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This is a little something I decided to start working on. I don't put out a lot of content on here, as real life is so busy, but this idea has been running through my head for the last couple of weeks so I wanted to put it down while it's fresh. The first part doesn't technically have any growth in it yet, but it definitely builds up to it. Enjoy and let me know what you think! Part I “So we are for real doing this? Because once I hand him this, there’s no going back.”, I said seriously to my brother, Seth. “Hell yeah, man. William needs to gain some weight! He’s nothing but skin and bones!” So let me fill you in real quick. My brother, Seth, and I have a sister. Her name is Mckenzie. She recently married, adding a new brother to the family - William. He’s seriously a great dude. He was literally the perfect match for our little sister. We couldn’t be happier to add him as a part of the family. He was very attractive - had deep, blue eyes and curly blonde hair. There was just one problem. The dude was nothing but skin and bones. He stood a tall 6’5” but he couldn’t have weighed more than 140lbs of nothing. He was fairly active, as he would have to be since he married my sister. She ran 5 miles every morning religiously, rain or shine. So he is fairly active, so he has a little bit of toned muscle. He’s definitely not flabby. Even then, 140lbs spread across a 6’5” frame renders a pretty skinny dude. We just couldn’t have that. All the men in our family were big, burly men. Our father was truly a brute of a man weighing in at a solid 400lbs of muscle and flab. Seth and I were respectively hovering around 275lbs and 300lbs (Seth, 25, was the younger of the two of us, Mckenzie was the baby at 23). We weren’t in to the cut and shredded bodybuilder look though. We looked more like off season bodybuilders or powerlifters, as we were covered in thick coatings of dark hair, muscles bulging with a healthy layer of fat around them. Seth was the shorter of the two of us, so his 275lbs actually looked bigger than my 300lbs. His legs were his strongest feature, literally writhing with power and the slightest movement. Each leg was probably bigger around than William’s entire body, honestly. Seth’s bulging muscle gut jutted proudly from his body, but not more so than his incredible, hairy pecs. Those things were so thick and juicy, you could balance a whole jug of milk on top of them with no effort. I looked pretty much the same, just a little taller and a little heavier. I was slightly more mobile due to my height advantage. We were constantly aiming for the beloved 400lbs marker of our father and beyond, eventually. But we knew Mckenzie really needed a real man as a husband, not this twink that she had married. We had tried to talk William into working out with us and getting him on some mass gainer, but he refused. He claimed that he had no time and interest in weight lifting, and he was completely satisfied with his current weight and size. I call bullshit. What man wouldn’t want to be a fucking massive muscle beast? So that brings us to now. We had purchased this new protein powder that a buddy of ours had told us about that had incredible results. The protein powder also supposedly had a way of effecting a person’s acceptance to suggestions. Using this stuff, it would be easier to convince him to come work out with us and bulk him up quickly in the process. Hell, we’d use the stuff as well. Maybe it’d help us get to that beloved inhuman mass we were seeking sooner, rather than later. So as well as being a fitness nut, Mckenzie was also an incredibly gifted singer, classically trained, the whole shebang. She had landed the opportunity of a lifetime. She was moving to London for three months to be apart of the revival cast of Les Miserables. She was only an ensemble member, but still - what an experience! And perfect timing for us to enact our plan. While she was gone for the summer, William was going to move in with us. We called it ‘bonding time’ with our new brother. We’d obviously gotten to know him, while they had dated, but they lived on the other side of the country, so him moving in with us for the summer was going to give us a chance to really get to know William, while hopefully growing him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I had just landed at O’Hare and made my way out to baggage claim, where I was met by my two hulking brothers-in-law. They were seriously just so massive. I could never imagine being that huge and muscular. And hairy. I absentmindedly rubbed my toned, hairless torso, while walking towards them, thankful that I had managed to stay as fit as I had through college and the first year of marriage. “William! Bro! So glad you are here!” boomed Tyler as he thundered towards me and picked me up in a bear hug. My face was literally shoved in between the crevice of his massive, hairy chest. He smelled of pure man. He put me back down, grinning and popped his pecs a