat across from him. The creature looked up and made a low rumble sound. The eyes started to close, then the head lolled down. "That was amazing" The creature lifted its head again to look at Ben. It appeared to be smaller. "Can I sit by you?" The creature said nothing just blinked and seemed to grow smaller again. Ben got up and walked over next to the creature. He sat down so they both had their backs to the bulk head. The creature looked at him for a moment, then laid his massive right arm over Ben's shoulder and sagged down. Ben felt the weight of the immensely muscular arm but was determined to bear up. The weight was gradually growing less. Ben watched the features of Billy's face soften and the green color fade. The arm that was over his shoulders was much smaller now and the hand attached to it, stroked Ben's arm affectionately. Ben looked down at the hand then up at Billy's face. Billy was smiling at him now, although he was still not back to normal. He spoke in a raspy voice, "You...you're a good lad, Ben" Ben just nodded and watched as the muscles continued to recede and Billy slowly became normal again. With a last shudder and gasp, he saw the white fade from Billy's eyes and the ice blue color returned. "Most of the crew are terrified of me" "I'm not. I wish I had your gift" Billy smiled and, even though he was naked, he pulled Ben in close and held him against his side. "Is that why you sleep in your own hold?" "Yes." "Don't you get lonely?" "Yes." "I bet the Cap'n would let me bunk with you." Billy smiled again and nodded. "I'd like that" Suddenly a shadow passed over and they looked up to see Cookie watching them. "Ahoy, you two. That's where ya got. I have some clothes for ya Billy. Once you've changed, Cap'n wants us back on board our own ship" Billy stood to change and Ben saw the green star on his left cheek. "What is that star?" Billy sighed, "That is the mark of the gift" "Where did you get it?" Billy sighed, "I was barely 16..." "That's how old I am" "Yes. But I was a bit cruel to the wrong person. She cursed me with this. Said I needed to know what it was like to be lonely. Everyone, even my family, shunned me. The first time I changed was at home. My dad wanted my help on the farm, and I didn't want to do it. I still didn't believe the woman. He was switching me. He got maybe 2 licks in, then this happened. I destroyed the farm, my parents fled and I haven't had a friend to this day. People like the Cap'n like using me for stuff like this." "I'm your friend. I like you." Billy's eyes grew wet with tears and he hugged Ben. "Thank you" They made their way out of the hold and back to the main ship.

There's been some requests for the continuation of the Containment story. Though I haven't written anything on that one for a while. It looks like I've only posted parts 1-3 here. So here's is a couple of short chapters that I have written but not posted here for whatever reason. I'll try and write more soon. If I have posted these chapters here before, sorry for the repeat. A big thanks to those who have expressed interest. A.T. Containment Part 4 Bruce was utterly stunned by Samson's new strength. He lay on the ground gaping at the man that had just decisively manhandled the incredible Hulk with such ease. He shook his head trying to reorder his addled thoughts as he finally managed to catch his breath enough to try and struggle to his feet. Bruce managed to roll his hulking green form over in order to push himself up, but even that small effort caused darkness to bloom around the edges of his field of vision. The Hulk was still so oxygen deprived that he remained on the verge of succumbing to unconsciousness. "Allow me, Bruce." He heard Samson's voice, which sounded far away, but immediately he felt the waistband of his all but indestructible trunks cinch tight around his waist as Samson grabbed hold of the back of the Hulks trademark purple attire and with a single unstoppable arm, hoisted the Hulk up into the air where the jade giant dangled like an exhausted trout on the line of a victorious sportsman. The Hulk's superhuman recovery rate was kicking in but it would still be a few minutes before he would be close to full strength again. "Damn you, Leonard. Put me down." "After you spill it, Bruce." Samson casually flipped the Hulk into the air in a way that spun him over onto his back, catching and balancing the larger man with that same single arm. Only now, Bruce flailed like an overturned turtle, supported by Samson's hand at the small of the Hulk's back. "I can't wait to hear all about how you got yourself spanked, including who did the spanking." Samson turned and started carrying Bruce back toward Northwind. Unable to do anything against the utter indignity of his situation, the Hulk crossed his arms in a sulk. "Telling you that means going back on a promise I made to someone, Leonard." Bruce explained carefully. Samson came to a Halt. "Not that I'm reneging!" Bruce added quickly. "Just keep that in mind. I'm asking you for a little discretion here." "I understand." Samson said, and continued walking once more. "So who was it?" Samson asked with the enthusiasm of a gossip monger. "Blonsky, Marko...?" "If only." Bruce sighed dejectedly. "His name is Christopher O'Mally." Samson halted once more, his brow furrowed. He gently placed the Hulk on his feet and steadied him. "Who?" "He's a mutant. He may be the most powerful mutant that has ever existed." Bruce explained. "What's the nature of his power?" Samson asked. "Vastly augmented musculature, with correspondingly vast strength." Bruce continued. He felt his own strength surging back to full and stretched his arms and shook out the rapidly dissipating aches caused by overexerting himself against Samson. "He can also generate some kind of elastic molecular cohesion fields, but it's a minor ability compared to his strength." "Why have I never heard of him?" Samson inquired. "He's just a kid, barely eighteen years old. His abilities have only recently manifested themselves." Bruce explained as he continued on toward Northwind, Samson fell into step beside him. "You mean there's high-school aged guy running around out there with enough muscle to go toe to toe with the Hulk." Samson asked in amazement. "More than enough." Bruce confirmed gravely. "In raw power, he's even further beyond the Hulk than the Hulk is beyond the average human. That's why what I plan to do here at Northwind is so important. There is simply no one on the planet capable of containing him." "Well," Samson grinned. "Recent developments may have changed that." He added, bouncing his pecs cockily. "Emphasis on the 'may have'." Bruce answered. "I don't think it's wise to take the kid on with anything less than the absolute maximum amount of power we can muster." "I think I've just proven that I am the maximum amount of power we can muster." Samson responded. Bruce shook his head. "Leonard, as I've told you, I've developed new techniques that will enhance the gamma-augmentation process. In conjunction with the Hulk's more powerful base-line strength, this will assure that performing the procedure on me will yield the best results." "Well, I'm certainly up for applying your new protocols to boost my own augmentation, but I'm not convinced that you are a good candidate." Samson shook his head. "The bottom line is still this, Bruce; You've had too many relapses - too many long periods of having no control over the Hulk. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to exponentially increase the amount of destruction the Hulk is capable of." We don’t have time to argue about this Leonard, I’ve got technicians and specialists on the way to Northwind right now to help me configure the gamma-scope’s collector in order to implement the new protocols. On top of all that, Chris has taken it into his head that he’s going to become some kind of real-life comic book superhero and the kid has got a major chip on his shoulder. He might mean well, but he lacks the temperament to wield that kind of power. I’ve convinced him to hold off until we’re sure what the extent of his strength is. So far I haven’t been able to ascertain his limits, if he has any. Samson crossed his arms, intrigued. “Really? What kind of tests have you been doing with him.” “None with any scientific rigor. Basically I’ve just been sparring with him as the Hulk. So far it’s all just a stalling tactic until I can find a way to counter his power and keep him in check. But he’s pushed me beyond even the Hulk’s ability to quickly recover several times. If you rile him up, he’s not above meting out punishment as he sees fit. He’s quickly becoming a law unto himself. The last thing the world needs is his type of vigilantism with that much power behind it.” Bruce pressed his hands into the small of the Hulk’s back, stretched and grimaced. “I’ve got to get back and do what I can to keep him in line until things are ready here at Northwind.” “I think I should go with you.” Samson offered, too eagerly for Bruce’s liking. Suddenly an idea occurred to Bruce. Samson was fascinated by a couple of things currently. One was the idea of testing himself against Chris, (which Bruce was determined to prevent, as learning that his mutant status had been revealed to yet another person might send Chris off the deep end) the other was further enhancing his own strength with the new gamma infusion process that Bruce was intent on implementing with the Hulk. Bruce decided to use one desire against the other. “Leonard, the kid trusts me and that’s one of the precious few reasons I have any influence over him at all. Besides, since I need to get back to New Mexico and keep him entertained, I need someone I can trust here to manage Northwind and keep the project on track.” Samson’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “As we’ve already established, I’m no physicist.” “But you are good with people. You know how to motivate and manage conflicts.” Bruce pointed out. Bruce suspected that Samson knew full well that he was being manipulated. But he also knew full well that Samson would take the first opportunity that presented itself to subject himself to Bruce’s new gamma infusion process. And the best way to get that chance was to be on top of everything that was happening at Northwind. Manipulation or not, Samson wasn’t going to pass that opportunity up. Samson grinned knowingly and slapped Bruce on the back just a little too hard. “Anything I can do to help out, Bruce.” The Hulk stumbled forward under the impact and Samson shoved to keep the Hulk moving along as he fell in step beside him. As they both headed back to Northwind, Samson decided to gather as much information about Chris as he could on the way. “So, Bruce. Before you leave, I want to hear everything you can tell me about young Mr. O’Mally.” Part 5 The Incredible Hulk slammed into the pale-colored sand. His broad back absorbed the brunt of the impact. His lungs felt as though though they had just exploded with the force of it. As he momentarily lay flat on his back, he clawed up hand-fulls of the white gypsum sand, squeezing it in his hands before forcing himself to scramble back up onto his feet. Fighting on this stuff was proving even worse than fighting on concrete or bedrock. At least those things would shatter upon impact, dispersing the energy. Hitting these dunes seemed to reflect every erg of impact energy directly back into his massive body. He cast anxious glances all around, trying to locate his opponent. Maybe an eye-full of the stuff might slow the kid down. He thought better of that as he let the sand sift away through his thick, green fingers. Such a dirty tactic might only make things worse for him if it ticked Chris off. The Hulk had no idea how far across the desert that last punch had hurled him. He’d blacked out a little. His phenomenal healing rate had brought him back to consciousness in a fraction of a second but even so, he’d been aware of tumbling through the air for an unsettling amount of time before crashing down amid the dunes. A sonic boom rolled across the desert. The Hulk scanned the sky expectantly with superhumanly keen eyes and found what he was looking for. A few miles away, he could make out Chris as the teen hurtled skyward in a straight line, his head swiveling in search of the Hulk. Apparently the kid had lost track of his sparring partner. The Hulk saw Chris make his position and grin. He strongly suspected that when the young man fell back to earth after his faster-than-sound leap, another would carry him to the Hulk’s position in short order. Bruce Banner, whose mind was currently ascendant in the powerful body of the Hulk, looked around in vain for some kind of cover. Finding none, he decided that a leap of his own was probably the best way to keep himself out of Chris’s reach and buy a few moments to catch his breath and think. He watched carefully as Chris slowed to a stop and then began to plummet back to the ground. At the moment just before he began to accelerate downward, Chris pointed directly at the Hulk, smirked and then pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand. A full second later, Bruce felt the compression wave from the power of that gesture of intimidation, even at this distance. Expecting the kid to immediately launch himself into the air on a trajectory that would bring him down on the Hulk’s current position, Bruce decided not to be around when he arrived. As soon as Chris dropped out of sight behind the surrounding dunes, the Hulk launched himself into the air with the most powerful leap he could execute on a course at ninety degrees to the line between himself and where he’d lost sight of Chris. As he accelerated upward, Bruce turned his head to look in Chris’s direction. He didn’t like what he saw at all. “Damn it!” He cursed, then started pin-wheeling his massive, muscular arms, trying to reorient himself in midair, so that he could be as prepared as possible for what he knew was coming. Chris hadn’t jumped after all. Two giant fountains of white raced toward the Hulk across the dunes, one on each side of Chris as the boy sprinted across the desert, kicking up massive amounts or the white sand in his wake. His massive arms and legs were a blur of motion as they worked to propel his supremely muscular frame at a phenomenal speed. “He’s just too fast.” The Hulk lamented, knowing that as fast as he was moving, Chris was moving many times faster. He was going to be at the Hulk’s landing point waiting and there was no way the Hulk could stop himself. What was almost as unsettling as the powerful teen’s strength and speed was the way he was starting to out-think the brilliant physicist. Certainly, combat strategies weren’t Bruce’s strong suit, but the way Chris had just anticipated and countered his plan to leap out of reach left Bruce feeling that he was being toyed with on yet another level. As he fell to earth, Bruce tracked along as best he could, keeping Chris in sight as the kid overtook and passed him. Chris skidded to a stop then turned and with a big wolfish grin, struck one of those infernal muscle-man poses he was alway practicing, waiting for the Hulk at the exact spot where he was destined for impact. Bruce hated it when the cocky teen hit one of those ridiculous poses. He knew they had names but he’d never had the interest to learn any of them. The one Chris currently assumed prominently exposed his impossibly broad thick chest. At least this meant Bruce probably wasn’t in for a direct attack. Chris usually did the body-builder pose thing as a way to demonstrate how unmovable he was or how ineffectual the Hulk’s attacks were against his hyper-muscular body. Not that this isn’t going to hurt. Bruce acknowledged at the last second before he collided with Chris’s exposed torso with all the force of the Hulk’s mightiest leap. The Hulk’s massive frame slammed to an immediate bone-jarring stop against the massive shield-like muscles of Chris’s exposed chest. The young man didn’t move a millimeter as the booming thud of the collision rolled across the desert. A sound that started as a cry of pain and ended as a breathless wheeze was forced from the Hulk on impact. Before the stunned Hulk could start to slide downward after losing every iota of momentum to Chris’s immovable body, the teen brought his arms up and wrapped them around the Hulk, pinning him in place. “Going somewhere?” Chris taunted. “We had a deal. This session, you’re supposed to do more attacking and less evading. You’re the one who said I need more experience with hand-to-hand combat, right?” When the heavily breathing Hulk didn’t answer immediately Chris bear-hugged him a little more firmly. “Right?”, he repeated more forcefully. The Hulk began nodding frantically and gave Chris’s back two quick slaps as a way to indicate that he understood and for the boy to release him. Chris did so, and the Hulk stepped back wobbling a bit on his massive, but quivering legs. He stooped, placing his hands on his knees for a moment as he caught his breath. Bruce sometimes wished the Hulk’s healing ability wasn’t quite so effective. Maybe if the bruises, contusions and broken bones Chris dealt him didn’t fade so quickly the boy might have a better sense of how much damage he was capable of causing the Hulk. Then again, having to deal with such injuries in a prolonged manner might not be worth any compassion they might or might not engender. Bruce stood straight and stretched out the Hulk’s thickly muscled, aching body. He had indeed suggested sparring with Chris, hand-to-hand. But it was more a ruse to keep the young man occupied than a result of any real concern about his fighting technique. After all, what did skill matter when you were completely unstoppable. Bruce examined the massive eighteen-year-old as he stretched. Chris had taken to trying out different types of costuming as he eagerly prepared for his plan of assuming the life of a superhuman hero. Today he wore mid-thigh length, skin-tight shorts made from the same material as the Hulk’s nearly indestructible and remarkably elastic purple shorts. Today’s selection was jet-black, however. A gold infinity symbol inside a white circle was printed on both the front and back of the shorts. Bruce found the display of the symbol on the young man’s bulging crotch to be in bad form, but since there wasn’t a shirt to this particular costume, there weren’t really too many other places to display a logo. Bruce continued to stare in astonishment. No matter how many times he was confronted with it, Chris’s physique invariably left him bewildered. The kid was shorter than the Hulk and on one level seemed slighter somehow. His waist, wrists and ankles seemed no larger than anyone else his height, but those muscles! They were every bit as huge as the Hulk’s own and seemed even more impressive as the Hulk’s massive trunk and joints didn’t contrast so much with his great green musculature. Overall the kid looked more like Doc Samson. Bruce winced inwardly at the thought of Samson. He didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to keep the psychiatrist away from Chris. He’d only managed to keep them apart this long by agreeing to put Samson in titular charge of the gamma-scope reconfiguration project at Northwind while Bruce was away keeping Chris occupied. He knew that Samson was angling for a way to make sure he was the subject of the full effect of the augmented gamma-scope enhancement and not the Hulk. It was the reason he couldn’t resist the offer to be involved with the project. Bruce still wasn’t sure how he would thwart Samson in this. He’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Chris noticed Bruce staring, obviously lost in thought and not really paying attention to what he was looking at. There was something he didn’t like about how his reluctant mentor kept lapsing into such mysterious ruminations. Surely he knew better than to be up to something Chris wouldn’t like. He decided to snap Bruce out of it. He flexed the muscles of his upper legs. Already massive quads and hamstrings surged to a size that dwarfed even the Hulk’s once unmatchable leg muscles. Bruce gaped as Chris demonstrated the degree to which he could, when he wanted, flex his muscles to a magnitude that beggared comprehension. His train of thought totally derailed, Bruce turned his attention to Chris’s face to find the boy staring at him impatiently. “Come on, big man.” Chris goaded as he raised his fists in front of himself like a boxer. “Let’s get back to it.” Bruce knew better than to hold back. Sometimes it was hard for the kid to tell, but if he suspected that the Hulk wasn’t coming at him with everything he had, he got down-right mean. Bruce didn’t want anything to do with Chris’s mean-streak. Hoping against all reason that surprise might gain him some small edge, Bruce lunged at Chris before he had even finished his sentence. Massive green knuckles thundered against Chris’s densely muscled abdomen driven by a punch that would have obliterated granite. Bruce gritted his teeth against the pain of the recoil as the force of his own punch nearly broke his arm. Chris just chuckled. “Good one. Didn’t even get a chance to flex down.” Bruce didn’t let up, moving with speed surprising for the Hulk’s size, he whirled and brought his elbow crashing into Chris’s Jaw. He quickly followed through turning until he was facing Chris again, he then grabbed Chris by the kid’s shoulders and using that leverage, pulled his knee up into Chris’s abs, hammering them again, before pushing off to reestablish some space between the two of them. The knee the Hulk had driven into Chris’s abs almost gave out and Bruce cried out in pain as he forced his leg to hold his weight against the throbbing pain of his deeply bruised joint until it healed. Chris sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see the point of this. Why do I need to learn how to defend myself against punches that I barely notice.” The Hulk raised his hand trying to placate Chris until he caught his breath fully. But the kid’s impatience only seemed to grow. “If the Hulk himself can’t even land a punch on me without breaking something then I think I might be ready to take on a super-bad-guy or two, easy. What are we wasting time here for?” Wincing, Bruce approached Chris, his limp decreasing with each step. “I’m not really the measure of the kind of power you might find yourself up against. The Hulk is never at full strength with me in control.” “I know that.” Chris agreed,testily. He grabbed Bruce roughly, clamping his powerful hands around the Hulk’s thick upper arms, Chris hoisted him off his feet and shook Bruce to emphasize his every word as he continued. “But big green and stupid won’t come out and play anymore, will he?” Chris shook Bruce harder with each word, as though he was trying to shake loose the Savage Hulk persona inside of him.” Chris dropped Bruce back to the ground as a child would discard a toy with which he had grown tired. “Besides, I’ve already proved that I could handle everything he could throw at me so again, I’m asking what you think this is accomplishing?” Bruce hesitated as he got his argument in order in his head. “Once people hear about you - once they see you in action, word is going to get around. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have every character with biceps bigger than his own head gunning for you.” “Sounds like fun.” Chris grinned, cracking his knuckles. “THEN I’M NOT GETTING THROUGH!” Bruce shouted, getting in Chris’s face. He was taking a big chance, but the kid’s inexperience was really his only weakness - the only thing that Bruce could exploit. To Bruce’s relief the kid narrowed his eyes but didn’t retaliate. He had Chris’s attention. “There are guys out there who make the Hulk look like a creampuff.” Bruce declared, lowering his voice only slightly. “Yeah, I’m one of ‘em.” Chris responded even while not quite coming out of the cowed state that Bruce’s shouting had placed him in. “Yeah, you are, but what happens when you go up against the Gladiator? Or the Champion? Never heard of them? You might want to Google ‘em. Or any number of the true bad-asses out there that not only have ridiculous power at their disposal, but know how to use it?” Bruce threw his hands in the air and stalked away from Chris. “But fine! I thought you were through getting your ass handed to you at every turn in life, but if you are determined to let it happen again then fine! You are on your own.” Bruce stood with his back to Chris, waiting to see if the kid was going to buy in. This tactic was one Samson had worked out with him after Bruce had given the psychiatric specialist his best profile of Chris’s personality. Samson suggested the tactic as a last ditch effort if Chris started getting restless or impatient with Bruce’s stalling. And it worked. “Alright.” Chris declared from behind Bruce. “I guess you know more about this stuff than I do, so I’ll take your advice on it.” Bruce turned to look at Chris, but said nothing, pretending to consider whether or not to continue “helping” the younger man. “Good.” he finally answered. Chris flashed a grin. Then he was on Bruce, lifting the Hulk into the air by the throat. “Just wish you weren’t such a wimp!” He declared as he pulled back his right arm in preparation. The Hulk had just enough time to take in the spectacular view of that mountainous biceps flexing up as Chris bent his arm. The teen might have bought Bruce’s line, but he was going to make the man regret raising his voice to him. The punch the boy then dealt the Hulk snuffed out the brute’s consciousness for nearly a full day, depositing him somewhere in the badlands of eastern Arizona.

