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  1. Hialmar

    no sex Selected

    Selected Don't struggle lad. Resistance is futile. I will not let you down, but rest assured, that I don't mean any harm. Will you just relax, while I carry you over my shoulder, to ... Huge? Yes, I know: My shoulders are huge. Yes, like an ultra-wrestler or a Hyper Guard. You watch ultra-wrestling shows a lot, don't you? How I know? Well, to begin with, you have spent most of your life in Area F. Ultra-wrestling shows are not particularly popular among earners in Area E or entertainers in Area B, and the shareholders in Area A are able to send for entertainment in a private setting, if they want to. I know. Not everyone in Area F, but you are not your Nan. Secondly, I abducted you because you have been selected, and the profile of the selected ones often includes a likeliness of watching ultra-wrestling, so that's why I know. Selected to what? I don't know if you have heard any of the rumours – there are so many rumours circulating out there: Some of them ... Sorry, I have to take care of this ... Yes, the lift descends. Illegal hideouts of criminals and the deserted underground are not the only things down there. Tell you? I have no obligations to tell you anything, sport, but if it makes it easier to undergo The Process, I am allowed to reveal a few basic facts. It's not like you would be able to tell anyone else, until you have undergone The Process yourself. Not want to? This is not a matter of what you want or not. It is a matter of what The Corporation deem you suitable for. You should be happy: After this, you will leave Area F, and you will no longer die of diabetes, obesity or cholera like all those other residents of Area F will probably do. A diet of Nutri-Cheap, surplus whitebread and soda isn't helpful in the long run, and hadn't it been for the free lunches at the Sikh gurdwara and the Catholic vegetable foodbanks, I wonder how people in Area F had survived at all. Sorry, I have to press these buttons, to ... So. Where was I? Stop hitting my back like that. It's useless. As you probably know, The Corporation owns all information about which TV programmes you watch and which websites you browse. Since your ability to spend on consumer goods is low, information about you and your neighbours is of course less valuable, than similar information about residents in Area B, C or E, but it may help the Board to decide if any consumer match the profiles for recruitment to earner-status, extended abortion (up to the seventy-second trimester), euthanasia in advance (from the age of 18) or selection to Processing. Kill you? No one will kill you. You have been selected for The Process. As I tried to explain earlier ... wait ... Sit down, and take your shirt off. I'll explain while I cut your hair. Just take your shirt off and sit down. No need to look surly. If it makes you feel better, I'll let you know, that I went through all the things you go through now. Yes, really. I grew up in Area F, too, and The Process saved my life. I don't give a fuck about how you prefer your hair. Sit. It has to go. Have you any favourite ultra-wrestlers? Stud Brawn? Yeah, lot's of people like him. What do you think about Mega-Mass? Yes. Yes. A lot of people say that about him. Now. What would you say, if I told you, that there's a reason why ultra-wrestlers and Hyper Guards look like they do? No, it's not just steroids. Conventional steroids alone wouldn't cause that level of mass, even on the genetically gifted, and have you noticed, that they are able to stay fat-free and with low water-retention 24/7 all the year round? Like these. Yes, I like my forearms, too. You're allowed to call it a miracle if you want to, but The Process is real, and The Corporation use similar, but not identical, versions of it on those who are selected. Some become Hyper Guards, other become ultra-wrestlers and some, like me, stay in the production line between Selection and Process. Have you ever heard those tales about the Ghost Van of Area F? Yeah. I grew up with the same stories. They have been around for awhile. Some ghost stories were probably around before Hyper Guards and ultra-wrestlers existed, and not everyone rumoured to have been taken by the Ghost Van where abducted for The Process, but a fair amount of those whose disappearance is blamed on the Ghost Van were probably brought away because the had been selected. Look in that mirror. Not so bad, is it? Buzzcut suits you. Don't blush. Legend says, that in the past, The Corporation selected subjects regardless of if the