few times. Seth approached soon after and gave me a clap on the back, nearly sending me hurtling to the ground. Again, I couldn’t imagine having so much power, that you unintentionally almost knock someone over just by patting them on the back. It was disgusting. We hopped in the truck and headed to the house. They lived in the suburbs of Chicago, a quaint town called Naperville. It was a solid 45 minute drive from the airport to the house. We arrived at the house and as I was getting settled in the guest room, Seth came in with a chocolate shake and handed it to me. He wanted me to try it and see how it tasted. He said he was thinking about opening up a little soda shop and he wanted my opinion on the quality of his shakes. This was news to me, but I didn’t question it one bit. I took the shake from him and took a gulp. It tasted fucking incredible! It was seriously the best things I had ever tasted. Before I knew it, I had literally inhaled the entire drink, slurping up the remains at the bottom of the glass, hungrily. Seth just grinned at me as I started feeling kind of funny - like I wasn’t all there. “By the way, bro. Me and Ty are about to head to the gym and make some gains. I know you aren’t into that sort of thing, but if you wanted to come along, we would seriously love it.” He as right. I absolutely loathed lifting weights. It was boring and cumbersome. But at the same time, there was a small part nagging at me, saying that I should at least go with them. Maybe I could do some cardio while they did their lifting like a bunch of lunks. “You know what? I think I will join you guys. I could really go for a good run after sitting on that plane all day.”, I said. Seth looked annoyed, like he honestly wanted me to work out with them. They are so out of my league, I wouldn’t ever dream of working out with them anyways. We hopped in the car and headed toward the gym. As we stepped in, and I saw the massive expanse of gym equipment at our disposal, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to lift weights. We ended up doing a full body workout, working our way through chest, arms, back, legs, shoulders, even some ab circuits, but no cardio. Three hours later, three grueling hours later, I literally hobbled back to the truck, absolutely spent. Seth and Tyler commented on how impressive my lifts were, especially for my first time, and how well I was able to keep up with them. I didn’t know how I did it either. The entire workout seemed to fly by and take forever at the same time. I couldn’t explain it. I was in a sort of haze the entire time, almost like I didn’t even have control of my body. We got home, ate a hearty meal, Seth gave me another of his shakes and I downed it quickly and happily and immediately crashed. I was so exhausted between the day’s travels and that intense workout I had just had. I awoke the next morning, and I felt very strange, bloated maybe? I had expected to feel sore as fuck this morning after yesterday’s workout, but I felt fine, maybe a little tight, but not sore. I rolled out of bed and groggily made my way to the bathroom to take a piss. I flipped on the light and was absolutely shocked at what greeted me in the mirror. I was bigger.
Just had an amazing workout and this short scene occurred to me. Wanted to get it down. 1. Early Sunday You walk onto the gym floor. 6'2'' 240. A Bear Daddy on the rise. A few months into focused attention on growing strength and size. You are enjoying the gains, the increased power, the reminder of your masculinity and dominance. You swagger in and survey the room. You will be smashing chest and shoulders today. Any worthy pups today? Yes, a shorty but thick. Great chest and calves. A cleanshaven redhead. He looks put together for 9am on a Sunday. You have a good feeling he may be growing boy in search of a master. You get to work. Super sets, drop sets. Decline bench, military press, cable machine, hammer press, db press, db flies. Your pump grows and grows. Sweat soaks your tshirt. You smell your own musk and the bear cock thickens. You can feel the eyes of the clean shaven muscle boy on you. When you look up, he is often turning away. You cock thickens further. He is working hard himself. You are impressed by his focus...on his workout and on you. You end the workout in front of the mirror with cross body hammer curls. Pure vanity. The Bear Cock is steel hard and leaking in your tight jockstrap as you gaze on how thick your shoulders, arms, and chest are. A true Man. A Muscle Bear growing into a God. You come out of your self worship and see that the boy has left. Ah well, another day. You head to your locker, strip off your clothes, enjoying how the sweaty shirt clings to your pumped body, how awkward it is too move with muscles too pumped and shaking. You walk to the shower, towel in hand, cock half hard swinging between your thick thighs. The shower threatens to bring you to full mast again as your soap up. Every movement reminding you how thick you are. Your hands