This is the second in the short Hulk series. Hope you like Roommate Hulk Ethan banged through the door of the house. "Chris! Chris! I got some stuff in the truck I need help with?" No response, "Chris?" Ethan went back outside. Yep, Chris' car was in the driveway. He had just broken up with his girl friend, so maybe he was in his room sulking. Ethan grabbed two bags out of the truck and headed inside. He heard a noise from Chris' room and put the bags down to go check on him. As he approached the closed door it was jerked open from inside and there stood Chris. 5'10 lean and athletic, but he had an odd smile on his face. Ethan laughed, "Man you startled me. Come help me. I found some great workout stuff we can use." Chris folded his arms, "Don't need it." Ethan was kind of shocked, "What? We both want to get big! I thought this would help you with...." "I said, I don't need it." All 5'5 of Ethan Thomas flared up. "What are you talking about? Why is your room all dark?" "You ask too many questions, little man. I fixed everything." Ethan started to get a little pissed off, "I just spent $200 on stuff that we can use for working out. You say you don't need it, fine! I'll just finish unloading and put it in my room." He turned to go and suddenly Chris shoved him from behind. Ethen slipped an banged his head against the wall. "Ow! What was that for? Why are you being an asshole?" "Wanna fight me?" "No. I want to unload the...." Chris shoved him again before he could finish and Ethan went down hard this time. "Fuck! Go away" Chris smirked, "Hit me. I can take it." "I don't want to hit you" Ethan turned and ran out the door to the truck. What the hell was going on? This was supposed to be his best friend and it's like he had been replaced by a creature from "Invasion of the Assholes" Ethan got the last couple of bags and started back to the house. He was going to just put them in his room and he got to the door, but Chris was just standing there blocking the door with that same smug look. "Hit me" he said again. Ethan snarled, "It is very tempting, but I just want to go to my room, then go to the gym" Chris snatched the bags from his hands and grabbed Ethan by the hair and dragged him inside then flung him on the floor. Ethan fell face down and lay panting trying to control the rage he felt right now. Chris shouted, "I want you to fight me. Get up you worthless little...." He was cut off as Ethan rolled over to face him. His eyes had turned white and the little 5'5 frame had started to swell. Chris said, "About damn time. I knew this would work." Ethan only felt rage and had not noticed that something was different. He snarled, "Get the fuck away from me!" And heard his own voice drop in pitch. He gasped. Chris finally smiled, "Yeah, bro. It's happening" Ethan felt the rage wash away and an intense feeling like his whole body was having an erection. He turned to face the full length hall mirror and stared. Chris was grinning behind him, but that was getting more difficult to see as he was inching higher and higher. Ethan's shoulders were widening and stretching his shirt, which pulled free of his jeans. The exposed abs were thickening like cobblestones and getting covered in a treasure trail of black hair. His arms felt tight in their sleeves as biceps and triceps ballooned until the short sleeves erupted. A thick network of veins snaked across his body. His lats flared out and with a loud rip the back of the shirt gave way. Ethan gasped loudly, and Chris laughed, "Fucking A dude. This is awesome!" Ethan turned to face him and the front of his shirt exploded as two massive pecs spilled out and pushed his nipples towards his feet. Lower ripping sounds occurred as his thighs broke through the seams on his jeans forcing him to widen his stance. Ethan suddenly made a face like he was in pain and Chris looked concerned for the first time. Worried maybe about the strain on his friend's heart. He reached for Ethan and said, "You ok?" Ethan grimaced and growled, "We...we....wedgie...ahhhhh" and with a loud rip his hugely muscled butt burst through the back of the jeans and split his boxers apart. Chris snorted in laughter. but then gasped. He had to look up now and saw that Ethan was beginning to turn green. There was a pop as the front of the jeans split open and a large 12" snake rose up to full attention. Chris backed against the wall. "Dude...this....this part wasn't supposed to happen....just....." Ethan opened his mouth but only a loud roar came out. The last of Ethan's clothing gave up and fell to the floor. What had once been a slender 5'5 handsomely nerdy youth was now a 6'5 700 pound green behemoth. The creature picked Chris up by the shoulders and threw him on the floor. Then roared. Chris rolled over and tried to scramble away but the creature was faster rumbling forward causing plaster to fall from the ceiling and walls. Then it glared at Chris with an odd smile and suddenly rolled it's eyes. Chris saw the precum leaking out of the dick and knew what was coming and tried to cover himself. With a loud roar the creature suddenly shot volley after volley across the living room hitting the ceiling and walls and covering Chris. Then it sank to the floor and whimpered. Chris made a face, "ew" he was covered in sticky greenish cum that smelled musk. He looked at the creature which appeared to be smaller and had lost the green color. Chris sat up and shook some of the worst off, then made his way over to where the creature sat. It looked up and growled at him. Chris put his hands up in a soothing gesture. "It's all right, bro. I'm not gonna hurt you." He sat down next to the creature and put his arms across its shoulders. He could only reach to the middle of Ethan's back but gradually could feel more and more. Soon Ethan was only around 5'8 but still around 300 pounds. He looked a little embarrassed and tried to cover his crotch. Chris laughed, "That's a little late" "Dude...I.....dude...." Chris smiled, "It's ok man" The pecs were slowly pulling back up to Ethan's chest. The arms grew smaller.The traps pulled down away from Ethan's neck. Finally with a last gasp, Ethan's eyes turned back to their normal blue color. "Dude...what just happened?" Chris smiled, "Did you like it?" Ethan shook his head in confusion, "What?" "This" he gestured to the ripped clothes and the general mess. "Look I found this site on line that called itself wishingdjinn.com. I figured, 'What the Hell?' I knew you always wanted to be big so I wished for it. " "If you wanted to see me naked, why didn't you just get in the shower with me? It would have saved some damage" "Yeah, well I didn't know about the green part. I figured you would just, ya know turn into a bodybuilder or something." "Well can you un-wish it?" "Sure I guess. Let's go back to my room and.....dude, you ok?" "I still feel kind of weird. I don't think I'm back to normal" "Let's go to my room and check on the computer" They went into Chris' room which was lit only by 2 candles and the PC screen. A picture of a smiling Djinn head was on the monitor. The screen had the label "Thank you for your wish. It is granted. Only one try per user" Chris went to the screen, "What do they mean one try? I need to refresh the page. I want to be big too." He hit the refresh button. The browser loaded, then came up with "404 Site not Found" "WHAT?!?! I need to un-wish my friend. I didn't want him to be the Hulk or anything...." refresh....404....refresh....404...."Damn it I want some muscle too" refresh....404....refresh....404...... "Dude" he heard Ethan call from behind him. "What?" he turned around. Ethan was standing on the scale with his back to Chris. "This says I'm 175. I was only 136 a couple of hours ago. I'm still not normal." Chris was staring at Ethan's muscular butt. He felt kind of odd. "You look pretty hot" then covered his mouth. Ethan turned around to look at him, "What did you just say?" Chris was bright red. "I...I....I've never felt this way before but...." Ethan smiled, "I like you too" Chris saw Ethan's dick start to harden up again, although this time it was a more normal size. He felt his own crotch stir at the site. Ethan walked over to him and Chris let him hug him. Then slowly hugged Ethan back. Chris kissed Ethan on the cheek. "I .....I love you....screw Nicole" Ethan smiled over Chris' shoulder. Then he closed his eyes and kissed Chris back on the cheek. He lifted his head to look at Chris and opened his eyes, which had turned white.....

This is the first of a series of short subjects. I love the Hulk and thought, what if different individuals in different situations were the Hulk. This is the first. Cop Hulk Davis ran down the side alley as fast as he could . He heard the footsteps behind him. "Damn, how could those cops have shown up so fast?" He had been in the convenience store for only 5 minutes. He paused to look back and saw one dude chasing him still. Good the other guy had given up. He could easily outrun this out of shape, pathetic cop. Suddenly he was slammed from the right. The younger cop had circled around and pinned him to the ground. Davis struggled as the cop tried to flip him and cuff him. "Stop moving! You're under arrest!" The older cop caught up finally, panting and gasping, "Franco...(pant),...You good here?" The younger cop looked up, slightly out of breath himself, "Yeah, Jonesy, You can head back. I'll bring him in my car" Davis struggled some more and Franco barked at him, "Stay still. You got my blood pressure up as it is and that ain't healthy for either of us." Jonesy smiled, "Want me to read him his rights or you got it?" Franco stood and pulled a card out of his wallet, "I got this, you should head back. This punk may need a lesson." Davis panicked thinking of some kind of rogue cop was going to beat the shit out of him without any witnesses. "No, man, stay. I didn't do nuthin wrong. Don't leave us alone." Jonesy laughed, "Chill, ain't nothing gonna happen to you." Franco laughed with his friend, then read Davis his rights and hauled him to his feet. Davis squirmed and struggled some more. Franco grimaced then snarled, "Stop wiggling around." He led Davis to his car as Jonesy headed back the way he had come. "How come you by youself? Ain't you supposed to go in pairs?" Franco said nothing. He pushed Davis into the back seat and shut the door then climbed into the front. Davis watched him radio in the arrest and report that he was heading to booking with a suspect. Davis saw him put the radio mic back then he grunted oddly but just started the car. "Dude, just let me go. I didn't do nothing." Franco didn't turn around, but just talked to the mirror, "You wasted my afternoon chasing you. It ain't good when my pulse starts going." He grunted again and made a face in the mirror. "Dude, what is wrong with you? Why you keep making that noise and that face?" "I told you...(grimace)...You got my pulse going. Now I have to get you to booking before I really lose it." "Lose what? I didn't do nothing! I promise man. It was a mistake, I didn't know the dude would have a gun." Franco just grunted again and the car suddenly slowed and turned off the main road into a dark alley. "What the FUCK! Where you taking me?" The car slowed to a stop as Franco brought his hands up to his face then made fists and slammed them into the seat. He turned in his seat to face Davis, and snarled through his teeth "It's too late. I warned...can't fight....." he opened his mouth and let out a huge gasp and his eyes turned startlingly white. Davis panicked and backed up against the seat as far as he could get with his hands cuffed behind his back. Franco turned back forward grunting and snarling with an occasional "No...no.....can't" Davis kicked against the door, "Dude, let me out of here! What the hell is happening to you?" A loud groaning sounded from the front and Davis felt the car begin to sink down. He looked and saw the cop's head start inching toward the roof of the car. He heard a couple of pings and saw buttons ricochet off the windshield accompanied by a growl. The back of the shirt appeared to rise up towards Franco's head then split open as massive traps swelled up but the skin was turning a deep green color. There were more ripping sounds as the cop continued to transform right in front of him. Davis tried to lay on his side and kick at the windows, flailing in panic. He couldn't get the right angle to hit but with his head on the seat he was witness to an immense right arm raise itself up to the head and saw a bicep larger than the steering wheel of most cars and as thick as two Christmas hams burst free of the sleeve of the shirt. Davis let out a shriek as the other fist rose and the thing in the front seat punched through the roof of the car peeling it back like an aluminum soda can. The creature stood up through the opening forcing it wider, then turned to face Davis through the hole it had made. Davis opened his mouth but couldn't speak. In front of him was an 8 foot green creature with so much muscle it was amazing it could move, but move it could. The remains of the cop clothes fell away and only a tattered waistband remained holding a ragged set of underwear. The back had been blown out by a swollen muscled butt and the snake that protruded from the front was dumbfounding. The creature reached down for him and pulled him up to its face. Davis felt a warm sensation in his pants and realized he had just pissed himself. "Ple...please...don't kill me....I promise..I swear I won't...I won't hurt or rob or do anything...I...Just let me......I won't say...." The creature pushed him against the wall. Davis nearly passed out. Then the thing sat down, with his hand still wrapped around Davis waist. It started to nod like it was going to sleep. Davis watched dumbfounded as the creature grew smaller again. Muscles began to recede. The creature's head slowly lowered back down. Even the creature's dick began to shrink back down. Davis tried to get to his feet. The creature suddenly grew more alert. It jerked its head towards Davis and growled. It started to swell up again. "No...no...I'm...good...I'm staying....I'm..." But the green color had begun to fade and now he was being held by a massive bodybuilder cop. Even that began to fade. Soon a young athletic man was sitting there with white eyes. The cop gave a loud snort and gasp and blinked then his normal green colored eyes returned. Suddenly a shadow loomed over the end of the driveway. Then a voice called, "Franco! You about done down there?" Franco looked up and smiled, breathing heavily like he had just run a race, "Yeah, Jonesy. He aint gonna hurt anyone ever again." Jonesy walked over and tossed a bundle of clothes to his partner, then unlocked Davis' handcuffs, "Son, don't you ever give us reason to chase you again." Franco leaned over and whispered, loudly, in Davis ear, almost like a kiss, "And don't you breathe a word of this. We want it to be a surprise for all of your friends out there. Next time it won't go so well for you." Davis turned pale, "No...no sir....I wouldn't...." then he turned and ran. Jonesy smiled, "Guess we need to get this thing towed out of here" he gestured towards the car as Franco started to get dressed. Franco smiled, "We go through those don't we." He tried to button the shirt but realized it was too small,"Jonesy, we need to find some clothes that fit" "Yeah well you picked these out. I don't think you de-hulked all the way this time." Franco winked at him and smiled, "Maybe I didn't" Jonesy laughed, "Damn, I love being your partner" "We work well together" They fist bumped. The two partners made their way to the end of the alley to start rehabilitating another delinquent. Jonesy sighed, "But I wish I could be the Hulk one time" "Shut it!" They laughed and walked away.