subjects feared The Process or if it was likely, that they would readily accept it, but the fear caused some subjects to die or become mentally damaged by the process. For a short while, The Corporations used surveys, but the candidates didn't answer the surveys truthfully. Today, selection is entirely automatic, and based on the psychological profile. The selection program wouldn't have selected you if it wasn't probable, that you would unconsciously cooperate with The Process. Follow me. Because I will give you the preparation treatment. Oh come on! You can shout at me all day, and deny that you want it, but that bulge in your trousers and your blush betray you. You are welcome. Some people have called me much worse things. This way. Yes, I know, but it's real. I'm not interested in that. This is just how The Corporation works. I'm not a shareholder, so why should I have an opinion? Someone need to keep people safe, and it's nice to watch a show, so both Hyper Guards and ultra-wrestlers are needed to keep The Corporation running. Keep dreaming. Wouldn't happen. This is how it is. Even if you had a choice, would you really want to return to that drone life with bad flats, unhealthy food, bad tapwater and street crime? Negative. Take it easy, or I have to force this needle. So. Nothing to worry about. Yes. That first reaction comes quickly, but it will feel even better within twenty minutes or so. Drink this. Still reluctant? Drink this and think of Stud Brawn. There you go! Feel good? Yeah. Most of the lads tell me that after their shot and their cup. I felt good, too. We are going to the Process Pod. Each of the selected enter their pod individually, and when their Process has begun they are connected to the collective network of the selected. Don't worry. You don't need to understand in order to undergo it. Just relax. Yes, I can hear you. Even when the lid is closed, I will hear your voice from the loudspeaker on the outside. Yes, it's good. Lots of selected units agree with you. Hard and horny? You're not the first. What did you say? That's because I'm moving your pod to the main hall. Easy. Easy, sport. You are bigger already, if you want to know. Just relax. The network will speed it up. You will join us. You will become one of us. Don't worry. You are allowed to enjoy it. Just relax. Connect to the network.
  2. 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:–-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
  3. Hialmar

    no sex Second thoughts

    Second thoughts When Charles' second thoughts began to dawn, it was too late. The company. The offer. It all sounded so great. Presumably exaggerated, because of the way salesmen talk. The offer to have the treatment payed for by a future employer, if any such materialized after the treatment, and otherwise having the treatment at a discount, payed by himself once a month over two years. Affordable. Possible. The effects probably exaggerated, but if half of the effects were true, Charles' life would improve. Not so shy in the gym anymore – presumably. But now ... The interview had caused him to blush. Too personal questions. The Lab... looking like it tried very hard to give the impression of being a set from a sci-fi film. And now. Now, when it all was becoming reality... He found out, that he wanted to get out of the cylindric glass tank. Floating inside it, almost naked, just wearing posing trunks. Green, warm and luminous liquid surrounding him. Luminous ... perhaps dangerous? Floating in it. IV-tubes in the crooks of his arms: Two chemicals dripping ... almost pumped into his system. The mask over his mouth and nose supplying him with oxygen. Oxygen and ... and something else? His childish fantasies about cylinder-shaped growth tanks ... His childish fantasies about Bane and venom ... Like the company had delivered exactly what he wanted, and he had begun to realize, that he didn't want it ... not in reality, only as a treasured fantasy ... because reality was scary, and would have a real impact on his life ... What would his colleagues at the office say if he ... Second thoughts. Out. Stop the process. To get out of the growth-tank. To return to his familiar, normal, boring life. To... The effects. He could feel them. Surrounded by the warm liquid. Floating weightless in the middle of the tank. More ... embodied. More ... present. Cupping and squeezing his biceps. Hard biceps. Bigger biceps. Veiny biceps. Couldn't believe ... Not what he had expected. More, than he had expected. Felt good, actually, but this level of brawn wouldn't suit his worklife well... Bad