roaming over a furry chest, thick and hard. Your arms and shoulders like steel. You savor this feeling as a reminder for when your motivation fades on difficult and long days. Any sacrifice is worth this feeling, this masculine testosterone-soaked feeling. You towel off and wrap it around your waist. Standing in front of the sink, you survey what you are building and you are pleased. You have a belly, yes, but it looks powerful when it is overshadowed by a thicker chest, capped by mounded shoulders, and thick thick arms. You shavr your neck and cheeks, enjoying how difficult it is with your still pumped arms. When finished, you take off your towel to wipe off the excess shave cream. Dropping the towel, you step back...wanting to see it all. The self lust rising again. Just then, you feel a presence behind you at the opposite sink. And its the boy. Unbidden, your cock thickens as you see his thick lil smooth ass in the mirror and all you want to do is FUCK. You chuckle. He looks up at the sound and your eyes meet through the mirrors. You raise your arms into a double bicep flex, your eyes leaving his to gaze on your size. Just a quick flex but a test. How will this tasty meat react? ... ... ... ... It all happens in milliseconds but your heart leaps. His gazed stayed. He wants it. He needs it. You pick up your towel without acknowledging him further and walk to your locker. Your test in pumping hard. Something is getting fucked today and deep. This pup or another. Your needs must be met. After getting dressed, you head to the elevator and as you wait you hear someone else exit the locker room. Is it the boy? You don't find out until you enter the elevator and turn. It is the boy and he is looking good. Red hair slicked up, clean shaven, blue-red flannel, jeans showin off his bubble butt... The door closes. You raise an arm to scratch the back of your neck. Your thick bicep strains the threads of your tshirt. "Great way to start a weekend, eh?" You say The boy looks down then towards you. "Sure is" He says quietly The bear cock thickens and you tell him your name. "I'm Matt" he responds "You were working harder than anyone in there today. What's driving that, man?" You ask as the door opens. "Just wanna get big" He says as you both exit the elevator. A pause "...like you" You smile and know it's on. "You free? I think I need to show you just how big I am" "I am" he responds The bear cock thickens *To Be Continued*?
Hey y'all. Another story here. Couple of things to lay out before getting started: This story is complete. I'm just posting it in 4-5 portions to keep it digestible, since it's pretty long. This story is going to end up in a different place than it begins. No one in this story is particularly nice or gets what they deserve. If you like stories about nice people finally getting their break, this one is not for you. Hope someone out there enjoys reading this as much as I fuckin' enjoyed writing it. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Final Part --- Logan Mitchell sawed off a piece of sumptuous steak and placed it daintily into his mouth, savouring the taste. It had been so long since he had tasted meat. He was celebrating, he needed this. “No,” he thought, “I don’t need to justify eating meat anymore.” He had just come off a bad breakup that had caused him to put his entire life into perspective. He’d been working for the last five years at a small tech startup that had consumed his life. They “worked hard, and played hard,” which mostly meant that he worked sixteen-hour days, six days a week, and got to wear a pink tie on Fridays. His girlfriend had gotten fed up with his not spending any time with her and dumped him, and then the week after a large tech giant bought the startup and restructured the entire original dev team out of the company which had left Logan both without work and without the girl who the work was getting in the way of. It was then that Logan decided his life needed a change. Both work and his girl had controlled him for too long. He was 27, and it was time that he did the things he wanted to do with his life. Luckily for him, he was able to leverage his past experience at his startup into a cushier gig at a more established company, with both a strict 9-5, and what looked like a relaxed management team. His mind reeled at the thought of all he could do with the extra 48 hours per week in his life. Having finished his steak, he looked at his reflection on the empty metal plate. He took his napkin and wiped the juices off to see himself better. Auburn-haired, 6’4”, with a deep-set brow and decent jawline. He had narrow eyes, but upon close inspection they revealed startlingly green irises. He was a catch, he told himself. He didn’t need that… that… that bitch. He needed to make an effort to spit it out, even in his head. Under his breath he tried again, “That… b-bitch. Bitch.” No more vegetarian diet. No more Sunday social justice rallies. No more acceding to her decisions on every wardrobe purchase. No