Hey guys, Thanks for bumping up the story, it got me inspired to continue. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Cheers and thanks for your support! A.O.M.G. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Sire and Son Larry Durham’s passion for weight training started back at 1971 at the early age of 14, when his 16-year-old cousin Freddy got a home-gym equipment and both teenagers spent many afternoon hours working hard to build their physiques like the astounding bodies of Mike Katz, Frank Zane; Dave Draper and, of course, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Fred started out bigger and taller than his younger cousin Larry, but he clearly lacked many of the skills that bodybuilding required such as focus, determination and discipline. Skills that Larry, even at such young age, already displayed and only got him more excited about the sport. Soon, the skinny average looking Larry gained much more precious pounds of rock hard muscle than his older cousin and everybody at school asked him to flex and show off those vigorous youthful teenager muscles. By the time Larry was a freshman at High School, he had totally outgrown Fred’s humble home gym, and since the owner himself had long ago given up on bulking up his physique, Larry joined the local gym and he quickly became one of its resident hardcore member. In addition, he also grew to be one of the biggest guys around, regardless being one of the youngest members. The feeling of having huge, hard, powerful body that girls coveted, while guys both admired and envied was just one of the many aspects that Larry loved about bodybuilding. He actually enjoyed the idea of controlling the development of his own physique above everything, rewarding himself with such vigorous look after so many extenuating hours, not to mention the grueling but necessary rigorous dieting periods. For such reasons, Larry got truly passionate about bodybuilding and changed his young body into a temple of masculine perfection during the following years. At his High School senior year, he was already a two-time junior bodybuilding champion and with the impressive frame of 5’11”, he hit the mark of 225 pounds of hard powerful muscles, with great potential for promising professional career goals in the early future, but life does not always go as planned. Larry lost his father a few weeks before he graduated at high school. As the eldest, he felt responsible for providing for his mother and three younger sisters. Therefore, the young man started working while he also prepared to join the Police Academy, which happened before he turned 19 years old. Soon Larry Durham became the most respectable police officer of the district. After all, a 5'11” 250 pounds off-season bulky handsome muscular office with a well-groomed mustache “Tom Selleck.” mustache along with his tanned skin and manly rugged jaw was simply impressive. Throughout his outstanding career, Larry’s great physique and impressive strength proved valuable at the line of duty. He soon rose into higher positions still keeping in great shape for the following years, spending his precious free hours at the gym, participating in amateur bodybuilding shows, which secretly kept his fantasy of becoming a professional bodybuilder, especially after he saw his fellow police officer Ronnie Coleman becoming the contender with most wins among the pantheon of Olympia champions. In the meantime, Larry got married to his wife Rachel in the summer of 1990 and Larry Junior was born in the spring of 1992. The muscular police sergeant was happily proud of his healthy baby boy. Their family lived happy until the death of Rachel in a horrible car accident in the year of 2002. Since then, Larry became solely responsible for his precious young boy, who quickly became the greatest fan of his father’s exciting amateur bodybuilding career. Larry Durham Junior was going to bodybuilding shows since he was a toddler, and as a little boy, he was the most enthusiastic fan. Always cheering to his father from the first rows, giving him “tips” and commenting on his pose in real time. It was very cute to see the young boy thrilled during his massive father’s posing routine. Of course, Junior was very passionate about it and never liked when they did not announce his dad among the top five contenders. At first, he cried aloud, but soon he learned the politics of sportsmanship and got his opinions about the poor judging to himself. Junior loved when his dad was onstage receiving the trophy because he would always take his time to come and pick him up, lifting his body in those massive arms and pose for the pictures carrying him – his biggest and most important trophy. People loved when Senior and Junior posed together, the massive contender and his cute young boy. Over the years, Larry Senior realized that his secret fantasy about becoming a professional bodybuilder would not come true. Junior was getting older and he needed to get extra shifts to pay for his boy’s education. On the other side, he truly hated dieting for competitions and in several shows he got mediocre results for not being able to cut down more efficiently. But everything got better as he decided to join Master’s division – his great bulk and powerful stance made him look much better than the other competitors. In fact, Larry was the most famous Master’s amateur bodybuilder of the region, until the phenomenon Steve “the Rock” Finnegan blew him out of the water. Steve was ten years Larry’s senior, which put them in separate Master’s divisions. Although Finnegan competed with a much lighter weight range than Larry – who struggled to keep his onstage weight under 220 pounds –his condition was impeccably phenomenal, which, added to the fact he had started bodybuilding at the age of 54 years old only contributed to make him won successive overall titles in the master’s category. Larry was indeed amazed with Steve’s impressive stats, especially how he managed to keep in such great shape throughout all the year. The two bodybuilders actually developed a very synergetic camaraderie. Steve followed Larry’s advises to strengthen his shoulder and back while the younger veteran tried to keep up with Finnegan’s energetic posing technique. Larry still wished he could at least win one overall against Steve but the guy’s physique was just outstanding. Of course, that was before the SMM revolution. Even the great Steve was not immune to their arrival. If they once stood as bastions of mature manliness, now people regarded as just “old little guys”. Larry Durham got frustrated when guys he knew suddenly grew into humongous sizes and had more strength than a dozen of younger guys at their prime. Why couldn’t this happen to him? He wanted to show these youngsters what a true man was. Larry started to feel his own son was disappointed at him for not being able to grow like that. He barely managed to continue his preparation for the last show, thus resulting in a poor fifth place, which made him even more depressed. Larry Junior drove his car down the road with one single thought in his mind. He had to make his father grow like he made Steve Finnegan grow. He needed to do it for his dad, his father, his ultimate hero. Junior became a police officer because he wanted to serve his community like his father served for so many years. Durham Senior was indeed very proud his boy finished Police Academy at the top three percent of the class. Meanwhile, Durham Junior has always been extremely proud of his father. Every boy wants to brag about his father’s strength and prowess but few actually could tell other boys that his father was indeed more muscular and much stronger than the vast majority of fathers in the world. Junior loved to cheer for his dad in the shows, but he loved even more to watch his dad posing at home, looking at the mirror and asking him how he looked. In time, they became best friends and gym partners. Junior devoured everything about bodybuilding and was eager to follow his footsteps in the sports as well. Although his own physique inherited most of Senior’s great genetic makeup, Junior soon felt he wouldn’t develop the same kind of physique. He didn’t want to eclipse his father’s amazing body. He wanted him to look always bigger, so he never became a contender, rather an enthusiast, a connoisseur dedicated to support his impressive father in everything he needed. The police officer parked his car and entered his father’s house. He knew exactly where to find his muscular dad. Larry Senior was just finishing reading the morning news at the kitchen. “I am right here, son.” Not many 58-year-old fathers wear golden thin framed reading glasses have 250 pounds of muscular early off-season bulk and Larry Durham Senior looked especially thick that particular morning. The young officer entered the kitchen, with his uniform all wrinkled and barely unbuttoned, without his hat and sunshades, visibly sweat and very excited, which instantly made his father worried. “Is everything alright, son? What happened to you?” Senior said standing up and quickly approaching his son to check on him. “Steve Finnegan…I just saw him…he is HUGE! He turned SMM too!” Junior managed to say between breaths, but he noticed right away those news made his father immediately sad. “Oh…so it finally happened to him huh? Well, he wanted it so bad…” Larry said as he tried to return to the table, but clearly shaken by those news. “No wait…dad…you don’t understand. He is immense! I saw him and he looks humongous, so massive and muscular, and…I made him grow even bigger out of thin air!” Junior said holding the strong hard forearms of his own father. “You? What are you talking about? You said he was SMM when you saw him, how did you make him grow? Junior you’re talking nonsense now…” Larry Senior felt a chill going down his spine now, like he had butterflies in his stomach. If Steve Finnegan already became SMM how could his son make him grow even bigger? “I know, but he told me that I have the ability to make guys grow into SMM just like the other kid he had with him. It doesn’t have to be just one guy, many others can do the trick too, and I made him grow dad! It was amazing!” “I am happy for you son, Steve is a great guy and I’m sure he’ll treat you right as his…trigger” Larry Senior still didn’t know exactly how to behave. He wanted to seem supportive but he was devastated on the inside. “Dad…you don’t get it. He said I could be his trigger if…” Larry Junior looked at his father’s noticeably disappointed expression and felt miserable. He didn’t want him to feel that way, he had such good news, his own father could become SMM, he just needed to take whatever it was inside his very son! “I can make you grow too dad…I know I can, I saw…Steve grew huge, he ballooned right in front of me…It was so intense, it felt so good. I want you to have that power, dad…I want you to grow…”Junior hugged his father and held his muscular arms, kissing his cheekbones. Larry Senior closed his eyes and whispered. “I want to grow to son…I wish you could make me huge like those guys!” Their hug was intense; the mutual complicity between father and son was just one of the many layers of their deeper relationship. Junior was still hesitating, but his father’s mustached lips soon reached for the younger man’s lips and they kissed passionately. The bond was finally sealed and the power unleashed. Larry Durham Junior came and Larry Durham Senior became SMM in that exact following second. “I can feel it son!” The father exclaimed as he felt his boy moaning and his own youthful cock spewing its contents inside his pants. His body seemed to convulse and bulge as if it was bubbling from the inside. He moaned and groaned in loud guttural sounds. His already impressive muscular frame expanded further. Fortunately, Senior had taken a protein feast for breakfast with 2 dozen egg white omelet, protein shakes and tuna burgers. All the food seemed to be converting into immediate super muscular augmentation. “Grow daddy…please grow huge…you gotta grow for me!” Junior said, feeling his cock growing harder again as his father’s augmented masses forced their way against the fabric of his clothes. Junior loved the feeling of the expanding width of his father engulfing more of his body in that manly warm embrace. He felt safe, protected, confident and so happy. His power seemed to intensify and Senior’s growth increased its pace. “Fuck…it is getting more intense son!” Larry Senior said as he flexed his now 25 inches biceps, which had augmented tremendously in the span of a few seconds; his chest ballooned and his shoulders widened and thickened. Even his legs seemed to be growing longer, but his quads were shaking with new layers of denser and harder fibers, while the amazingly thick calves increased on girth, pumping more muscle growth back into his upper body. The huge turtle shell 6 pack stomach popped into 8…and then 10 incredibly developed knots of muscle that looked even better in the slightly distended stomach, which only made his waist look smaller as the rest of the body continued to grow and develop further. “Did you grow Finnegan like that?” Senior asked holding his son’s head gently higher to look into his eyes. Junior shook his head in denial. “No…it was awesome, he grew huge, but NOT like you are growing right now…you…are my hero dad…I love you, I have to give you my best, you deserve nothing less!” The young officer closed his eyes and hugged his growing father even tighter, focusing his mind on his greatest wish, hoping his heart would help him in the task of making his father grow into a true SMM! “Holy shit!” Senior exclaimed as his body was taken in another tidal wave of growth that caused his expansion to get even more intense. The shoulders and deltoids increased their thickness and girth, the biceps expanded while the two thick veins crossing their rugged surface split into 4 then 8 and they engorged as the muscular tissue expanded underneath it with such hunger for growth. “You are my hero, I love you dad…You have to get huge! You have to become massive! You are going to show them who’s the real SMM!” Larry Junior kept his eyes closed and screamed at the top of his lungs, as his father grew even bigger. The worshipping hands of the son slipped as the expansion of the muscles in the humongous father increased continuously. The mustached man moaned as his jaw grew even broader and his neck thickened with new layers of powerful muscle, his mountainous chest plates inflated with the new size, the sound of his ripping clothes filled the room, while he continued to expand beyond his wildest dream. “You are my boy, my son…Fuck you just never cease to make me happy boy!” Larry Senior picked him higher and kissed him once again. This time, his achingly hard cock erupted from the confinement of his underwear. The glorious uncut 12 inches monstrous cock had grown 25% bigger in a matter of seconds, and throbbed majestically pressed between their bodies. Senior groaned as he ripped the clothes of his son and in one single, slow, and yet very sensual movement, he inserted the immensely huge head inside his son’s smooth anus and pushed it inside. They both screamed because it was then that Durham Father’s growth reached its peak. The muscle growth spasms increased tremendously and at each time, Senior pumped his cock deeper into Junior’s butt he grew bigger, wider, thicker. His muscles seemed to grow in the same vibration, pumping bigger and harder, his body developing, his frame expanding. Junior moaned, his butt ached, it hurt like hell, but it was so amazing at the same time. He never felt so manly before, he could make his father grow into a monster of inhumanly huge senior muscles. Truly monstrous and massively powerful. He deserved that, anything he could do to provide that was still a low price to pay to make his father’s dream come true. The feet of the son were not touching the ground, because they were actually fucking mid-air while the growing behemoth father provided all the sustentation strength they needed to keep pounding and fucking like the passionate lovers they became. “I am growing so huge…getting massive for you boy! You will never need to look to another guy again! Your daddy is going to be the biggest of them all!” Senior said into his son’s ears, holding the arms of the boy with just one hand while he flexed his now 30 inches monstrously huge biceps and his cock grew even harder and longer inside his boy’s hole. Junior smiled as he tried to clench his own anus as tight as possible to make his dad feel even more pleasure. They both were dripping sweat, but the father never felt tired, he let his boy slide down to the base of his cock and kept pumping him with nothing but the strength of his hips, bouncing the man into his enormous phallus while he flexed his arms. Senior threw his head back as his first orgasm exploded inside his son’s butt. The thick globs of cum were flying all over the kitchen area as he managed to keep pounding, his cock was never soft, it only grew longer and harder. The monumental augmentation of the monstrous senior muscle men continued, perfected, developed while Larry Junior felt his own body filled with fresh manly hot cum. All of a sudden, Larry Senior realized his mind opening up to a completely new world. He could feel his son in a deeper level, he could actually feel exactly what the young lad felt towards him, how much pleasure his body received and how powerful their bond was in reality. “Thank you, Junior…you are my greatest gift indeed.” He said as he held the boy firmly in his arms, feeling their hearts beating together. “I’m yours daddy…” “Oh…in more ways than you can even imagine, boy…” He chuckled, kissing his lips and enjoying the uncanny sensation of his marvelous augmentation. Meanwhile, Larry Junior was so lost in the blissful orgasm he felt his body going numb and very sleepy. Larry Senior nested his son’s sleeping body around his monstrous shaft. He was still cumming inside the boy’s ass and still growing bigger. “You were right Steve, SMM fucking rule!” End of Part VI