for career. Needed to get out. Had committed a mistake. Bad decision. Allowed daydreams to run amok. Hadn't expected this much difference. This much change. This ... this transformation. The feeling of his chest. Pecs growing beefier at an almost visible speed. Cupped his pec. Flexed. It jumped in his hand. Hard slab of meat. Full. Imposing. He could feel his manhood expand inside his posing trunks. His chest feeling hefty. Chiselled and beefy. Different than before. Different. Better. Beefier. Brawnier. Not like before. Him. Brawnier. God! Felt so hard. All of him: muscles, dick, mind. So hard. Tubes in his arms: Pumped into his system. Pumped muscles. Dick pumping. His mind pumped up, because the testo ... the testo levels ... He was becoming a testosterone-factory. Yeah! His entire system. His entire body ... was a testosterone factory now. More than he asked for. He had to ... He had to get out ... He had to... He had to embrace the experience, revel in his newfound mass, and take it all in, and becoming ... O fuck, yes! His hand – bigger now – caressed his six-pack. Rockhard, steelhard well-defined six-pack with deep, deep valleys between each of the ... He emitted a moan inside his mask, and inhaled the formula deeper. Yes! Deeper! Into his entire system! Pump him full! His temples pounded. His skin covering his entire sculpted and bulging gym-physique bristled and tingled pleasantly. Buzzed. Feeling his muscles growing at visible speed. Bigger than ... Uh! Anabolic state. Shedding all fat. Visible muscle definition. Luminous liquid. Crackling and buzzing. Like his entire body was connected to a power-current. Not a painful power-current. Not like an electric shock, but rather like ... Uh! Like... Oh, fuck! Like gamma radiation in the comics was real, and that he... FUCK! SO GOOD! Power into him. Power through him. Empowering his strength. So strong now. Power that... Uh! BECOMING power! And the gas still hissing ... What had he thought... Lost his thoughts earlier? Something ... well, yes, had to get out because ... yes, why? No reason to get out. Wouldn't miss this for anything. Wanted more! MORE of the two serums in his veins. MORE of the gas in his lungs. MORE of the power-current. MORE of this feeling of being a testosterone-factory. More of endlessly increasing muscle mass. Become beef! Become brawn! Become ... Chuck felt good. He was becoming what he was destined to. Biggest bloke in the gym. Chuck never skip leg day. Able to focus his training aggression. What matters in life: Workouts. He and the weights. And to show off before those who want to worship his mass. Mmmm. Zapped by the growth-tank to become even bigger, brawnier, beefier. His jockboy bod. Show off. Feel the satisfaction when his worshippers realise that he is superior. The dominant Alpha in the room. Have his biceps licked by worshippers. Ummmm. Yes! The growth-tank: continuing the process, increasing the process, becoming a testo-factory. Pumped into his system. Pumped muscles. Dick pumping. His mind pumped up, because the testo level... Breathing in more GROWTH. Inhaling beefiness. Power into him. Power through him. Empowering his strength. Stronger. BECOMING power! POWER HOUSE! Chuck big! I'll show you fukkers, who's Alpha! Wait until I get out, and I'll show you, but not yet, not yet, because he was still growing bigger. Transforming into something even more ... Uh! Yeah! Look at me! So fucking good! Feel good to turn into titan jockhood beyond reason. So he had to stay inside the growth-tank to become ... to become ... what his new employer wanted him to become. Yeah. So he would be able to dominate his new employer, the way both of them wanted. Built by steel-hard spheres now: Bowling ball shoulders, volley ball biceps, medicine ball pecs, bullneck and insane traps, his quads forcing his legs wide, wide apart ... Yeah! Wider! Arms forced upwards by his meaty, beefy, intimidating lats... Yeah! Look at me! This is how perfection looks like! Testo-factory... Chuck big! Chuck biggest jockboy there is! Chuck can feel his own power! Feel how he increases! Feel how ... uh ... power pumped into him, to become ... become his new employer's Dominator. All muscle mass. Feel good to dumb down. The more old memory seeps out of Chuck's mind, the bigger Chuck becomes. Yes! Bigger! MAKE ME BIGGER! The BIGGERMOST dumb jockboy in the world! I'll show you my strength, and let you choke on my ... Beef lad. Steel titan. Power mass. Pure strength. Mass monster. Yeah. This is... This is... my real me. You just let me out of that insignificant little scrawny one... can't