more baby-faced-clean-shaven “I don’t like the way your stubble scratches my skin.” He drained the rest of his beer. No more “alcohol is for wife-beaters and hobos.” He was going to do what he wanted, and what he wanted, was to fuck every bimbo from Calhoun’s to O’Kelly’s looking for a one-night stand. So, he decided he’d better work on himself first to make sure they found him irresistible. He grinned into his reflection. No more moping, no more feeling sorry for himself. He was going to hit the gym first thing tomorrow morning. --- It was 5 am, and the gym was mostly empty, by choice as he was sure he was going to embarrass himself. The gym had always intimidated Logan, as his long hours sitting behind a desk had left him with a rather doughy physique. He was 160 lbs and his past few years of vegetarianism had done little to put real muscle on his naturally tall and slim figure. “The very definition of skinny-fat,” he thought, using the new knowledge he had learned from a night of scrolling through every bodybuilding and hardgainer website he could lay his eyes on. Scanning around, he instead found that only the most hardcore lifters in the gym were around at this time, and his jaw gaped in awe at the ripped physiques around him lifting incalculable weights all the way overhead, then letting hundreds of pounds of iron crash thunderously to the ground. The way those muscles moved and worked… fascinated him. A pang of regret hit him. If only he had even walked into a gym any time since high school, he was sure he’d have fallen into it by now. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. Eventually, his desire to work on himself managed to rip his eyes away. Using video links from a beginner’s routine, he started to teach himself how to do the exercises he had planned for the morning. He was only supposed to use the bar and easy weights, but he felt unsatisfied by the lack of challenge. He decided to add some weight, ahead of schedule. Feeling the resistance as his body worked… the sensation was euphoric. He loved every second of it. By the end of the workout he was sprawled out on the ground with his face to the sky, sweating buckets, the burning soreness hurting so good, his only regret that he needed to wait an entire day before he could do this again. As he showered off the cooling water on his burning up body washed away his fatigue and he began his workday with a focus he never knew he could muster. That day Logan ate like a madman, gorging himself on meat, potatoes and vegetables and sipping at protein shakes non-stop throughout the day. As soon as he went home, he went right back to researching workouts, diets and supplements that would help him reach his goal. “Thank god,” he thought, “for same-day shipping.” --- Two weeks later, after cleaning up from his fifth enormous meal of the day (“code compiling” time became “stuff his face” time twice a day now), he went to the bathroom to do his business. While washing his hands he noticed that his shirt didn’t quite sit on himself the same way. Looking up, he was startled to see his own face, bristling with two weeks of stubble growth. He ran his hands over his growing beard, feeling the hard bristles scratch against his skin. He looked good. “Fuckin’ good,” he corrected himself. He couldn’t swear at work, so he was still being careful, but he was cultivating a devil-may-care attitude for when he finally worked up the courage to head down to the bar and swim with the fishes. But seeing his face like this was a revelation, a new perspective. He’d been clean shaven all his adult years and didn’t realize how beard could shape his jaw just so, and make him seem, older, tougher, stronger. “I’m never going to shave again”, he resolved. He growled at himself, snarling to see how intimidating he could be, and the muscles of his neck tensed, drawing his attention down to his collar that seemed to rise a little bit more than before. He put his hand beneath his shirt and felt it – small hard mounds that had replaced the softness that had previously been there. Nowhere near the size and definition of any of the guys he stared at in his peripheral vision at 5 am every other day, but a far cry from the softness he had felt all over for years. Unable to resist, he pulled his shirt off over his head and looked at himself. He saw pecs. Pecs just on the verge of existing, where you can rub your chest and finally feel some flesh moving underneath. His suspicions confirmed, he donned his shirt again. He rubbed his stomach, still bulging a bit from all the food he had just ate, but quickly put that from his mind. He closed his eyes and summoned the testosterone within him. Imagining it coursing through his veins, addling his brain, giving him confidence. In his mind’s eye, his handsome face and shape clinched it. He was ready to head to the bar. “Whiskey, neat,” he demanded, for the fourth time straight. Just like the other three, he downed it in a single gulp. From his college years, he knew he needed