Heads up! This entire story contains theft, muscle growth, humiliation, violence, foul language, and probably other things that would fall under the M-rating. Here are the previous parts. [Part 1] [Part 2] Sorry for the huge delay. I rewrote this thing many times until I finally stopped and did some research on how Isaac should act. Being totally ruined for 4 years and devalued does a lot to a person. This is to really drive home that Isaac is still the same he is on the inside. You can be huge as a truck, but harsh words from long ago can still hurt you if you don't let it go. So much for sticks and stones, right? [Part 3] Bittersweet Revenge Isaac spent the rest of the day studying all he could about bodybuilding. On paper it seemed easy enough and the diagrams didn't sway Isaac's opinion. When he saw videos, however, he could see the musclemen strain to lift the weight, quickly throwing out the this is easy notion. To Isaac, it looked like they were in pain, but clearly they were taking some sort of satisfaction from the experience... Otherwise why would they keep lifting? Isaac looked down at his own body, pouting as he noticed it definitely wasn't hardened like it was a few weeks ago. The nanobots were keeping the muscle there, it's just the tone wasn't sticking due to a lack of use. Besides his body's current state, Isaac was enjoying his new life so far. The new body. The new slave. The new found revenge he could revel in anytime. Isaac had other things in store for Trent, but at the moment all he wanted to do is tone up his muscles. He figured it'd take just a few sets to get his muscle tone back thanks to the nanobots. Which in theory should effectively speed up his recovery and growth. He figured he could also have massive gains within one day. Though that day was not today, considering he spent nearly 8 hours researching everything and it was now almost midnight. He yawned and trudged off to bed, eagerly awaiting to put his new found knowledge to use tomorrow. For once, and briefly, Trent was the last thing on his mind. ********** Isaac puffed out his chest and got some sort of swagger going as he exited his car. He tried his best to imitate the giant men he seen in videos or tv, but he wasn't feeling it. He may have looked a bit offbeat, but he surely was still intimidating as he pushed open the gym's door. “Hey do y-” The gym's receptionist looked up and just stared. “I think I've never seen you before. You look kind of familiar though. I think I saw you a few weeks ago? I'm not too sure.” “That is highly improbable. I never visited this gym before and rarely leave my house. I'm here to see what this facility has to offer for a large man such as myself.” “Whooa duuuuuuuuude. New beefcake on the bloooooooock.” An obnoxious male's voice rang out, complete with annoying surfer-boy tone. He trotted over to Isaac and eyed him up and down. “Damn, if Trent didn't run off with some floozy he'd probably like to give you a beating or two. He likes to test out the big guys, but he's an alpha so he always wins. I'm Rudy by the way. Want me to give you the tour?” “Who? I'm sure I would beat whoever that is in a fight.” Isaac grinned, knowing that he could most certainly give Trent a thrashing now. “And no thanks.” “Haha, you don't know Trent though. Dude, that guy is a beaaaaast.” He scratched his head, “Uh, actually I owe my beastly bod to him too. The guy knows how to get under your skin and drive ya.” The receptionist sighed, “I know what you mean. He's a jerk but he could motivate anyone. He makes most first time clients cry. Sometimes he's just such an ass... Oh sorry, excuse my language.” Isaac was growing tired of all this Trent praise. “He can't be that good. He sounds like a jerk or bully to me.” “Um... He's more of an anti-bully. What would you even call that?” The receptionist trailed off before shaking her head. “Like, I used to be a dress size 18. Before I got married, I was bigger than my chubby boyfriend. I asked Trent to help me slim down before my wedding and he was really mean. He even made me cry on my first day with him... But I came back the next day anyway. He didn't say anything that wasn't true, after all. He somehow helped me get down to a dress size 7 and I wanted to go lower and just couldn't do it. He said 'you look fine, besides everyone has a different kinda body. Some chicks would kill to have your curves, Lana!' or something like that. Not every trainer understands people are different... He doesn't expect his male clients to look like him. He pushes them to be the best they can be. Same goes for the female clients too.” “Haha! Oh man! Could you imagine if Trent did expect chicks to look like him?” Rudy chuckled loudly to himself while Isaac continued the conversation with Lana. Isaac seemed confused, that wasn't the Trent he knew. Lana got up from behind her desk and walked over to a wall as Isaac followed. “Really now? You make him sound like a miracle worker.” “Mmmhm! I decided to quit my office job and just work here. It's more fun and I get to keep up with Trent's success wall. It's really inspiring to look at and keeps me focused, that's for sure. Trent always looked so excited when he put up a client's after shot. It was kind of cute, actually. Like a parent who hangs up their toddler's first scribble. The first time my hubby looked at it, he decided to get fit too. He's right... Here.” Lana smiled as she pointed to a man. He looked like a hairy lard ball in a before shot, and a total muscle bear in the after shot. Isaac thought it was just a ploy for Trent to get his face plastered all over the lobby's main wall, though he didn't appear in any of the pictures. Isaac scanned over the photos seeing many different people of all ages and kinds. A before and after shot told the entire story. Some would look pretty nervous and even sad that they were wearing tell-all clothing while having their pictures taken for all to see. But in the after shot, they were just as confident looking as Trent appeared to be. Isaac even found a picture of Rudy, a twiggy kid with some ambiguous gamer trunks on. Then in the next picture, it was Rudy was wearing the same trunks but was twice his original size. A ringing phone made Lana go back to her desk as Rudy walked over to Isaac. Isaac was staring intently at Rudy in the picture before looking over to see the real life version. “Like what you see, big guy?” Rudy winked, “If you think I look hot there, you should see me without clothes... I'm definitely bigger now.” “I...” Isaac was lost. Normally the guys who'd hit on him wouldn't be nearly as hunky as Rudy. A chubby or twiggy guy would walk up to Isaac, throw out a compliment, and Isaac would just roll over. Low self-esteem would do that to just about anyone. Then Isaac's mind snapped back, reminding him of his purpose. “Uh, thanks but no thanks.” Rudy frowned as he awkwardly reacted. “Heh, I was just kidding... Er, but feel free to use the gym. I have a +1 on my membership and my +1 never comes, so you may as well take his spot.” “Thanks Rudy.” Isaac nodded as he walked off to the weight room. He could feel Rudy staring at him as he walked away. Though Rudy's compliments or attraction wasn't on Isaac's mind. Trent was on his mind. The way the two talked about Trent made him seem... Well, not like the Trent he remembered. Although Isaac's mind was preoccupied, he still managed to find his way over to a machine, set the weight, and get to work. He was almost surprised when he realized what he was doing. However, a realization came over him as he finished up the first set. It was quite hard. The machine was no doubt easier to utilize than free weights, too. His chest muscles pulsed with blood, feeling firmer already just after one heavy set. He prepared himself for another set of chest flies, feeling his member join in the pulse-session with his chest. “Fuck...” Isaac heavily breathed, “So this is what it feels like.” All it took was two sets and his chest muscles were back to their default hardness. He felt like he just had amazing sex and was now enjoying the aftermath. But there was more work to do. Now he had to work the rest of his body. He grimaced as he scanned the room, feeling very lost. Even after all the research he knew he didn't belong in the gym. He wasn't this kind of guy; he wasn't made for this kind of activity. The pump was euphoric, yet it felt all wrong to him. Isaac pushed through his doubts and moved towards the dumbbells, preparing himself to do as many compound exercises as possible to firm his body up. He just wanted to finish up and go home as quickly as possible. With each set he could hear fragments of Trent's ridicule from the day before and even from years before pouring in. “Graah!” Isaac roared, which surprisingly just garnered brief attention before everyone went back to their workout. Just another big man finishing a set, no big deal. Isaac rushed to his car and ripped open the container of his experimental nutrient packed drink. His body, or more specifically his nanobots, screamed for fuel. He guzzled it down, ignoring the awful taste as he reached for another container. And then another one, and then another one, and then another one... He took a deep breath and composed himself, taking a second to fully enjoy the state he was in. Or at least try. Isaac's body was pumped, his clothes straining to cling to his bulging frame. He didn't feel sore at all, so it was just nothing but pleasure he was experiencing. It was a feeling he could easily grow to love, though Trent's voice chimed in once again. You? Join the lifting team? No amount of lifting will fix your sad life. Isaac's happiness quickly diminished. You're still that loser from high school, aren't you?[i/] Isaac gripped the steering wheel as he furiously pulled out of the parking lot, almost as if he were trying to outrun the sense of dread surrounding him. Get out of my way, you fucking waste of space! Ug, it's such a chore showing weaklings their place. Why come to school? You just get in everyone's way. A loser like you is gonna get nowhere anyway.” Don't look at me with your ugly mug. It's so sad to look at. Oh you gonna cry now? Of course you are, you whiny weak little bitch. I don't give a shit if the teacher told you to be in our group. Fuck off, gaywad! That's really fucking sad, Isaac. “Shut up!” Isaac blurted as he sped down the road, his muscles trembling with rageful power. It was nothing new to Isaac. Every time he succeeded, he heard some form of Trent's harsh voice. Even simply being outside made Trent's harsh words appear. That's why Isaac rarely left the house. Each time he heard Trent's voice, he felt even more inclined to just punch Trent square in the face again. He probably wouldn't mind killing Trent. He felt like he'd explode if he didn't hurt Trent in some way. ********** Once home, Isaac burst into his house and didn't even bother shutting the door. He stormed to Trent's room, where Trent was lying on the floor. Perhaps resting between his useless workout sessions. Isaac pounced on Trent, readying his fist to slam into Trent's skull with every inch of might he had. Trent didn't seem all that frightened, and instead, was more focused on Isaac's actual expression. “Uh... Problem, bro?” Trent cocked his eyebrow, knowing that all of this was because he got under Isaac's skin somehow. The question caused Isaac to shake even more as his fist lingered in the air. “You! I should be in control now that I am so strong. But you... Are always still there!” Isaac's fell forward, his chest now inches away from Trent's face. He was trying his best to hold himself up, but his body's trembling made things harder for him. “I thought all it'd take is this to finally get you out of my head. I'm the stronger one now! You're the pathetic loser now! But... You're still... I just don't understand it...” Trent wiggled his way out from under Isaac, and stood up expecting Isaac to do the same. Instead, Isaac collapsed on the floor entirely. Trent rolled him over on to his back to look at Isaac's face. In short, Isaac's expression summed up his life. It was a sad and anxiety ridden mess. Trent realized what that all meant, and wasn't too surprised by what his past actions have done to Isaac. All it took was a few hours outside the house to reduce Isaac to a quivering mass of muscle. “Isaac...” Trent didn't even know how to approach the situation. Still, that's never stopped him before. “I'm sorry I did this to you. Really. Just tell me what I can do to make you stop crying? I... Man, I didn't even know what I was doing back then... I was just a stupid kid taking my shitty problems out on the first guy I laid my eyes on.” Isaac just looked at the ceiling with a watery stare. Trent mounted Isaac and leaned forward in an attempt to at least get Isaac to look at him. “It feels really shitty being the guy who did this to you, ya know? Just a piece of fucking busted garbage ruining a sweet guy. A guy who was smart and people liked you... Until I made sure they didn't... Just so I could feel better... So you know what? If beating the shit out of me makes you feel better, go for it. I deserve all of this.” Isaac glanced at Trent's face before looking back at the ceiling, just to make sure it was Trent saying those things. The Trent he knew would never say those kinds of things. Like some miraculous epiphany (or common sense at this point), Isaac realized that Trent was indeed different. He was a better man who could at least own up to his mistakes. Isaac almost didn't want to believe it. A part of him wanted to vilify Trent. To keep Trent as the evil thing that ruined him from the inside-out. “Is this some attempt to get some sort of pity from me? You are practically the perfect human being, in terms of genetics. You are driven. You are strong. Everything is easy for you. Your life is anything but hard.” “Yeah, I got some of that a few years back. But every time a hot guy walks by I feel like I'm in highschool again... Fuck, even looking at you now makes me feel like garbage. A fucking useless queer. A fake man.” Trent trailed off as he looked away in disgust. He was unconsciously rubbing Isaac's upper pec, gently and in a small back-and-forth motion. Isaac noticed that Trent's mind was also plagued by something out of his control. His mind was saying no, but his body was trying very hard to say yes. “... You're... Gay?” Isaac seemed winded. “That doesn't mean you're defective, though.” “Heh... If you say so. In the 8th grade I came out to my folks. When it was all over, my mom had to work two jobs to support me and my dad totally disowned us. So I felt like shit... Just so... Worthless. So when I got to high school in a new city I tried to keep to myself, but guys there were so good looking. And they got even better every month! Then... You... Fucking hell... I couldn't stop being hard around you... It made me sick. And angry. So I hurt you.” Trent's hand stopped moving over Isaac's chest and balled up into a fist. “A part of me just wanted to confess that I was gay and just make out with you or something but. then I was afraid of how everyone would treat me if they knew I was gay. I just... Isaac, I just want to fix you, OK? You didn't deserve any of that bullshit in high school. I did this to you. So I have to help you. Just tell me what to do.” Isaac couldn't help but admire Trent's stoic expression. He essentially just laid everything out and did it without a single tear or lip quiver. Isaac reached out and put his hand over Trent's. Isaac paused for a moment, and with a sigh, he knew what he had to say. “Trent... You can start fixing this by... Switching back with me. Get up.” “Uh?” Trent scratched the back of his head in confusion. He got off of Isaac and crossed his arms. Feeling awkward for being so close to Isaac just moments ago. Isaac stood up and gestured for Trent to follow him. First he closed the front door and then made his way to the lab. Once in the lab, Isaac feverishly went to work at the computer terminal. Pulling up current stats, entering rerouting instructions, and preparing to undo the mess he caused. “I can't get rid of the version of you in my head like this. I don't know what to do. But you're not the same man. So you should just go and let me figure things out how to deal with my own problems. You have nothing to learn from this. Only I do.” “Hold up.” Trent looked at what was on the screen for a moment. “I'm the one who fucked you up. So it's my problem too. Do you think this is going to solve anything?” “Do you want to stay small? Is that it?” Isaac became annoyed that Trent was holding things up. He just wanted Trent gone before he did something he'd regret. Isaac knew he shouldn't hurt Trent anymore, but the old Isaac wanted to rip Trent to shreds. “Fuck no! But I'm not gonna go anywhere. I mean, like, you sold my place so I have to stay here.” Trent shrugged his shoulders, “That means I should help you since I'll be here anyway.” “Fine. How?” “For starters... Don't go back to your old self. Look at that, 5'6”? Why the fuck even bother?” Isaac squinted, unsure if Trent was actually trying to be a bully or not. “Bump yourself up to 5'9” at least. And your body is fine, but why not just use my lean genes... Hehe, lean genes... Uh, yeah, use my genes to beef up a bit. But without taking my muscles! I want all of those back. Don't go back to your old self. You have the power to change yourself! Change anything you want to. Er, but your original body isn't bad at all. Let's just make it clear. Your original bod was still kinda hot.” Isaac looked at the keyboard and then the screen. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't even know if he could fix himself to be happy with what he had. Isaac felt Trent's hand go over his and guide the cursor over the various sliders. Isaac's height was increased, metabolism was set to be like Trent's metabolism, then finally his penis and testicle size was altered. Isaac couldn't help but blush. “That's... Too big...” “It's an inch shorter than mine.” Trent smirked. “It.... It is?” Isaac looked down at his crotch. “That's ridiculous.” “Wooooow, you have my dick and didn't even bother playing around with it?” Trent seem legitimately insulted. “That's a fucking shame, Isaac.” “Sorry I'm not a horny animal like you are.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “Huh...” Trent continued mousing through the tabs. “If I up your testosterone, that'll fix that.” “N-no, that's too much. That's crazy!” “It's a little bit less than mine. Last I checked, anyway.” Trent laughed. “I only set it to average last time.” Isaac trailed off. “You really are a ridiculous male specimen. Almost like a hyper idealized version of a man.” “Duh.” Trent continued making slight changes, but stayed away from Isaac's head. “You can't have my muscles, but you can feel what it's like to be me. Kinda. And if you wanna bulk up, you can. I'll even help you. Then you can beat me up even though I'll be huge too. That'd feel great, right? Heheh...” Isaac tried to hold back a smile, but it happened anyway. Trent's ability to act so nicely was amusing and impressive, given the circumstances. He finalized the changes for himself and went right for Trent's profile. He moused over to Trent's stats and set everything back to factory default, so to speak. He altered a few genes though, one to stop myostatin from interfering with muscle growth. And another to boost Trent's repairing speeds so he could workout more and sleep less. “Anything you would like to change?” “Can you make me straight? That's all I care about. Can you do it?” “Trent, it's not that simple. There's many factors and allegedly multiple genes in charge of what you're attracted to. I'm sorry, I can't make you straight. I can cut your libido entirely so you don't ever have to worry about unwanted sexual thoughts.” “Nah.” Trent sighed, “I hate them, yeah, but I like jerking off too. I even like banging chicks even if it's hard for me to do it. They sure love it though. What can I say? Orgasms are fucking aweeeeesome.” “Have you ever tried to have intercourse with a male?” “Nope.” Trent shook his head. “I can't shake it, man. I get sick every time I think about another dude like that. I fucking hate this, Isaac. Me being gay has done nothing but fuck up lives. My mom's life, your life, and even mine. It just... Ug, it fucking sucks.” “I see.” Isaac was saddened by Trent's response. Isaac knew of his own inner pain, but he didn't know how bad Trent's pain was. Sure, Isaac was probably worse off now. But Isaac didn't like the idea of Trent hating himself for being gay. Isaac was gay, after all. If a man like Trent couldn't be proud to be himself, how could Isaac ever hope to be proud of himself? Then it hit him. An idea! Isaac made a few changes. Ones to eliminate Trent's response to stimuli from another male's sensual touch. It wasn't easy to do, but making the nanobots suppress Trent's natural response was still doable. In short, it was now impossible for Trent to get headaches or stomach aches by altering his body's response. He also altered the nanobots to give Trent more control over the workings of his manhood, as well as receive more pleasurable stimuli while with men he finds attractive. He felt like if Trent could be happy, maybe he could be too. These changes would ensure Trent would finally be able to be with a man, and then perhaps finally accept his sexuality. Although, Isaac didn't know if he was going too far or not. But in his mind, he already knew he went too far after changing Trent in the first place. So what's another few changes? “There. Step into the chamber. It's time to fix this mess I made.” "Our mess. We'll fix our mess, Isaac." Trent awkwardly smiled.