remember... Always been Chuck. Chuck enjoys lifting. Chuck never skip leg day. Look at me bro! Look at me nerds, and tremble! Strength pumped into my system. Pumped muscles. Dick pumping. My mind pumped up, because the testo level... Breathing in more GROWTH. Inhaling beefiness. Power into me. Power through me. Empowering my strength. Stronger. BECOMING power! POWER HOUSE! This is what you wanted to turn me into? Think so? I'll tell you, you scrawny wankers, watch me! THIS! This is what I always was supposed to be. Because I'm Chuck, and Chuck is the ... Uh! Fuck! Yeah! More! Yeah, I like when you increase it like that. Yeah: INCREASE! Beef lad. Steel titan. Power mass. Pure strength. Mass monster. The dumb Alpha jock you asked for. The BIGGERMOST dumb Alpha jockboy in the world! BIGGERMOST! POWERBRAWN ALPHA! STEELTITAN ALPHA! ULTRA-PUMPED DOMINATOR! CHUCK PURE BEEF NOW! PUMP MORE OF IT INTO ME! PUMP MORE OF IT INTO ... Oh, fuck ... PUMP MORE OF IT ... Can't belive.... Look at my biceps... PUMP MORE OF.... Uh! Uh! Oh! It's ... mass... beef ... I'm ... PUMP MORE.... The testo ... you can't imagine... PUMP... The strength, it's ... PUMP... Insane power ... I'm ... PUMP... PUMP... PU-
  4. Hialmar

    no sex Hypermarines

    Preface My usual sort of stuff. Nothing particularly original, but I want to share it with those of you who share my particular taste. Hypermarines He was sitting with the others in the waiting-room, if that was the proper word for it. Cubbyhole would have been more suitable. One bench each against two of the walls, a closed entrance and a closed exit in the other two walls, that's all, so he and the other recruits were sitting fairly close to each other, like they did during transport: the knees of four of them not far from the knees of the other four. The olive-green t-shirt hung in a rather loose-fitting way on him – on most of them, actually. The recruiter had tried to say something about the desirability of a process enhancing Ectos, thus increasing the usefulness of The Procedure, but he hadn't listened particularly attentively. The possibility – but not a guarantee, oh no, not a guarantee: that had been emphasized several times, both from mouth to ear and by the clauses, full of dread-instilling legal English, in the Form they had had to sign. ... -The possibility of physical improvement beyond the limits, he had faced in the gym, attracted him to The Project, the enticing allure causing at least 50% of the information to be lost on him. He began to feel warm in his olive-green loose-fitting t-shirt, and the fabric was slightly moist of his sweat. The serums and compounds ... Circulating inside him now. Too late, if he had changed his mind, but he hadn't. The serums and chemical compounds, the weeks building up for today's Procedure, the IVs and the injections – the sum effect of them all must be behind this heat, his beading sweat inside the t-shirt. Williams and West sat on each side of him. Williams' t-shirt wasn't loose-fitting: Williams' stout, short, wide and overweight shape was the reason why the recruiters had picked him: The Agency was eager to know the effect of The Procedure on Endos, too. West's t-shirt wasn't loose-fitting either: The sight of West's chestnut-coloured beefy pecs and chiseled abs in the common shower had caused some of the other recruits to feel inadequate and uncomfortable, badly disguised under friendly banter. In the beginning, he had worried about the risk of too much competitiveness among his fellow recruits, but they had early on agreed, that they had to cooperate in order to make the best out of this opportunity. West was allright. So was Williams, who'd got the nickname Tank from the other recruits. He felt fond of Williams and West and the five others: Brothers in arms. Sharing all these experiences with each other. Reliable lads in a situation. Good men. Invisible ties binding them together, and today, and after today, the shared experience of ... of what would happen next. Happen soon. He touched the unfamiliar and slightly unsettling presence of the little metallic shunt valve and the electronic port, both of them in the nape of his neck. Unfamiliar. Unsettling. Why would they need those two? Best not bother. They were needed for The Procedure. The cubbyhole full of the scent of moth-repellant rising from their wide camo-trousers. The cubbyhole full of the scent of the scent of shoe polish ... their glossy army boots ... a few sizes too large army boots, for some reason. The cubbyhole full of the scent of male sweat. Sweat after workouts. Worried sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Some scent of pre-cum, too. Who would think about girls now, in a situation like this? Perhaps not thoughts about girls. Perhaps the effect of the serum. The compounds. Inside them. Already causing them to change. Already begun. Already increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones he hadn't heard about before, and didn't bother to remember. Increasing. He could feel his dick awake. Despite some lingering fear and second thoughts, the expectation on The Procedure – if it was as good as the recruiters had said – spread arousal in his body. Not the same body as three weeks ago. Three weeks of bootcamp had sky-rocketed his stamina. He wasn't probably much beefier now, strictly speaking, than three weeks ago, but his strength had improved surprisingly fast, his remaining fat had burned away, and his stamina ... He shuddered in delight. He hadn't undergone The Procedure, yet, but his stamina was already beyond his old imagination. Moth-repellants. Shoe polish. Dogtags. Wide camo-trousers. Necks of his army boots snugly pressed around his ankles. Sweat. Brothers in arms. Pre-cum. Because they were primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Williams and West so close to him on each side. Brothers. Together ... The exit door into the Test Chamber opened by someone in a hazmat suit, waving to them, inviting them into the Test Chamber. He hadn't seen it before. Only heard about it at the briefing. They were deep under the surface. Granite rock walls. Floor coated in concrete. There were contrapments: Metal structures, cables insulated in rubber, hoses in different shapes and materials. The men in the hazmat suits began to place every recruit in his respective station. He laid down on a metal bench coated with black rubber and a removable paper blanket. There was a foot-plate at the foot end of the bench, and one of the hazmat guys moved the bench, so that he half-stood, half-rested on the bench at an angle of about 45°. They locked sockets around his hands, and sturdy cables ran from his two sockets to some equipment in the granite wall, together with cables leading to the other recruits' sockets. He had noticed a rectangular hole in his bench where his head was supposed to rest, and he could now feel the hazmat guys connect something to his electronic port and his shunt valve. Unfamiliar. Unsettling. Connected to the equipment in four ways now. Trapped. Second-thoughts? Second-thoughts. Hazmat guys opening two or three buttons of his fly, without opening the upper button or his belt. Pulling his dick out. A hose surrounding his dick. Connected to the equipment in five ways now. Trapped. Fluttering in his stomach. Too late for regret now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside him. The compounds. Inside him. Already causing him to change. Already begun. Already increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he was primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... The light faded slightly. The hazmat guys had already left. Lead-coated armoured doors sunk hydraulically over the entrance of the recruits and the exit of the guys in hazmat suits. They were abandoned now. Isolated from the rest of the world. Probably observed – nay, certainly observed – from somewhere else by observers, for whom they were not individuals, just anonymous test subjects, expendable specimens for the sake of science or defence. He was connected to The Machine now, they all were. Each of them were connected in the same way – one silvery hose, one black rubbery hose, two thick cables and a thin wire all leading to each test subject, each specimen, each recruit. There was nothing they could do now, just wait for The Procedure. Trapped. Fluttering in his stomach. Too late for regret now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside them. The compounds. Inside them. Already causing them to change. Already begun. Already increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because they were primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... CONTACT! When his brain connected to The Machine he startled. Being handled as a piece of meat on the slab, as the hazmat-clad men had connected his body to The Machine earlier, had been intrusive enough, but he had managed, because he had signed up to The Project. When his brain connected to The Machine, the level of intrusiveness multiplied. SOMETHING was doing SOMETHING to his mind, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Sweat trickled from his brow and under his olive-green t-shirt. The remaining light