a few to get the liquid courage going. Slamming the glass onto the bar, he looked up and scanned around the room. The busty babes seemed to glow in front of him. There! One was looking straight at him. Perfect. He flashed her an easy smile, then sauntered on over. Ten minutes later he was jamming his fuckrod down her throat in a bathroom stall. Waves of pleasure coursing through him, he tilted his head up, closed his eyes and sneered, his growing whiskers opening up to reveal his teeth in a cocky grin. He couldn’t believe how easy that had been. Before he could nod in her general direction and grunt “Yo, wanna fuck?” she had thrown herself onto his arm and they were off to the races. Granted, she wasn’t a bombshell, but what had he even been psyching himself up for? Thirty minutes later, he was done, but his ego demanded more. Three whiskeys later he was on his second lay of the night. Eventually, he blacked out, deliriously happy. The next morning, at 4 am, still buzzed and roaring with testosterone, he told the bitch to get out, made himself the breakfast of champions, and headed right to the gym, where he hit the weights harder than ever. --- Two weeks later, Logan found himself at a gun show upstate. He’d never fired a gun before, except in video games, years ago, before he’d been indoctrinated by his “we need more gun control, and violent video games cause serial killers” ex. Tripping on how much he had enjoyed rebelling against his former, meatless, beardless, tee-totalling self, he was raring to go on the rest of that guns and ‘merica shit. Glancing around the room he knew he had found his type. This is where the real men were – rugged, burly individualists who didn’t take shit from no one. He found himself a buddy in a redheaded giant of a man with a Van Dyke named Bronson, covered head-to-toe in 5.11 Tactical gear. After some good natured offensive jokes and back slaps, Logan found himself down several thousands of dollars and up a glock, an AR-15 rifle, and some tactical wear of his own. Now 180 lbs, he was finally starting to fit into the clothes he owned, which, tailored to more proportionate 6’4” guys, had always swamped him. Nevertheless, he had bigger plans and knew he’d be needing clothes made for beefier folk. After the show Bronson took him to the range and showed him how to shoot, and Logan fell in love with the loud crack of gunfire and the instantaneous destruction it caused on the other end. He loved the way the recoil kick of the shot would put tension on his frame and body. He resolved to come back once a week and fire to his heart’s content. “Yee-haw!” Bronson cried, “Next tahm, I’ll take ya huntin’! Shootin’s fun an’ all but there’s nothin’ like killin’ somethin’ an’ eatin’ it right there!” Logan salivated at the thought. They headed over to a nearby buffet and emptied it out between the two of them, before saying their goodbyes. Unfortunately, Bronson lived two hour’s drive in the opposite direction, so they wouldn’t be able to do much but meet at the range once in a while, but Logan had never before had a real buddy the way men do, who needed few words between them but could shoot and eat a horse together all the same. --- “An adult male weighs at least 200 pounds.” Logan had read Rippetoe’s words over and over again during he research, and no matter how the ladies grabbed at his muscles, after each personal record set in the gym, no matter how tight his clothes were feeling over his frame, in these long past three months he had never felt adequate because of this phrase. Stepping on the scale after his post-workout shower, his mind seized as he saw the number: 202.6. He ran over to the mirror, nearly bowling over an older man. His scowling, fully bearded face oozed aggression as he tensed every muscle, pumped as hell from the bodybuilding routine he had switched to after hitting his initial 225 lbs bench goal just last week. His eyes glanced at the frail man beside him, then back to himself. He roared and then exhaled powerfully in and out like a gorilla. No one would mistake him for a computer nerd now. In fact, at a company-wide meeting the day before, several of the new hires mistook him as the CEO of the company because of how much his simple presence dominated the room. Right after, he had a performance review with his manager where the portly, bespectacled man stammered and muttered his way through the interview before offering him the biggest raise of his life. No one questioned him about his changes over the past three months, as he was more focused and productive than ever. Sauntering into his workplace after yet another record-setting breakfast, he winked at the secretary who he’d laid just last week, filled his favourite mug with protein shake from the gallon jug of it he brought every day, then went to his desk, cracked his knuckles, and then had a thought. What he would do with a bit of extra time in his day… He had been enjoying his extra 48 hours a week immensely between the workouts, hunting, eating, binge