The Teaser for this story is found here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/5008-teaser-for-the-new-story-project-defender/ DEDICATION I dedicate this story, which is my first, in gratefulness to all the persons who have given me advice: Scriptboy and Alexdrake who assisted with the translations in Chapter 2; Jocaflo, who taught me about Portuguese name customs; Arpeejay who gave me advice on stats (although I only followed most, and not all, of them); gecko888 who declined to let the French become main protagonists, but taught me a few thing about the French Armed Forces; and T. and W. who proofread (you know who you are). All quirks and oddities are the author’s own. Since English isn't my native language, please send me a message, if I am incomprehensible. Some things may have become corrupted in translation. DISCLAIMER The following Chapter do contain descriptions of verbal abuse, nakedness and sexually aroused men, a military-industrial environment, speciesism, a library scene with religious and atheist books, jokes about national stereotypes, a smaller amount of uncouth speech, together with a lot of Northern European irony and sci-fi references probably best understood by the age range born 1960-1990. If you may take offence of anything aforementioned, you are hereby strongly reckommended to not read further. Please, go away. You have been warned. DON'T PANIC Oh, and another thing: If the complicated background (which is two thirds of Chapter One) tire you out, you can jump right to 'It was afternoon again. Lamarck and Gospodinov had beeen unusually...' after three stars ***, in order to come to the growth bit, but you wouldn't understand the sci-fi-scientific lingo then. Added in 2021: For continuity reasons, I have edited a few details. Project Defender – Chapter 1 My heart sank in my breast, and I felt a feeling of foreboding coldness in my belly, when the army jeep entered the slope leading down into the subterranean tunnel. On our way there, I had watched the skies nervously for any vessels, but the Pseudo-Crustacean Extra-Terrestrial Organisms had seemingly chosen to attack another part of the European mainland that day, so we arrived unharmed. When we had passed through the Outer Perimeter a few minutes earlier, I had heard conversations in Finnish, English (with an Irish accent) and a handful of languages I didn’t recognise among the rugged, camouflage-painted snipers around the smoking wood-fires. Several days later I was briefed, that Finland, Northern Ireland, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Ukraine had volunteered to man the Outer Perimeter. I didn’t envy them, but sent them my thoughts of gratitude, since it was their dangerous duty outside, which made my assiduous work inside possible and undisturbed. The jeep continued on its way downward in the asphalt-coated meandering tunnel. On two consecutive levels we had to await the opening of armoured steel gates painted in black and yellow. Outside the first gate, the air was moist, and smelled of gasoline and rubber, but inside the gate, the jeep switched into electric mode. Silently purring without any fumes, the vehicle took us to our destination. I wasn’t surprised to find out, that my phone-watch didn’t work under the surface. The Inner Gate at the end of the Parking Hall (a natural cavern, enlarged and carved into rectangular shape by human hand) was connected to a keypad lock with microphone and speaker. ’Doctor Skrefsrud reporting for duty.’ I hoped that I used Army Speak correctly. University research teams were not environments, which trained for dealing with servicemen. ’Welcome, Doctor Skrefsrud.’, answered the metallic voice of the speaker. The gate opened for me and the driver, revealing a man-sized concrete passageway leading into Research Facility B. It was at this facility we had been ordered to assist in the defence against the Extra-Terrestrials (or PCETOs), by ’improving the performance of military human resources’, as the classified report preferred to express the purpose. All of it wasn’t classified actually. Certain parts of the scientific tools had been reported in newspapers, and an early undefined Pan-European plan about ’space marines’ had been debated in public several years ago, but nothing had happened then. And now a space invasion occurred. If the Project had been led by the European Union, several states, such as Iceland, Norway, UK (what was left of it), Albania or Ukraine would have been unable to participate. Likewise, Switzerland, the Republic of Ireland, Finland and Sweden would have refused to participate if the initiative had been taken by NATO, but since the Project was now launched by an entirely different international European body, they all agreed to do their part. The member countries had reacted in very different ways. France enthusiastically backed the project financially, and sent us their two required test subjects according to the letter of the agreement, together with a chef. UK told us, they should ’explore other means beside this laudable initiative’, but sent us lots of medical supply, two officers with a past in the SAS, a physicist and a sports medicine physician. The German negotiators obliged to take the major part of the financial burden for the Project, but informed us, that they declined to send any men at all, due to domestic political concerns. The Italian negotiator – a former Prime Minister – assured that Italy was willing to support the Project financially in many small amounts of money delivered according to a long-term plan, and tried to convince the coordinators, that a much larger share of Italian test subjects would be reasonable, ’since Italian men are more masculine than other Europeans’. I later heard a rumour, that the Spanish and Greek representatives tried to leave the negociations in an angry hurry at that moment, but our coordinators (Norwegian and Swiss diplomats, together with military officers from Ireland and Ukraine respectively) politely declined the offer: The Italians had to send just their agreed number of two men, and the placated Spanish and Greek representatives remained at the meeting until it closed. We had no fuzz with the smaller countries, but were somewhat surprised, when Liechtenstein, Andorra, San Marino and Monaco sent two test subjects each. Iceland have no army in the ordinary sense, but sent two coast guards instead. Vatican City informed us, that we ’served in a just war, if we defended the innocent’, but, due to a treaty, Vatican City was hindered to send any participants itself. Switzerland was constitutionally hindered to send any combatants on its own behalf, but sent us two Swiss Guards on the behalf of the Vatican instead. None of us on medical staff complained: The healthy, weapon-trained twenty-five year olds, sent by the Swiss, were probably more attuneable to the Project, than a pudgy, middle-aged, non-combatant, retired Ethics professor, a clerical office boy, or whatever the Vatican otherwise had been able to spare. I was met at the entrance of my new environment by Doctor Smith, an acquaintance from an international research conference. I didn’t know him very well, but, a couple of years ago, he had presented an interesting paper about Morphogenetic Fields. ’Nice to see you again, Doctor Skrefsrud. Let us skip Army Speak, while we are among fellow scientists. You will see, that the Research Facility keep us in three different areas: Military personnel at Hall 3-6-1, administration and nurses at 3-6-2 and us clever ones at 3-6-3.’ I followed Smith through the corridors carved into the stone. Research Facility B was a very vast complex of cavernous halls, coldly lit by old-fashioned fluorescent tubes. We passed an office hall with desks, computers and folders, staffed by the coordinators, Hansen and Müller, Novák, the Amanuensis and Andersson, the Registrar. ’Initially, Sweden and the Czech Republic – who had been given responsibility for the bureaucracy – wished to send women as office staff, due to equality concerns, but the European level decided against it – being worried about the risk of harassment, I suppose. Actually, several countries wished to send one male and one female soldier, but that was vetoed by Gospodinov, our endocrinologist. It was something about oestrogen balance and bad experiences from female shot-putters, back in the days. I didn’t listen attentively, I’m afraid, since endocrinology is not my field. We are only men here, now. An unusual environment, compared to my usual Oxford lab team, but I do not complain.’ Then we entered the mess hall. ’Since the Project is such a small unit, hastily gathered together in an emergency situation, there is no reason to uphold the difference between several different mess halls. I suppose the presence of us civilians has contributed to upset the ordinary structures somewhat. They didn’t know how to organise us, really.’, Smith said. ’But Major Murphy and Captain Melnyk usually sit at the short table close to that wall – reminds me of Refectory back at St. Cynhelm’s, actually – and the entire scientific department is allowed to sit there, if we wish. We have been given some slack, and we are allowed to eat together with the office staff or the test subjects if we wish. I don’t expect the grunts to read Einstein, Hawking or Vera Rubin, though.’ Smith pointed out the corridor leading to the test subjects’ living quarters, the corridor leading to the officers’ and office staff’s living quarter, the laundry, the gym, the showers, Inventory, Infirmary, meditation room, and the corridor leading to the research area. ’We have eighty-four test subjects at our disposal, organised into eleven smaller squads. Even if the result wouldn’t be optimal at the first trials, it wouldn’t take too long until we understand how to facilitate the procedure to maximum extent, or so I hope, anyhow.’ Smith was of slightly short stature, and, despite the years still left until his fortieth birthday, a somewhat rotund belly had began to grow at his mid-section. I was a few years younger than him, and had achieved my doctoral degree at the age of 31, some years before. When he brought me to the scientists’ living quarters, I found out that Smith, Green (the British sports medicine physician) and László (the hunky Hungarian nutritionist and trainer) and myself were scientists in our 30’s, and that the remaining three scientists all had passed their 60th birthday. We were assisted by four male nurses in their late twenties. We arrived at the living quarters for scientific personnel. I put my belongings in a locker, washed my face, and brought a handful of files with me to the lab. *** The following day I was focussed on directing the engineers while they unpacked most of our scientific equipment, but – to the consolation for all of us – the Dark Matter cyclotron had arrived and been installed long before my own arrival. I was therefore not fully aware that the corridors began to echo of arriving recruits, the youngest of them recently promoted to the rank of corporal at the instance they accepted the assignment to this very specialised company – the first of its kind. The briefing took place in the evening. Each of us had been instructed to give extremely short lectures in laymen’s terms – not necessarily an easy objective for a bunch of persons so accustomed to University. Major Murphy ordered silence, and in very few words presented The Program, and Captain Melnyk presented himself for the sake of the late arrivals, who hadn’t met him yet. They then assigned the scientific team to present the different aspects of The Program. ’Gentlemen. I am Professor Gruber. My area is brain physiology. My field of expertise is an entirely new way of imprinting new knowledge and new habits into the brains of persons, and enhance the speed of such things as reflexes and tactical decisions. I look forward to work together with you.’ The gaunt and bald Austrian neurological expert in his very strict grey suit, looked out over the audience with his penetrating ice-blue eyes, and ended his short speech. Gruber’s dry, aloof and abrupt style of addressing non-academicians only served to enhance László’s more relaxed and humorous style, when the latter spoke to the soldiers the same way he was accustomed to address footballers, weightlifters and bodybuilders, when he coached them: ’Hi. I’m Doctor László, but you may call me Csaba. The politician and the footballers are no relatives of mine, if you wonder.’ He chuckled. Only the two Hungarian test-subjects laughed. Under his lab coat László was dressed in a sweatshirt, tracksuit pants and sneakers. A stopwatch hanged around his neck, and he wore a heart rate reading device around his wrist. ’I am sorry that your meals will be measured with precision, and you will not be allowed to eat more than what I and my colleague here, Doctor Green, will allow. The meals will follow a planned and calculated pattern, with larger servings some days, and smaller servings some days. I assure you, that this is not at random. Theoretically, the pattern of your nutritional intake will cooperate with the other augmentation factors of The Program, to make you the best of the best. Every morning the nurses will take blood samples, urine samples and check your blood pressure. I will give you a training programme for physical exercise, and – as those of you who arrived early already have found out – we have an excellent gym at the Facility. Each one of you will see me and Doctor Green at least every eight day during the project, and the training programme will soon become individually tailored. The good news are, that servings at the meals will become larger for those who have undergone the procedure, and that it was decided that France and Italy would be responsible for sending chefs to The Program.’ Cheering from the Italians and the French. No-one else seemed to disagree, however. I looked out over a crowd of men of almost every European nationality. All of them had finished at least basic military training and served a few years, but, beyond that, their years in service ranged considerably. The youngest were 21 years old, while the most experienced of them were in their mid-30’s like László, Smith and myself. They had been sent here, not because of their age, not because of their years in service, or their military rank, but because of their performance ratings. A slender, clean shaven and rather tall man past his sixtieth year, dressed in the latest fashion suit under his lab coat, took the microphone. A moderately short carpet of dark grey frizzled hair covered his head elegantly, and a scent of a luxurious after shave was unavoidable to notice. His dark, sad and thoughtful eyes looked out over the audience. His pronunciation of English words was humming with the slightest French accent. ’ I am Doctor Lamarck. I research in genetics. The biological genetic makeup of each individual is a factor which determines the way he looks, many of his abilities and the way he reacts. Some diseases are not contagious but hereditary. In our research to cure hereditary diseases, we have discovered mechanisms, which could potentially be used to enhance physical prowess in healthy individuals. The limits of how fast, strong, enduring and quick thinking an individual is are determined by genetic factors, but we now believe that we are able to remove these limits. ’Most of you have heard about viruses, like that which cause the common cold. Besides bad viruses, which causes diseases, there are useful viruses. There are also neutral viruses – as it were – which neither cause good or bad effects on us. Modern genetic studies use such neutral viruses as a sort of vehicles or carriers of the sort of modified human DNA we hope will cure a patient. The patients’ immune systems will remove the viruses after a couple of days, but the modified DNA will stay and multiply. This method may also be used in order to enhance speed, endurance, strength or quick thinking. ’A more recent method use something called nano particles. The patient inhale the particles, which are programmed to rebuild the genetics of the patient. This is still on an experimental stage, but my team has researched for a long time, by now, how to use viral treatment and nano treatment in tandem. I have read that all of you are very good soldiers. I will rebuild you into perfect soldiers.’ The audience was murmuring excitedly for a few seconds. The sight of the men confirmed the impression I had gathered by reading their files: They were all very fit, but that common characteristic didn’t mean that they all looked the same. Far from it. Many seemed to enjoy frequent time at the gym, but without any considerable interest in fat loss or competitions. Some slim and lean (but very hard, sinewy and defined) soldiers, like the little Portuguese and his Polish friend, had very good ratings when it came to endurance tests and extremely long marches with lighter backpacks, and looked like what sprinters or fitness competitors would have looked, if they had developed more functional physiques. More than a handful of the test subjects were into bodybuilding. One of the Icelanders had competed in Strongman competitions, and had an entirely different type of physique. Some of the test subjects were under average height, but most of them were slightly above average. A handful of them were very tall – among them the Icelander and my fellow Norwegians, I proudly noticed. Doctor Gospodinov was a Bulgarian endocrinologist, close to retirement age. His hair was a formless tufty mass of grey and white, trying to escape in every direction. He was a broad shouldered man with dark brown eyes, somewhat under middle length and with a pot belly. He had unusually large cheeks, looked tired (which wasn’t surprising, since all of us had worked hard with the engineers to make the prototype chambers working), and was puffy under his eyes. He was dressed elegantly in a timeless three-piece suit under the white lab coat, and, while the rest of us had left watches and phones behind us years ago for contemporary phone-watches of different brands, he had an old-fashioned pocket watch in his waistcoat. He gave the impression to dislike the public speech situation, especially since the audience wasn’t composed of medical students. ’I am Doctor Gospodinov. I teach medicine, and I have researched on athletes my entire life. I will not bore you with giving you a full lecture in medicine. The reason that you were all surgically given a subcutaneous implant before arriving here – and as a matter of fact all of us were, although by different reasons – was to ensure easy access into your venous systems. The viral treatment by Doctor Lamarck and the hormone treatment by me will be administered through the membrane under the skin of your chest. If you want to enhance the performance of a man, it will not do to just tinker with one of the hormones, and it may even be counterproductive. A heightened dose of one performance-enhancing chemical may lower the dose of another useful and beneficial chemical. You need to take all biochemical substances naturally produced and used by the human body, and make them all interact in the right direction, in a concerted effort. If you believe that my job in this Project is to inject you with any new super-steroid, you are wrong. The negative side-effects of such a substance, if it existed, would outdo any positive effects – I suppose some of you may have heard about the bad complications of overuse of cortisone against inflammations? My job in this Project is to stimulate your own bodies to permanently produce the optimal balance of all the body’s own performance enhancing substances. After the initial treatment with this new stimulating formula – the exact composition of which is actually classified – you will not need any ongoing medication, and the effect will come from within yourselves, not from any injections or pills. The effect will remain the rest of your lives. Doktor Skrefsrud?’ Gospodinov had misjudged how much medical knowledge the recruits possessed, and he had lost most of them, despite his attempt to dumb down the subject. The awake and intelligent glimmer in the eyes of a lean and small Pole and his wiry and slim little Portuguese buddy did, however, show that not the entire class was asleep. It was my turn to speak now. I cleared my throat, and felt intimidated by standing before this sort of audience. A Dutch test subject had a very arrogant body language, and looked intently on me and the other scientists in an unnerving way with his green eyes. I cleared my throat. ’My name is Doctor Skrefsrud, and I am a physicist, just like Doctor Smith here. I will not go into any boring details, but I guess, that you will feel easier about what’s going on, if I explain the basic idea about what you will endure. You have all read about the Big Bang in Science Class at school, I suppose. The Universe expands at unfathomable speed. All visible material things are composed by a sort of matter we call ’baryonic matter’, since it is built by particles called ’baryons’: We can easily observe it, weigh it, measure it. What is less known, is that the Universe behaves in such a way, as there ought to exist another sort of matter: not easily observed, not easily measured. The expansion of the universe would render asunder the galaxies, if this other matter didn’t exist. We call it ”dark matter”, but please do not attach any importance to the word ”dark”. It is just a figure of speech.’ I had become accustomed to be perfectly clear on this account, when I educated undergraduates. The most silly and unfounded ideas could be spawned by the randomly chosen word ’dark’. It doesn’t mean ”bad”. ’There also exist ”dark energy”. For many decades, dark matter and dark energy were only hypothesised by the means of mathematics. Then, quite recently – in the early 2020’s – dark matter particles were observed by revolutionarily new means of observation. If you read science-fiction stories or comics in childhood, you know stories where the heroes get strange powers by radioactivity. In real life it doesn’t work that way: Too high amounts of radioactivity would give you cancer, not super-powers.’ The audience chuckled in a low voice. ’But dark energy radiation is not the same thing as radioactivity, since it is not baryonic.’ The audience abruptly fell silent. ’My mentor’s team has researched in several years on the probably beneficent effects of certain dark matter particles and radiation frequencies, in the hope to apply it medically. We are already in the early stages of successfully curing muscular dystrophy. In the future, we hope to help people who’ve lost a limb to grow a new limb. I know it sounds like science-fiction to you, and we haven’t reached our goal yet, but we have reason to believe, that we have the means to make Earth’s defenders against the PCETOs much better soldiers: More fit, more physically persistent, more powerful. I call this technology ’Hypertrophic Radiation’. Doctor Smith will now tell you more about how physics may help us in the war.’ Hair colours of all sorts gleamed in the artificial light, short-cut in different fashions: Buzz cuts, flattops, jarheads, short mohawks or shaved entirely. Ash-blond and fair brown seemed to be the most common hair colour among European men. Neither ’black’ nor ’blond’ are very good words to describe the variety of other actual hair colours: The glossy ’black’ of the Portuguese lads was something different from the velvet ’black’ of the two hunky Hungarians. Although you may have called the rye and golden hues of some Scandinavian test subjects ’blond’, these were actually two different colours, and these two colours also differed from the cream-coloured or almost white ’blondness’ of the two Estonians, one of the Ukrainians, one of the Finns and one of the Poles. Three of the test subjects were ginger: One of the Norwegians, one of the Britons (who stood there side by side to his Caribbean-British colleague) and one of the Irishmen. One of the men sent by France looked like he was of Polynesian-French descent. Since performance trumped everything, they didn’t share exactly the same background. Some of them were recruited from Special Units of several sorts, some from frogman units, paratroop units or marines, also depending on the various ways armed forces were organised in different European countries. ’Besides the discovery of hypertrophic radiation, which Doctor Skrefsrud just mentioned, the breakthrough in Dark-Matter-research, after a while, also confirmed the existence of Morphogenetic Fields, or Sheldrake-fields, as they also are known. Rupert Sheldrake had hypothesised about Morphogenetic Fields back in the 20th century, but very few scientists took his hypothesis seriously. That changed when Dark-Matter-research grew out of its initial phase. Now you ask: What is a Morphogenetic Field? We already knew the importance of the biological genetical makeup of each individual, as Doctor Lamarck already has described. Secondly, potential personal traits and abilities may blossom or lay dormant, dependent on outward factors such as education, physical exercise or food. But besides these two groups of factors, we now know a third group of factors: Morphogenetic Fields influence our physical development. It also seems like Morphogenetic Fields would contain and guide Hypertrophic Radiation to stimulate brain tissue, skeletal and muscular growth in certain ways. It seems like we are now able to control in which ways the Morphogenetic Fields form an organism. Each of the factors we work with in this scientific team would, on its own, enhance and augment your capacity, but the combined effect of all these factors together is so much greater. If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to ask me after this briefing.’ *** The interviews began the following day. At the end of the day, I was exhausted by interviewing twenty-four of the men, and so were all my colleagues, with the notable exception of the inexhaustible Professor Gruber. It took us four days to interview them all. By then, László and Green had given them their individualised training programmes. The individualised meal-plans would reach the Mess Hall Kitchen next morning. Although the Project was officially meant to be performed in English, French and German simultaneously, it didn’t took long time, until we found out that it would be more practical to use English as main spoken language (although notes were written down in all the three languages). The Polish and Czech test subjects spoke German much more fluently than I did myself, but anyhow seemed reluctant to speak German. I tried to be polite, when I interviewed the Belgian, Swiss, Luxembourger, Andorran and Monegasque test subjects, and so using French, but they seemed to enjoy an opportunity to practice their English, especially one of the Belgians (who spoke Flemish at home) and the Swiss, the native tongues of whom happened to be Arpitan and Romansh. The French test subjects listened very amused to my stumbling pronunciation of the French vocabulary, and then proposed that the interview ’should continue in English, perhaps?’ The Liechtensteiners and Austrians (including Professor Gruber) would have preferred German to anything else, but since everyone else spoke English, they quickly adapted. It made the work much easier, not only for me, but also for Andersson, the Registrar from Sweden, who – although he read both languages – was reluctant to speak German or French. When I interviewed the two test subjects from UK, Jones and Taylor, I found out that they, too, were relieved when the trilingual rule was softened: None of them spoke anything else than English, and they had initially felt sheepish when they had been addressed in French or German. We worked much longer working days, than the usual eight hours, since time was essential, and a swift breakthrough in our experiment could mean life or death for so many persons. The four nurses were initially scheduled with extra recreation, since we knew that they had to be rested when night hours at Infirmary began. We needed, however, some sleep and recreation in order to think clearly, in order to not put the test subjects at risk. I found out, that our elder colleagues kept together in our free time, and seemed like fish out of water at the Facility. It took less than three days, until Gruber, Gospodinov and Lamarck began to keep together outside working hours. Most of the time they sat in the living quarters at 3-6-3, but sometimes they gathered in the Lab, since Gospodinov had a habit of smoking his cigars under the fume hood. The alternative for the four of us younger researchers, was to spend free time together, or together with some of the test subjects or office workers, either at Mess or at the Gym. *** Green and László had mainly worked together with athletes during their professional careers, and both maintained an overall healthy life style even privately. It was easy for them to befriend those among the test subjects who were interested in weight training (although that was far from all). Despite my resultless experience of weight training, I had nothing against following Green and László to the gym during lunch hour. ’Have we heard anything more from the Yankees or the Russians?’, Green asked László on our way into the gym. ’No. It seems like the transatlantic cable broke and several satellites went down quite early in the attack from the Space Squid. Kiev lost telephone- and web-connection with Moscow and Beijing. We don’t know what happens elsewhere. It is up to us now. This experiment got to work correctly, and that soon.’ László changed subject, and eyed me professionally: ’Have you worked out before, Skrefsrud? I see that your body fat is low?’ ’Actually, I worked out at a gym during my graduate studies, in order to give it a try,but since I didn’t achieve any visible results, and continued to be scrawny, I quit the gym, but continued jogging. Is the word ”hardgainer” a current one? Some of my fellow students used that word about me.’ ’Oh yes. It is a rather common situation. Some people have to eat incredible amounts in order to achieve any muscle gain. Perhaps you followed the meal plan of dieters or a baseline one. It is useless for ectomorphs.’ The scent of steel, subtly corroding of salty sweat, filled the gym, but was mixed by whiffs of talcum powder, rubber carpets and cheap anti-perspirants like Lynx. The clang and clink of weight-plates hitting each other or steel bars hitting power rack stands echoed among the stone walls, only slightly subdued by the rubber carpets. Some of the recruits had made themselves at home in the gym from Day 1. László stopped at a leg curl machine, used at the moment by two British SAS-officers: The ginger Lieutenant Jones and the Jamaican-British Lieutenant Taylor – the latter with the good looks of a young Cassius Clay. I listened absent-mindedly for a few seconds, but thought it a good idea to say hello to the men at the nearest bench. It happened to be the rather tall Polish frogman Sergeant Zielinski, his compatriot, the short paratrooper Corporal Kowalski, and the short Portuguese, Corporal Soares. Soares was lifting a bar of probably his own weight. Many of the test subjects were rather clamorous and boastful individuals, but the 21 year old Kowalski was unusually silent and reserved. Almost shy. He had a lean physical constitution, witnessing an ability to persevere and endure in extreme conditions. I had noticed that he worked out very seriously at the gym, but, despite this, he hadn’t achieved any typical bodybuilder-physique. The downy stubble on his scalp was cream-coloured and almost white. A silver pendant hung around his neck in a rather heavy chain, but I wasn’t able to see what it depicted. Corporal Soares was of the same age and same body-type as Corporal Kowalski. When he had restored the bar to the stand, he observed his surroundings with an alert and humorous gaze. ’Two other hardgainers.’, I thought for myself, and felt sympathy for them. I had finished my scheduled exercise for the day, and was on my way to the showers with László and Green, when we heard shouts from the calf raise machine in the corner. ’Who the hell brought the small fry to this project? How do you think you could meet the Space Squid in battle, or be useful subjects for these tests? Midgets!’ It was Corporal De Vries, one of the Dutchmen, who stood leaning over Kowalski and Soares. Kowalski answered less noisily, and I couldn’t hear what was said. De Vries gripped Kowalski’s t-shirt and lifted him up in the air, saying things I couldn’t hear from this distance. László was already on his way to the corner, followed by Taylor. I couldn’t hear what was said, but Taylor gripped De Vries by the shoulder. De Vries put Kowalski down, and László said something heatedly to De Vries, of which I could only hear: ’My gym. My rules.’ When Kowalski and Soares left with Taylor and László, De Vries gave them the finger behind their backs with an angry expression on his face. *** When I arrived to the Lab after lunch, Smith and Gruber were discussing their fields of research, respectively. ’Is the breakthrough of your’s recent, Professor Gruber? I’m not sure that I have heard anything about it before.’ ’The first breakthrough was with mice in 2014. We cured them from depression, by stimulating their hippocampus and reward centre simultaneously. By developing the neuro-helmet a few years later, it became possible to stimulate various parts of the brain without any cranial surgery.’ ’But what will happen now, when the same technology is applied militarily?’ ’I have scanned the brain-wave patterns of a great number of expert soldiers, and brought them together in a standardised high achieving pattern. In layman’s terms, you could say that I will implant memories or habits into the specimens, by using recordings, as it were, from other individuals.’ ’Are there any dangers to it, Professor Gruber?’ ’Not any I am aware of. Nowadays we even have equipment to translate mildly hypnotic verbal suggestions into brain wave patterns, by the help of an AI, and it has worked very well to treat insomnia and stress disorders in individual civilians. A military application is something new, and will probably need some milder adaptions and adjustments before working optimally.’ ’So it is the first time you apply it for a military purpose?’ ’Yes, and it is the first time I try to use it in this scale. How does your own part of The Program work, Dr. Smith?’ ’Initially, we had to program every detail of the Emmeffs from scratch, and in the process we blew up a lot of fruit flies and some mice, I’m afraid.’ ’Emmeffs?’ ’Oh, sorry for that. Morphogenetic Fields. It takes so long to say, so, within the team, we call them Emmeffs. After a while the mice were lucky and survived. Anyhow, later on, the computer engineering department assisted us in simplifying the programming of the fields. We had a grotesquely large prototype programming device, which determined how a standard mouse should look. We put a poor little fellow in the Chamber – he suffered from muscle dystrophy – and, voilá! – he was cured. And he didn’t explode. Later on, the engineers were able to slim down the size of the Programmer – which was a great relief, since the Black Matter Cyclotron was space consuming as it was, without the Programmer competing for space. From then on, the experiments behaved a little more – eh – standardised, I would say. One of my colleagues performed a series of experiments on a dystrophic hamster, and later turned it into a birthday present to her nephew, who called it ’Hulk Hamster’. As you see on this display, we have a sketch of a man here…’ He pressed a button. A drawing of an average man, sketched in blue lines against the black background, glow on the screen. The drawing was anatomical, and each muscle was marked in fine detail. With another button Smith could display the inner layers of those muscles who consisted of several layers. ’which is the starting point of The Process, and then…’ He pressed a third button. Another line drawing lit up on the screen – this one in green lines. It was only slightly larger than the blue drawing, and looked like it was projected outside and around the first man, enclosing him. ’…this one, which is the desired goal. It is possible to grow the green chart proportionally…’ He pressed another key, and the green man became taller and wider, but retained his average physique. ’… but it is also possible to click on each muscle, and redesign the way he looks.’ Smith moved the cursor, clicked on a number of individual muscles, and clicked some boxes. ’Ooops. This combination of changes would make him deformed. It is important to maintain symmetry and functionality. We have some templates approved and authorised by the Command. Let’s see…’ Smith’s fingers danced at the keyboard, and a green anatomical chart popped up on the screen. The depicted man was huge and looked dangerous. If anyone looked like that, he would probably have good chances to win a weight-lifting competition, or perhaps bodybuilding. Smith shut the machine down. ’I would prefer if we begin with the Neuro-Reprogramming Phase. If he becomes physically enhanced but without self-control, we could have a situation here. We don’t want to endanger The Project, would we?’, Gruber suggested. ’Who’s the first one in the pipeline?’ It happened to be Corporal Soares. The fit little Portuguese was briefed about the process, and told that his physical conversion wouldn’t occur, until we were sure the Neuro-Reprogramming worked correctly. He left his boots, cargo trousers and T-shirt on a bench, and took somewhat shyly off his socks and pants. On the top of the pile he put a silver pendant in a heavy chain. I noticed that the pendant depicted St. Michael the Archangel. Gruber put the neuro-helmet on his head and the breathing mask over his nose and mouth. ’Good luck! And just relax!’, László said, when Soares stepped into the sluice, and reached the cylindric chamber, built of glass and steel. ’Synthetic amniotic fluid activated’, Lamarck said, while the light blue liquid began to fill Chamber 1. ’Body temperature 37,4 Centigrades’, Green reported from the body scanner. I still feel worried and disappointed about what happened the following hour. A few minutes after Gruber had activated the Neuro-Reprogrammer, Soares screamed in agony and fear. His pulse and body temperature were abnormally high, and we had to abort the process. When Chamber 1 had become sufficiently emptied of liquid, László and Nurse Dubois entered the sluice and carried the unconscious Soares out of the Chamber, and put him on a paper-covered medical bunk, before moving him to a moveable hospital bed. László and I were shaken, but luckily Green kept his mind cold, and gave Soares a physical exam. He consulted with Gruber, but the diagnosis was outside my own field of expertise. Somehow, the reprogramming had caused Soares a comatose state, but his life wasn’t endangered. Green connected him to IV-nutrition, and Dubois wheeled the hospital bed away to Infirmary. The following day came. Morning was scheduled for interviews and medical tests as usual, but I felt worried over the afternoon experiment. Would that go wrong as well? This time it was one of the Swedes, Corporal Johansson, who sat waiting in the waiting room. Johansson was somewhat over medium height and robustly built, although not conspicuously so. His golden hair was cropped, his nose slightly upturned and his eyes sky blue. ’We will not lie to you: The Program is still in a prototype phase, and may be dangerous, although not lethal. It would be unethical to keep this information away from you.’, Green said. A worried expression came and went in Johansson’s eyes, but he answered: ’Give it a try. I was aware that the Project was experimental when I agreed to go here. Do your best. It is my duty to give you a chance to develop The Program, isn’t it?’ He left his clothes on the bench. The neuro-helmet, the IV and the breathing mask were placed where they should be, and the experiment began. The Preparation Phase for reprogramming took almost forty-five minutes. Tranquillising and analgesic formulas devised by Gospodinov and Lamarck circulated in Johansson’s blood vessels, and Gruber had modified some settings in the Neuro-Reprogrammer. This time we would try to change both the mind and the body of the test subject. ’Do you hear me, Corporal Johansson?’, Green asked into a microphone. ’Mmmm, yes… So sleepy…’, came the answer from the microphone in Johansson’s breathing mask. ’Do you feel okay?’ ’Oh, yes. Go ahead.’ ’Initiating Neuro-Reprogramming.’, Gruber reported from his corner. A low humming sound was heard in the Lab. ’Pulse increasing’, Green reported from the body scanner. We could hear how Johansson’s breathing becoming faster. ’No. No, no, no. NO!’, he shouted into the microphone. I felt uneasy. ’No, it… no, um. Umngh.’, the protests subsided and changed gradually into moaning or grunting sounds, until a sudden change in mood seemed to have occurred: ’Yes. YES! I will comply! All orders will be executed! Becoming integrated into The Program!’ ’Pulse decreasing’, Green reported. The breathing was still faster than normal. Now and then Johansson mumbled. ’Brain activity as expected’, Gruber said. Fifteen minutes later, it seemed that the neuro-reprogramming had went well this time. ’Initiating Physical Reprogramming’, Lamarck reported. ’Endocrinal stimuli working’, Gospodinov answered. ’Viral activity increasing. Nano saturation increasing’, Lamarck echoed. ’Twenty millisheldrake, and increasing.’, Smith reported from his screen. ’Hypertrophic Radiation 110% and increasing’, I answered from the screen in my part of the Lab. The hypertrophic radiation (although invisible when projected in gas, vacuum and most liquids) became visible when it was projected into the specially devised synthetic amniotic fluid together with the Morphogenetic Fields. Slowly we increased the stimuli. After a while it was obvious for the naked eye that Johansson had become visibly more muscular, but suddenly something went wrong: ’No! This is not my body! Where has my body gone? I can’t move my legs! I can’t feel my arms!’ The frightened screams increased, then suddenly fell silent. Gruber reported that the specimen had become comatose. The events from yesterday repeated themselves, and the setbacks took their toll in most of us. Their upbringing helped Smith and Lamarck to keep up a polite and neutral facade, but unlike the unperturbed Gruber, they seemed anyhow to feel concern for Soares and Johansson. The rest of us were unable to hide our feelings of worry, concern and guilt. I had honestly believed that the safety level of The Program’s each component was higher than this. What had we done to these young men? The next morning, it was impossible to keep what had happened a secret. Major Murphy told the recruits during breakfast that Soares and Johansson were unconscious in Infirmary. Someone called Gruber ’Doctor Frankenstein’, and someone threw a paper cup in the back of Smith’s head. László was avoided by his training buddies at the gym. Corporal Kowalski stared accusingly on me without a word. The mood at the Facility deteriorated. The ginger haired Lieutenant Jones complained over how László had planned the meals: ’Yuh’ll be kidding me! No bloody jipper ter the veggies?’ We cancelled any scheduled afternoon experiments, and went through all readings and notes again and again.Gruber asked all of us in the scientific team to record our brainwave patterns, in the presumption that we all had ’healthy brainwave patterns’, whatever that meant. *** I went to bed early, but couldn’t sleep, since Lamarck and Gospodinov were drinking wine in the neighbouring room. I drifted into the Lab again. It must have been after midnight, but Gruber worked late. I heard him talk into a microphone in a way which reminded me of relaxation sound files a friend of mine had used: ’You will be in perfect control of your body. You will be in perfect control of the abilities you have achieved by integrating into The Program, regardless of how much your physical form changes. You feel calm and relaxed. Your physical performance will be enhanced. It feels good to enhance your physical performance. You are in perfect control. You are perfectly present in your body. Everything will be fine. You will obey The Program. You will integrate everyone attuneable into The Program. You will obey the direction to protect the military unit and all civilians. You will do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of yourself and of The Program. No-one will be permitted to abolish or limit the aim of The Program. You will attune perfectly. You will become enhanced. You will become augmented according to plan.’ Gruber pressed a button. A metallic voice answered: Vocal instruction translation into brainwaives initiated executed and accomplished The recording translated from speech into a brainwave pattern visible at one of the screens. Gruber pressed some other keys on the keyboard. A pattern labeled ’Smith’ flashed on the screen and was mixed with the first pattern. A pattern labeled ’László’ was glimpsed for a moment, until Gruber mixed it with the other two. I left the Lab, since I wanted to be alone. Somehow, I drifted into the Infirmary. It was Nurse Dubois who served at nightshift. A single lamp was lit close to Soares’ bed, in the light of which a silver pendant glinted on the bedside table. A plastic bag with nutrition hang from a stand, connected to Soares’ IV with a thin plastic tube. He wasn’t alone. Kowalski sat on a chair, looking sadly on Soares. I felt my bad conscience return, and I left the Infirmary silently. Since I was an Agnostic and a non-practicing member of Church of NorwayI hadn’t felt any reason to peek into the Meditation Room before, but I did it now. First, it lay in complete darkness, but a dim point, turning out to be a LED, guided me to the graded switch. At 50%, the grey ovoid concrete room rested in a soft and calming illumination. The floor consisted of polished stone. No images were to be seen. No chairs, but concrete benches fixed to the wall and surrounding a moderately large open space. Right. Le Corbusier meets IKEA. Ceiling-high cabinets were folded into the wall at some places, alternating with the grey concrete. In one part of the room, close to the entrance, the cabinet doors were made in dark oak, but gave place to several shades of gradually lighter brown woods in the middle, and with fir panels at the opposite end. ’Obvious committee work’, I thought. ’The British and the Greek had probably voted for oak, and the Norwegians and Swedes voted for fir. But the architect solved the problem tastefully. Probably someone from France or Switzerland.’ I continued to explore the room. In one cabinet I found bookshelves: The Christian Bible in thirty languages. Three books with the title ’Chumash’, which turned out to be the Hebrew Bible with translations into English, German and French. Six translations of the Koran in several languages. A highly decorated book in Greek, which I couldn’t read, and two similar ones in two eastern European languages I couldn’t identify. A German book called ’Gotteslob’. A number of booklets with latin text and several vernaculars in parallel columns. A handful of small A6-booklets in bright colours announcing: A Common Eucharist and Evening Prayer: As agreed upon by the member churches of the Porvoo Communion. A handful of similar booklets in duller – or perhaps more serious – colours with the title: Gottesdienst in Kriegszeiten. Ein Leuenberger Agenda für EKD, SEK, FEPS und GEKE 2021. Bhagavadgita in English, German and French. A slightly damp-damaged booklet with the title Sandhya Vandanam. Samyutta Nikaya – what on earth is that? Oh – Buddhism in English translation. The Lotus sutra. Platform sutra. Guru Granth Sahib – hmm… Oh – Sikhism! Dawkins: The God delusion with a sticker: ’Donated by the National Secular Society’. Russell: Wisdom of the West. Oh, there seem to be something for everyone here! Someone has been thinking. We didn’t have any permanently stationed chaplain at the Research Facility, since the stay was – hopefully – expected to be short, but preparations had been made to facilitate devotions according to several religious beliefs or non-beliefs. I riffled absentmindedly through the pages of Bhagvadgita. I wasn’t Hindu, and only knew it by name: ’Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ Not uplifting, but hadn’t I heard these words before? Read somewhere… No. I couldn’t remember. Another cabinet contained a number of prayer shawls, two types of chalices for Eucharist, and a number of foldable carpets. As a matter of fact, a few of the uppermost carpets were folded slightly more carelessly than the lower ones, so probably they had been used more recently. A timer. A Byzantine icon of Christ folded in protective velvet, and a copy of Our Lady of Czestochowa, similarly contained. An electric fake candle. A lighter. Batteries. A crock filled with sand. A cylindric aluminium box marked ’Spaghetti’. Spaghetti? I opened the box, and a scent of sweet wood of some sort greeted my nose: It contained incense sticks, which reminded me of the habits of a former girlfriend. Most of the space in that cabinet was, however, consumed by small foldable meditation benches in different sizes. When I observed the polished stone floor, I became aware of a very subdued mosaïque, which informed the directions of East, Mecca, and North. Why North? I was puzzled. Both the southern wall and the northern were equipped with handles in waist height, which made me curious, but it turned out to be two foldable altars. Why two? Whatever belief anyone had – or not – the room was soothing, at least when the cabinets were closed and the altars folded back to the walls. I sat there in the stillness for more than twenty minutes, until I returned to my bed. *** It was afternoon again. Lamarck and Gospodinov had been unusually silent and gloomy in the morning, and didn’t melt until lunch, when they had consumed unusually large amounts of mineral water and buttered bread. Smith and Green absent-mindedly looked through their notes again, and László emitted whiffs of Lynx. ’Nice Einstein hair-do, Gospodinov!’, was the first words, when Lieutenant Jones entered the Lab. Jones, it had come out during the interview almost a week earlier, had a long time background in SAS, and was divorced. During childhood he had moved around frequently with his divorced mother between several places in the north: Liverpool, Manchester, Blackpool, Wigan, Bradford, Newcastle… – a litany of place names. His head was covered in a red haired buzzcut, and his ears were more protruding than in an average person. He was of pink composure, and built like a human version of a pitbull terrier. His military tattoos made him look perilous, but towards the scientific team he behaved protectively and irreverently in a humorous and good-natured way. It seemed that László and Jones had bonded well at the Gym already, and that helped to make Jones cooperative, despite of the sour mood in the Mess Hall. ’Ah dinna thought tha’ the avvy would come so suuhn. After wha’ ’appened ter Soares and Johansson, we all feel a li’l bi’ worried abuht the effects, out there. Wharryl ’appen ter us inside the Magic Boxes?’ Smith and Green seemed to understand Jones’ argot well enough to answer him, but for me, who was only familiar with schoolbook English and TV-programmes from BBC sent by Norwegian broadcasters, Jones was incomprehensible. The elderly scientists also seemed to be confused by Jones’ version of English. Smith explained: ’The Program is still in a prototype stage, but we believe that we may have fixed the bug now. If you two react well, and we have reasons to believe you will, the readings from your transformations will probably help us wake Soares and Johansson from their unconscious states.’ Corporal Bjarnarsson had stood silent near the doorway from the waiting room, looming. He was a twenty-seven year old giant of a man, with a past in strongman-contests. ’Ah. Corporal Bjarnarsson! For you the Procedure will probably cause less strain. The change will be lesser in extent, since you are in such a good shape already.’ For a millisecond Jones eyed Bjarnarsson somewhat enviously, but then changed back to his usual irreverent humorous chattiness. László took their measures, as befitted their coach. Curious, I peeked over László’s shoulder in order to see the Pad connected to The Program: Ltn. Jones: Weight: 95 kilogrammes Height: 186 centimetres Chest: 115 centimetres Waist: 91 centimetres Arm: 40 centimetres Thighs: 66 centimetres Cpl. Bjarnarsson: Weight: 156 kilogrammes Height: 199 centimetres Chest: 160 centimetres Waist: 104 centimetres Arm: 60 centimetres Thighs: [AWAITING DATA] ’When Ah was rather nuw in the Service, abuht fifteen years ago, or thereabuht, me an’ me mates went ter cinema an’ watched th’film ”Captain America”. ’s like being in the middle uvv something similar ’ere, innit. Please duhnt knock me uuht like yuh did ter Corporal Soares an’ Corporal Johansson.’ Jones continued to talk while the IV, the neuro-helmet and the mask were placed on him and Bjarnarsson. Bjarnarsson was reticently silent. Then they moved into the sluices and the Chambers. ’Tranquillisers and analgesics distributed.’, said Gospodinov, looking at a monitor governing the IV. ’Forty millisheldrake, and increasing.’, Smith reported from his screen. ’Hypertrophic Radiation 125%, and increasing’, I reported. ’Endorphins activated. Myostatine blockers activated. Testosterone production rising. Oestrogen moderated. Adrenalin moderated. Kortisol moderated. Somatropin level rising.’, Gospodinov said. ’Viro-treatment active. Saturation level of nano-particles increasing’, Lamarck echoed. Something looking like ghostly flames in a strange golden hue flared and filled the entire cylinders, surrounding Bjarnarsson and Jones. Something looking like electric bolts (although we knew they didn’t have anything to do with electrons) hit the defenceless bodies of the two test subjects. Gruber attended their Neuro-Reprogramming. It went well this time, but it was too soon to triumph and feel relief. Soon both bellowed lustfully their acceptance of, and obedience to, The Program, and the Competence Programming was encoded into their brains. Meanwhile, the analgesics, the endocrine treatment and the DNA-altering formulas circulated in their bodies, preparing the way for the upcoming Physical Reprogramming Phase. They fell into oblivion for a while, when their bone tissue adapted with an ugly scraping sound. They regained consciousness. Their breathing became heavier. They clenched their fists. Their shoulders and legs tensed. Their manhoods awakened. An eerie pulse of force caused their muscles to tense and relax, tense and relax… A change occurred in Bjarnarsson. The already very huge man didn’t become taller, but his body composition went from big-bellied to what my student-day gym-buddies would have called ’ripped’. Any unnecessary body fat was burned away by the altered metabolism induced by The Program, and Bjarnarsson’s already well-developed muscled swelled. The changes of Jones were much more tremendous. When he entered the Chamber, he was padded of tight but undefined muscles like an overstuffed Chesterfield, but now his brawn was growing, and when body fat burned away, his muscles became visible like protruding spheres and bicones of terrifying strength. ’Uh, uh! Ah! Oh, it’s so fuckin’ unbelievable! It’s so friggin’ brilliant, innit! Duh yuh hear me ouht there? … Oh yes! Really ace! All hard flesh… meatier… Am beefing up! … the feeling! It’s… oh, OH! Am connected to this amazing power surge, nnnn, mmmm, aah! Charging me! Powerload! Powercharge! POWERHOUSE! Um! Nnng! Ah! Yes, yes! Yes! Um! Nnngh, nnngh, AH!’ We lost verbal communication from Jones, since his words devolved into incomprehensible excited moans and grunts. His body was not easy to see by now, since the golden shimmer from the rays enfolded him, but, from what could be visibly observed and from the growing blue digital chart of his body, his physique quickly adapted to the extreme ideal of the green digital chart of the Field. In the other Chamber, Bjarnarsson emitted similar noises as Jones. A pulsating pump raged in every muscle of Jones’, but, unlike pump at the gym, this actually increased his muscle tissue here and now. His back muscles contracted, relaxed, hardened and swelled. Incredible back muscles protruded increasingly, forming a map of valleys and ridges. His lats broadened. His glutes formed into globes, and then globes indented, forming ’C:s’ patterned like spruces. His shoulders became boulders. His neck filled out into steel wires plaited into cords, forming an uncrushable bull neck. His calves became insane rugby balls of rock, defined by a valley into twin ridges. Both the front and the back of his thighs swelled into jaw-dropping vein-ridden monuments of masculine might. Deeply defined abs formed an unconquerable brick-wall of warm flesh, and his chest was composed of two expanding shields of engorged bulbous brawn, radiating of vigour. Under the influence of the treatment his vein-patterned triceps, biceps and forearms, fortified by hypertrophic power, were ever hardening, bulging and toughening. When The Program reached its culmination both test subjects shouted in hypertrophic bliss, bellowed in anabolic ecstasy, and roared in testosterone-fuelled power-craze. Green noticed that both specimens ejaculated. He looked at Gospodinov, who answered: ’Probably a side effect of the extremely heightened testosterone-production. The nurses have to clean the Chambers before next experiment.’ Nurse Fischer looked up from his notes with a disgusted expression. For a few seconds both test subjects passed out, and for a while we were all very worried that our failures would repeat, but Jones and Bjarnarsson soon regained consciousness, while the fluid receded. As soon as possible, László and Nurse Fischer opened the sluice doors and helped the subjects out. They actually could walk by themselves, but seemed elated and dizzy-headed. While they used their towels, we could notice that they transpired a lot of sweat. Worried, Smith asked: ’How do you feel?’ ’Ah feel really boss, nuw. Gobsmacked, really. Yuh duhn’t have ter worry abuht me, Doc. Am really made up. Feeling buff as hell. Wha’ stonking arms!’, and, eyeing his new complection he added: ’An’ its the first time Ah got a real bronzee, mate. At vacation in Ibiza and Lanzarote, Ah uhnly got pink, scolded and peeling. Dis’s unusual. But Ah can’t stan’ ’ere starkers all day. Yuh said something abuht a nuw sorta uniform?’ Calmly, Bjarnarsson said something about feeling fine. Green took measures of Bjarnarsson, while Smith took the measures of Jones,in order to assure that the data on the screen were correct: ’Oh by Jove!’ Ltn. Jones: Weight: 180 kilogrammes Height: 200 centimetres Chest: 188 centimetres Waist: 97 centimetres Arm: 76 centimetres Thighs: 96 centimetres While László was ransacking the Inventory for the new prototype uniform, Smith explained: ’The prototype uniform was engineered for several reasons. Since a traditional uniform would probably risk to either fray or to be a chunky inconvenience in action, something adaptable and stretchable was needed. Since the PCETOs seemingly use IR-perception as their primary sense, it was important to use a fabric which conducts excessive body heat in an unnoticeable way, while still warm enough. A new way of arranging carbon atoms has been demonstrated to hold the capacity to protect from projectiles and edged weapons. Since some of your future operations probably will take place in space, the uniform had to be easily used in combination with conventional space suits and the new prototype space armour. The same material is actually used in the tarpaulins at the Outer Perimeter, in order to camouflage the wood fires.’ László returned from the Inventory with a number of items of clothing. I hadn’t seen the new uniform myself, so I was as astonished as the recruits themselves. The stuff was black and glossy, with no hints of spun threads. Most of all it had a sort of leathery surface, but it had pliable qualities, and formed after the wearer. ’Dis pura kecks is tuh tight. Du yuh ’ave any larger pair uvvem? A’ve no’ any sparrer legs, anymore. Lewk at these ’amstrings an’ calves!’ László had a broad grin on his face, and handed over a larger pair of uniform trousers. It turned out that size 11 boots were too small, and we all waited while Jones tied the bootlaces of his size 12 army boots. When Jones and Bjarnarsson had dressed, we inspected the results. The uniforms looked painted on them, but, regardless of this, there seemed to be no risk of fraying or rips at the seams. The black, glossy and leathery material cling in a snug-fitting way to their enormous shoulders and pecs, saliently enhancing the presence of the shoulder straps with insignia and the breast pockets – the short sleeves leaving the forearms bare. The shirt buttons were designed to be non-obstructive and easy to button. The trousers were snug around the calves, but were tailored like cargo-trousers around the thighs, in order to facilitate the typically useful pockets. The trousers were reinforced over the groin, in a way bringing anti-riot equipment to mind. The belt buckle was adorned with the heraldic crest of this prototype Company. There was something vaguely intimidating to the rather high bootlegs, but, despite being advanced in ways which went over my head, the boots looked like typical military boots designed for practical usefulness rather than looks. They were smoothly polished, but with the new material the entire uniforms had the look of being polished by military standard shoe polish. The results were stunning. The uniforms didn’t hide their muscular physiques, but revealed and highlighted them. It felt somewhat unsettling to be in the presence of the uniformed and huge recruits. ’Yuh ’aven’t given ed a thought to take a trip into the Magic Boxes yerself, Doc? It luuk like yuh could ’ave use fer ed, eh? An’ yuh, Coach? Yuh would certainly like ed. Mooch be’er than slapping the monkey.’ Smith looked away with an embarrassed expression. His ears and cheeks were purple. Green interrupted: ’You will need some rest in the Infirmary. Later tonight or early tomorrow we will go to the gym and measure how your performance has increased.’ When Jones and Bjarnarsson had left for observation in Infirmary, Smith commented our conversation with Jones: ’There is something you mainland Europeans don’t understand: That UK is a kingdom divided by a common language.’ Chapter Two is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6609-project-defender-–-chapter-two/