in the room took on a beige hue. His ears were buzzing and tinkling. Far, far away, he could hear the voices of two or three young men groan in pain, and far, far away, he could hear the sound of gushing liquid, and the back of his head felt strangely wet, and yet not wet. He could feel a strange pressure build in the back of his head, inside his spine and in his blood vessels. His hands were locked into the sockets, and he was unable to touch the nape of his neck. Dizzy. SOMETHING was doing SOMETHING to his mind. Buzzing and tinkling. His awareness tumbling into the buzzing and tinkling. The room fading away. Fading into light. Dizzy, but feeling better. Better and comfortably warm. Feeling present inside himself. Inside Recruit Number Five. Yeah. That's him: The improving Recruit Number Five. No regret left now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside him. The compounds. Inside him. The added Anabolic Formula. Inside him. Already causing him to change. Already begun. Already increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... The power streaming through him. Into him from his hands, from the sockets. Power sockets. Connected to The Machine. Part man. Part Machine. Connected. Power into him. Streaming. Through him. Through his body. Through his growing, hardening muscles. Felt good. So good. Growing, hardening muscles. Muscle-stimulating power. Uh! Yes! Reacting. The content in his blood vessels and muscles reacting to the Power streaming into him, streaming through him. The serum reacting to the Power. Inside him. The compounds reacting to the Power. Inside him. The added Anabolic Formula reacting to the Power. Inside him. Causing him to change. Already begun. Increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Yeah. Recruit Number Five. Heat. Good heat. His body. Serum in his body. Compund in his body. Formula in his body. Power-stream in his body. Warm. Felt good. Felt stronger. His upper arms swole, rubbing against his lats. Wider back. Deeper chest. Dogtags in pec ravine. YEAH! Pec ravine! Harder abs. Harder. Warmer. More present. Physically present. Heavily present. Wide legs inside his camo-trousers. Quads. Hamstrings. Calves. Necks of his glossy army boots snugly pressed around his ankles. Recruit Number Five! Big, obedient, patriotic grunt! Yeah! He loved to be Recruit Number Five. To please superior officers. To use his INCREASED strength and ENHANCED prowess together with his brothers in arms. For the sake of his brothers in arms. To prove himself. To feel ... to feel ... this feeling of ultra-masculinity in his entire body. Entire body. Entire mind. Well-programmed test subject. Eager to be well-programmed. Eager to become enhanced. Eager to improve. Eager to increase in MUSCLE MASS. Yeah! His brothers in arms also adapted to The Procedure. Williams had been wide. He was still wide. He was wider. But his belly was melting away, and was replaced by a parapet of uncrushable well-defined abs. Williams was taller, but still wider than tall. He had been called Tank before. Now he WAS Tank. Becoming Recruit Number Four. West's already handsome physique had become brawnier. Also taller, and his eyes were turned upwards in his eyesockets as he experienced the anabolic bliss of The Procedure. Becoming Recruit Number Six. The other Ectos ... Ectos no more ... Y-shaped and chiseled giants with powerful chins reclined at their 45° metal benches, writhing in pleasure as they eagerly accepted their mental and physical reprogramming. YEAH! Mental and physical reprogramming!!! They were turning into good recruits, in the blue-tinted light. They were all turning into good recruits, under the impact of the POWER. The fabric of their olive-green t-shirts struggled to keep their bulging muscles inside, and he could feel his own t-shirt cling moistly and slightly uncomfortably tight around his powerful muscles. It was just a matter of seconds. His t-shirt and the others' t-shirts began to give in at the seams, and ripping sounds soon echoed in the granite chamber, while men moaned, equipment hummed unrelentingly, and additional amounts of the Anabolic Formula were pumped into their systems. Forced into them. Forcing them to ... YES! Additional amounts of the Anabolic Formula! More! Recruit Number Five needed more! And, as if it had read his mind, The Machine increased the amounts of Anabolic Formula and the energy level of the growth-inducing humming Power. The gushing sound. The louder humming. Buildup of Power inside him, inside them. The sensation of growing further: Bigger! Taller! Wider! Harder! Chiselled! Unstoppable! Men, who