drinking and fucking but he felt like he could be doing more. A lightbulb went off in his head – automation. For the rest of his day, he browsed Stack Exchange seeing which of his tasks were automatable and what it would take to do them, but it wasn’t easy. Still, he started to imagine what he could do with more “compiling time” in his day and looked forward to the challenge. The day flew by and he was on top of the world. Feeling high from his progress both on his body and at work, Logan stepped into the bar, downed a whiskey, and arrogantly scanned the room. He wasn’t looking for clearly flirty bimbo this time, he was looking for the most beautiful woman in the room. He found a trophy blonde, beelined for her, tilted her chin up towards him and demanded. “You. Me. Fuck. Now.” She giggled, seeming torn somehow, until Logan felt a tap on the shoulder and realized a jacked, stubbly frat boy building like a linebacker was looking up at him. The frat boy shoved himself between the babe and him and snarled. “She’s mine.” Logan sneered but before he could say anything a fist was flying at his face. He took a painful stab to the jaw and swung right back at his assailant’s abdomen. The frat boy tackled him to the ground and they wrestled it out, while a circle formed around them, yelling encouragement while the blonde fanned herself, living out a long-imagined fantasy of being fought over by two jacked-up studs. A bouncer came over but a bystander took a swing at him, and soon everyone in the circle had joined the fray. After thirty minutes of wrestling at each other, everyone else long since having dropped out, exhausted, Logan and the frat boy separated, and lay side by side laughing heartily. “Damn, fucker, you’re strong!” The frat boy picked himself up and offered a hand to Logan, “I’m Darryl. Yourself?” “I’m Logan. Fuck, man. Don’t I see you at Metroflex all the time?” This guy had been one of the ripped gymgoers Logan had been so intimated by three months ago. Sizing him up now, Darryl clearly still had twenty pounds on him, but on a 6’ frame that made him seem even more jacked. “Yeah dude. Join me for a smoke outside.” It was Logan’s first smoke, but he had grown to love the smell of tobacco at gun shows. He took deep drags that heightened his sensations and he found he could easily stomach a lung full of acrid smoke. He liked smoking. It made him feel tough. That night, the Darryl and his blonde, Candy, introduced Logan to the concept of a threesome, and Candy took both of their caveman dicks hungrily all night. Logan left that night satisfied by both a good fuck and by having found a new workout buddy. --- The next morning, Logan and Darryl met up for their workout and Darryl had a little locker room secret to show him: steroids. Darryl was juiced to the gills for the varsity team and needed to start selling to help pay his monthly costs. Logan didn’t need a second thought – instantly money changed hands and they jabbed each other in preparation for what Darryl promised was going to be a mindblowing workout. Starting to get pumped even before beginning, Logan licked his lips in anticipation. It was better than he could have ever imagined. Aggression pumping through his brain, seeing red. Logan roared with each rep, smashing each of his previous lifts by thirty pounds each. His pump was so rock hard and ready to burst that he could feel himself squeezing, growing out of his skin each time he flexed in the mirror, hair matted with sweat, wild eyes and a toothy grin peeking through his full beard looking like a wild beast. “The fuckin’ best part?” Darryl remarked cockily, “on gear you can lift every day. You’ve been around every other day, I know, but you haven’t seen me on your off days since you’re so fuckin’ consistent. It’s time for you to bless this gym daily now. Every. Fuckin’. Day.” Afterwards, Logan treated Darryl to an all-you-can-eat buffet for breakfast. By this point, Logan barely went to any other kind of eating establishment, and even Darryl could barely believe how much Logan could eat: thirty strips of bacon, sixteen eggs, eight pieces of toast slathered in butter, three bowls of plain Greek yogurt and eighteen sausages, washed down with six glasses of milk. They parted ways and Logan growled, still raring to go. At work, for the first time ever, Logan couldn’t keep focused. He decided it was time to pull the trigger on his automated scripts. As they ran, he did pushups, dips, pistol squats, anything and everything that came to mind. Once the first script was complete, he found that with the extra exercise he had settled down a bit and could sit down and complete tasks that required his full attention. Every couple of hours he would find himself filling back up with pent up energy. So once again he’d run one of his scripts, workout or eat in the meanwhile, then come back with enough of a clear mind to keep working. By the end of the day he was calm enough to do more complex tasks and so he had a new routine established.