I haven't posted any story before. The purpose of this teaser is twofold. It will give readers a vague hint of the setting, and I will become familiar with how this forum handles text layout-wise. Please tell me if something looks funny on your computers. There are so many things that may go wrong with computers and internet. In another thread, the text I posted was perceived as white letters on white background for some readers. Thatwas not intentionally, and I hope to avoid such problems. DISCLAIMER The teaser doesn't contain anything worth warning for, with the possible exception of slightly derogative designations of citizens of the USA and the Russian Federation, but some of the chapters of the finished story will. Do not read this if you find any of the aforementioned things offensive. Project Defender – The Teaser Janssens felt an icy chill in his chest. Earth was under attack. Communication with the Yankees, the Russkies and Beijing was lost, the satellites down and the trans-atlantic cable broken. Europe was on its own now, and the Space Squids annihilated city after city. He knew his duty. He had been hand-picked by Forces Spéciales and sent to the International Pan-European Research Facility B as a test subject. But to know one's duty and to feel relaxed were two different things. The results of The Program on some of his brothers-in-arms were as remarkable as the results on some were disastrous, and The Program was still on a prototype stage. Even if Doc, Viking Guy, Boffin and Coach did their best, none of them, nor he himself, could know for sure what would happen to him in the cylindric Chamber 1. Do you accept The Program? He hadn't been able to imagine how the Neuro-Reprogramming would feel. First, he reacted in fear. Do you accept The Program? No! No, no, no! It pressed its influence against his mind, trying to control him. You will accept The Program No! The fear of losing himself, the fear of becoming something else, something machine-like, something... You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will ... something monstrous, something without control, something... accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program ... something totally amazing, something totally obedient, something totally martial... You will accept The Program You will accept SIR, YES SIR! And when the Phase of Neuro-Reprogramming was accomplished, the Phase of Physical Reprogramming was initiated. The inividual unit formerly known as 'Janssens' would never be entirely the same as before, but humankind would have another Defender. Chapter one will be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/

Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: I just noticed that the chapters are getting progressively longer (this one is twice as long as the first one). Anyway, here it is, hope you guys enjoy, I tried a few ideas that sounded fun, so let me know what you guys know. As always, please do comment and critique (you could even pm me if you want). --- I woke up suddenly, because Ty got up in a rush with a quiet "Sorry, I really need to go." And he quickly thuded into the bathroom. I was unwilling to get up, so I kept my eyes closed and rolled over to the large warm area that smelled like his body. I guessed he really need to go, since he almost groaned with relief. And there was the powerful stream. And another, and again. Well, my peeing hypothesis was totally wrong, because nobody does Kegels first thing in the morning when they really need to pee. Oh well. I started wondering if he ever did that before, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't remember, but he always got up before me. And then there was a longer stream with less force. And then the flush of the toilet. More thuds, but these were slower and somehow more relaxed. "You're lying on my spot." "So?" "Should I lie down on your bed?" At this I cracked my eyes open, he stood at my feet, towering over my lying form. "Don't you dare, it would collapse under you. And you wouldn't fit in it anyway." "Well, that leaves me with just one option." He scratched at his furry cheek. "Hmm, if Ty falls on Eli in his apartment, and there's no one else there, does it make a sound?" With that, he seemed to start growing bigger, my brain still slow from the remains of sleep only realizing too late that he was falling on top of me- BANG! I flinched and yelped, shutting my eyes, before realizing that nothing hurt. I opened them again, and I could only see the dark brown of his skin filling my whole field of vision. I looked to the side, where I could see one of his arms supporting his frame. He must have extended them to catch himself. "Fuck, don't freak me out like that! I would've been flattened to a pancake under you!" "Aww, but don't you trust me? I won't ever hurt you." As I got my breath under control, I wanted to repay him, so I grabbed onto his nipples and tweaked hard, as that always hurt me like hell. He roared in response, and he almost let himself drop onto me again. "Fuuuck, don't do that! I thought you were angry at me, not horny." "What are you talking about, I just hurt you." There was a pause, before he shifted downward so we could see face to face while he was still above me, his arms supporting him. "Uh, pain wasn't what I felt. I, um, enjoy that, actually. No offense, but I really don't think you have the strength to hurt me doing that. Not without some tool at least." "Damn. Sorry I tried to hurt you." He chuckled "It's okay. You must have really been freaked out. I get it. I won't do something like that again. But I won't refuse if you want to twist my nipples. At least in private, I don't think many people would appreciate me roaring anytime you wanted." "Okay, got it. Well, there's no way I'm going back to sleep, I've got too much adrenaline in my system now. What about you? Should we get up, go do something?" "Hmm, I want to stay in bed some more." Then he grinned. "And you're staying with me." He went back to the original position, his pecs hovering just over my head, before he lowered himself so I was once again surrounded by his body. I tried to push him up, with no effect, but he was careful to let me breathe. It was quite comfortable, feeling him, putting a firm pressure on every part of me like a heavy and hot blanket. Like I was in a tight full-body cast and it tightened and relaxed around me a little with his every breath. The short hairs tickled my face slightly. "In the bathroom, you came, didn't you." He only hmmed affirmatively. "Do you do that often while here?" "Sometimes, does it bother you?" "I never noticed before. But no, it doesn't bother me. I mean, it's fairly common, right?" "Well, maybe not exactly common, not in my, uh, quantity, but yeah, some guys do that. And, I think it might happen more often, due to the recent developments. You cool with that?" "Yeah." We spent a little more time like that, before we decided to get up. We made ourselves some breakfast and we talked about what we wanted to do that day. We settled on some exercise first, then Ty wanted to give me a massage. We cleaned the dishes, and went outside, so Ty could exercise himself a bit, and give me some pointers. First, he told me to just slowly work on my walking, just feel through the whole process, feel when it hurt, when it felt wobbly, and such. I still used crutches, but I tried to use them as little as possible. It was all quite hard, since he went through his own routine, displaying his body with no indication my presence bothered him. His muscles, writhing under his dark skin as he commanded, holding his body in various positions without much apparent protest. Then he decided to work on my strength a little, letting me test myself against him, we had an armwrestling match where he of course held his own without any effort whatsoever. I even tried both my hands against his, without any change which wasn't that unexpected. He complimented me anyway. That felt pretty nice. Then he put me through modified push ups, where he knelt behind me and held my shins off the ground to not put any strain on the ankles. Then he made me do pull ups. He stood in front of me, and he put his flat hands, palms facing his torso, in front of his chest, so I could grab onto his fingers. He raised them until I dangled a couple inches in the air. To give me motivation, he promised a quick peck for every time I could pull myself up to his face. That was great, even though I didn't manage more than three reps in a set. Then we did L-sits together, I managed only a few seconds at a time, without having the strength to lift even one of my legs. Ty of course had no problem holding it the whole time even with me struggling on top of his tighs, but his encouragements made me push myself harder. When we ended the last exercise, I was panting, clutching at my sore belly, while leaning on his midsection for a while. Then we stood up to go inside and Ty grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder, giving me a great sight of his back, glutes, hamstrings, calves and the backs of his massive feet as he made his way over to the shower, where we washed the sweat off. We decided to go to the food court for lunch, as I wanted to go outside for change. I assured Ty that it would be fine to go on foot, I'd tell him if it hurt too much so he could carry me. We arrived, the court wasn't fully packed, which was good, I was fine walking here, but I wasn't sure if I could manage waiting in a queue for a long time. We got our food (it was a thick and quite spicy tomato soup with mealworms), Ty of course got a big bowl of it, and we made our way to 'his' table. The crafters made it because of his request, but they improved on the basic design, and it could be used by other people who were bigger in some way, fat, tall... We spent most of our meal in silence, but I noticed that he was slower than usual, I almost had my bowl empty while his was still half full. I put my hand on his fist, noting that it was clenched pretty hard. I rubbed at it to get his attention. "Everything alright, big guy?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, I, yeah, I think. I'm just freaking out a little bit, overthinking everything..." "Would it help if you told me and I gave my opinion?" "I'm not sure. But I want to deal with this on my own, if you don't mind." "Alright." I didn't stop rubbing his hand, and it did get more relaxed. "Can you relax your hand a little bit more? I want to try something." I finished the soup, so I had both of my hands free now, which I used to coax his fingers from the fist, and I tried to interweave the fingers of his hand and mine. His hand was too large for me to get all of his fingers, but I managed to grab his pinkie and ring finger, with my thumb reaching his knuckle from the underside. I smiled at my victory, and looked up, Ty's stunned face was looking back at me. "What?" "Nothing, it's just a bit surprising for me. Not in a bad way of course." "Your hands are not that big Ty." "No, I didn't mean it that- I just wasn't expecting it that's all." The rough pad of his thumb assured me to keep holding his hand. When he finished his bowl, Ty carried the dishes to the cleaning counter, while I made my way to the entrance. As he reached me, I asked him: "Your folks weren't here today?" "I didn't see them, so probably not, they're probably taking another shift." "Okay, you mind if we take a little detour at our way home?" "Not really." --- We visited a craftstore, where I got some bodypaint, which I usually only got for the kids. They always love making a mess. But this time, I was intending to use it in a more precise way then they did. I told Ty that I recently got a nice canvas to paint on. --- Along the way we talked about the massage, I wanted just a regular back rub. Back home, we put the cans of paint away, Ty got the oil from the kitchen, as he instructed me to take some towels and put them below me, strip down and lay on the futon. I made myself comfortable, my hands under my forehead, an additional rolled up towel under my ankles. I heard Ty approach thanks to his thudding accompanying him everywhere. "Okay, I'm going to straddle you, do you mind if I'll be nude?" "Hmm, not really, but won't your penis get in the way?" "Let me try it." I heard the rustle of him taking off his boxers, and he moved over me, put the bottle of oil near my head, he got in the position above me on all fours, and he got up into the kneeling position. I felt his hairy balls land between my thighs, just under my ass, but he didn't touch me otherwise. "Okay, so it shouldn't get in the way. Although it may drop some precum on you, that alright with you?" "Yeah it's fine, as long as you don't cum, I don't want to clean this room." I felt him move again, and then I felt his long and hot penis pressing into my back, then his pecs joined it and then he planted a kiss onto the back of my head. "Don't worry, I'm pretty good at holding back." He raised himself, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the oil into his hands, warming it up by rubbing them together. "Here I go." One of his hands landed on the small of my back covering a considerable area, exerting light pressure as he moved it towards my head in a very short time. The other hand joined it on the other side, but moving slower. He repeated this a few times, gradually adding pressure. Then he changed to just the tips of his joined fingers, focusing the pressure. A moan escaped me in response to his stimulation. I assured him that it feels great, and urged him to continue. I felt like I was melting under him. He started adding more circular motions, squiggles, sometimes going slow and hard with the heel of his hand along my spine, sometimes using quick brushes that danced along my skin, sometimes driving a tip of his finger into a sore spot, almost to the point of unbearable pain, while whispering soothing words to take my mind off of it. Then he returned back to the slow strokes, and he moved onto my traps and the back of my neck, working it like a dough he had to prepare for baking. And then he tapped on my back, lightly (for him) and rhythmically. He ended with going back to the start, with the very light strokes across my whole back, before just resting his hands there, letting me feel their warmth. I whined a little bit, sad that it was over already. He chuckled "Enjoyed it?" "Soo much..." I felt drained of all energy, yet rejuvenated at the same time. "Didn't feel the precum falling though." "Yeah, got lucky and it all fell on my hands. Don't worry, you'll still smell like me until you shower." He was right, I didn't notice it until now, but there was his musk in the air now... "When did you get so good at this?" "On the farm, we usually massage each other after work, so I got a lot of practice. Though I probably never felt like you did. Guess it'd take someone a lot stronger to give me a proper massage." "Have you thought about having more than one guy working you at a time? Maybe they could walk and stomp on your back. That has to do something, right?" "Hmm, never looked at it that way. I'll bring it up, see if they're up to it. Maybe even do a few push ups as long as they're up there." "You're unbelievable, isn't massage supposed to be about relaxing?" "I guess so. " "Anyway, my body is feeling limp like boiled noodles right now. I don't think I'll be able to paint..." "Aww, and I wanted to see you paint so much..." "You're like a kid. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll be up. Also you're kind of keeping me down." "Oh, right, sorry." He jumped up, moving to wash his hands and put away the oil. I gathered my energy and sat up slowly, checking on my body. Despite the seemingly rough treatment, I felt really good, more loose, more relaxed... "I'll have to persuade him to do this more often. Well, it's probably not going to take much persuasion, to be honest." I went for the paint cans, selecting three colors. Green, red and yellow. I turned to Ty, who was looking at me with that curious expression of his. "Can you bring a chair to the bathroom?" "Bathroom? Why there? And where's your canvas." "You're the canvas." I said with a smile. The confusion written in his face was quickly replaced by a questioning look and then it settled into a wide smile. "That's awesome!" In his joy, he grabbed the chair in one hand, and with the other he grabbed me by my waist, cans still dangling in my hands, as he practically skipped into the bathroom, his cock that became hard very fast leading the way. He set me and the chair down, looking at me. "So what do you need me to do? Should I hold you in front of my chest as you paint it? Should I hold some poses for you?" He started posing, going through several in a few seconds, not able to choose one... And his cock started flinging pre cum like yesterday. He was like an overgrown puppy, just crackling with energy at the prospect of his master giving him a treat. "Whoa, hey, settle down. Can you sit down here?" He froze in the middle of the side triceps pose. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I got carried away." "Don't apologize, it's great that you're so enthusiastic. Though I have to say, the painting itself won't probably be that exciting." He sat down, and I took an old rag and brought the chair closer to him but as I approached him from the front, I sat down on his thigh, it was like I was facing a wall of living stone, shivering with excitement. "Okay, now take a couple of deep breaths, and lean back a bit." I opened the cans and dipped a finger in the first paint as he followed my directions. I started to cover his massive chest in lines, circles of different color, noting the drops that were caught on his chest hair. Painting it in my emotions, wherever my hands wanted to roam I let them. Well, at first, I steered them away from his nipple, but as I looked up to his face, I could see him looking back with such intensity... I let myself brush against it, first with just the clean parts of my hands, as I drew them near the nipple, and then even putting just a dot of paint directly on the top of it. Both actions resulted in sharp inhales from him, and an intensifying of the precum dripping from his cock, which now formed a puddle between his legs, soaking my foot a bit. I repeated the same thing while sitting on the other leg, which gave me acces to his other side. Then I moved onto his abs, where I highlighted his bellybutton, and drew lines more or less pointing towards it. He politely moved his dick away when it got in my way. I got a bit playful, 'accidentaly' smudging a bit of paint on it. As I decided his front was covered enough, I stood up and went to get the chair. "Is this the end?" "No, I'll continue on your back. Unless you want me to stop." "Please continue, this is pretty intense. Oh, and just sit down on the chair, I'll move you." He added with a smirk. I sat down and he reached over with one hand, grabbed the leg of the chair, and moved it, with just a twist of his torso slightly behind him, then he faced to the front again, grabbed out with the same hand backward, and moved it again, so now I was right behind him, giving me the vast canvas of his back at my discretion. Then he gave me the cans. I started working again, noticing that as I progressed, his breathing became more heavy, the muscles clenching under my hands. "Are you okay? Do you need a pause?" "No." He sounded pretty angry. "Please continue, it's just much more intense than I thought it would be. I'm just having a hard time holding it back." "Holding what back?" And then it clicked, the heavy breathing, the twitching muscles, the words filtered through his clenched teeth, the memory of his hard cock growing harder during my work on his front... "Oh, you want to cum? Fire away at will. I don't have to be the only one painting here." I continued, now focused more on very slow, very light strokes along his back, sometimes leaning closer and helping the paint dry with a gentle breath... "Fuck-" Another dot. "I-" Another stroke, this time quick and short. "I'm-" I dipped my whole hand in the paint, meanwhile gently blowing on an empty patch of skin. "I'm gonna-" I slapped my hand on his skin with all the force I could muster. He roared like a bear, arched his back, and his dick exploded. The ropes of his cum splattered on the wall several feet in front of us, painting it in a vertical puddle of white goo that reached above my head. It was amazing to watch. As his orgasm died down, the cum created a path from the wall painting leading directly to the person responsible. "Woah." Still huffing, he began to laugh. "You just got me to cum with only some paint and breathing, without anything touching my dick and the only thing you can say is 'Woah.'? " "I'm kind of speechless right now." He stood up and turned to me, his still throbbing cock pointing at me, then he leaned down, grabbed me under my armpits and brought me to his mouth to kiss me. I happily reciprocated. After a long while we stopped. He put me down again and stomped to the mirror. "Now I really want to see what you painted." He looked at himself, turning one way and the other, visibly growing more confused. "Uh, no offense meant to your talent, but... This just looks like a painting of a three year old kid that just got crayons." "Actually, it's a very complex pattern of lines and dots, designed specifically to make the paintee more turned on and to bring them to climax. I got it from a magic book I was given by my great grandpa." I tried my hardest to look completely serious, looking at him through the mirror from his side. "Are you kidding me?" "Yes." "Aww, and here I thought you could do some more magic for me." "You're magical enough as is. I just basically let my fingers go across your skin, while thinking about you, me, us... I thought this would be a good, I guess, intimacy exercise, but apparently it's also a bit more for you. Which is great." "I love you." I looked at his face directly. I knew he meant it. The next sentence was easy to say. I may not have been able to pin my exact emotions about all this, but I felt sure that it was in the right place. "I love you too." I hugged him, planting kisses on the painted skin as he brought me even closer to him with his arms.