were more than men, were part Machine. Men, stimulated into unfathomable and insane levels of ultra-masculinity, began to bellow in a mix of pain, aggression and extreme aroused pleasure, as they crossed the threshold to titanhood. The scent of male sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Sweat-beads on exposed, hard beefy chests in the blue transformative light. Blue transformative light. Forming such flattering shadows on their chests and abdomens. Flattering shadows tracing the shapes of their orange-sized abs, their medicine-ball-sized pecs (where their dogtags dangled) and their bowlingball-sized shoulders. The scent of shoe-polish from glossy army boots, now of the desired size. The scent of moth-repellants. Once wide camo-trousers, now clinging to the expanding granite-pillars, that now were their legs. Yes! His Quads. Growing bigger and harder. His Hamstrings. Growing bigger and harder. His Calves. Growing bigger and harder. Quads and hamstrings pushing his legs apart ... apart, forcing him to adjust his stance. Bootclad legs ... wider apart! Confident stance. Asserting stance. Mass-monster-stance. The feeling of having steel-hard muscles. Steel-hard muscles everywhere. Ready to spring into violent action for King and Country! Recruit Number Five loved his transformation, and he knew, that his brothers in arms loved their's, too. They were abandoned now. Isolated from the rest of the world. Different from all other men. They had become more. More than the hazmat guys. More than ordinary men. More than ordinary infantry, or Marines or Seals. More than ultra-masculine men. Sharing all these experiences with each other. Reliable lads in a situation. Good men. Invisible ties binding them together, today, and after today. Writhing in pleasure as they eagerly accepted their mental and physical reprogramming. Moaning and bellowing. The dry scent of power-emissions. Muscle-stimulating power. The dry scent of ever INCREASING power-emissions. INCREASING muscle-stimulating power. Wide legs inside his camo-trousers... Bulging chest... His biceps... so fucking hard, huge biceps... Bullneck... Oh, fuck! So much! Almost too much! More! He... Harder. Warmer. More present. Physically present. Even bigger! Taller! Even wider! Harder! Chiselled! Yes! Huge! Becoming ... Uh! ... HUGE! Together. HUGE TOGETHER. His brothers in arms. All the Recruits. Recruits together. Growing together. Transforming together. Crossing all limits together. The serum. Inside them. Reacting to INCREASED POWER! The compounds. Inside them. Reacting to INCREASED POWER! Increasing dose of Anabolic Formula. Reacting to ... Uh! Oh, fuck! Reacting to... INCREASED POWER! Causing them to change into... Increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones to MAXIMUM. Because they had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Oh, fuck! Couldn't believe... Yeah! Obedient patriotic Recruit love to grow! MAXIMUM level! Oh, fuck! So much! Almost too much! More! He... Harder. Titanium Titan! The pleasure! It... MY BRAWN! LOOK AT MY BULGIN' BRAWN! Enticing allure. Male sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Pre-cum. So good! Couldn't... The serum. Inside them. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! The compounds. Inside them. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! Supreme dose of Anabolic Formula. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! Reacting to... MAXIMUM POWER! Causing them to change into... Increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones to MAXIMUM. Because they had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed to become ... become ... Become ... Become ... HYPERMARINES
  5. garrix

    mind-control Unstoppable

    My first story submission on here. Chapter 1: “I can’t stop growing” Jonas muttered between mouthfuls. My mouth was hanging open in disbelief ,I was giving the strangest interview of my life. The man in front of me was this overly-muscled, hairy, half-naked monster. The same guy who only a year or ago had been a top player of a New York City gay kickball league and maybe 180 lbs at best. Now he was enormous, closed off and holed up in his Brooklyn apartment. Jonas hadn’t shaved in weeks, his dark hair had grown long, flowing onto his rounded shoulders. And he sat there in only tight boxer briefs, his bloated, heavy muscles on full display. Normally I’d be turned on by a massively muscular guy, by this monumental hypermasculinity, but instead I was growing concerned. Here was a man who had ballooned up into a massive roided bear of a man in one year, seemingly in denial about it. From a respectable athletic guy into a freakishly beefy offseason mess in one year! “All I’ve seen you do since I got here is eat” I replied. “You’ve been eating non-stop since I got here almost an hour ago.” “I can’t stop. You don’t understand, it’s not a choice.” He replied in frustration. Jonas looked like he was eating some sort of thick gruel, but he assured me it was oatmeal and protein powder. He apologized for his shirtlessness, claiming he was too big for his clothes.. I was tempted to believe him. His once lean build was now so overblown, roided out to an almost grotesque degree that I was amaze he still fit in his apartment. Jonas’ hairy and ample muscle gut sat in his lap as he ate. Massive, fur covered pecs loomed over it, looking like heavy slabs of muscle. His tremendously muscular arms tensed and flexed with each movement. I imagined he had to weigh somewhere north 300 lbs by now. In my whole life I had scarcely seen a man as large. I was a part time writer covering gay sport events for the New Gotham Weekly, a local gay publication. Sports had always been a little passion of mine, and I figure this would be a fun and light side-job. Something to do in my spare time. I had actually met Jonas when he lead his kickball team marching in pride two years back, when he was a different man. He was popular, a 20-something handsome gay boy with jet black hair and a permanent Five O’Clock shadow. He could have stepped right out of some telenovela. And then I met him again when his team won the big kickball division match.I even made a little feature about it. And before all this, he was so classically good looking. When I heard that “hot Jonas” had dropped out of kickball to do bodybuilding it piqued my interest. I decided that I wanted to know what had happened to him. Sightings of him last year in town confirmed that the one-time 180 pound scenester had developed into a serious bodybuilder, and he continued to get bigger and bigger as the months went by. But it had been about 6 months since anyone had even seen him out or heard a word from him. He had cut off communication with his friends, his family. No one knew what was going on. Only the most minimal of communication had been returned. Someone told me he was “concentrating on his bodybuilding career”. That's when I came in. I found his email and I contacted him saying I wanted to interview him, thinking it might be interesting to do a story about a former leading kickball player who’d turned to bodybuilding, and write a bit about life as a bodybuilder, maybe he’d look hot with all the extra muscle, I thought- but I had no idea what I was getting into. Jonas was now this enormous shut-in. He had apparently quit his job, stopped talking to friends, stopped using facebook and only left his cramped one bedroom in Brooklyn to hit the gym. And here I showed up thinking this would be some sweet little puff piece about a particularly sexy ex-kickballer turned bodybuilder. Jonas looked me right at me with these soulful eyes when I asked him about his disappearance from the scene. “I couldn’t explain to people what was happening to me. I couldn’t explain why I had to go home, why I had to go to the gym. My friends were freaking out about the changes, but no one could stop it from happening. The nagging, the comments, it just made everything worse. I couldn’t be around those people anymore, it was too… stressful.” Jonas shifted his substantial weight and lifted his hulking body out of the chair. He lumbered towards the fridge to grab something else to eat. He pulled out a prepared meal of rice and chicken and began shoveling food again. “How long have you been living like this?” I asked. “It started a little over a year ago. It wasn’t serious at first, I thought. I just started eating all the time and my training went into overdrive. I really liked the muscle I put on the first few months. But then the injections started” “Injections?” I asked “Yes, injections. And that's when I really started blowing up. I felt like I was growing larger every day. I stopped liking it. I stopped wanting to get bigger. Right around the time I hit 220 I realized I was getting too big even for kickball. I tried to stop growing, I did everything I thought of, but I can’t stop. Nothing can make me stop” “If you don’t like it, why’d you continue with the injections?” “I told you already” he said, flustered, “I can’t stop” I scribbled some notes to look busy, buying time. “Are you going to try and compete?” I asked sheepishly. I saw a little hint of temper rise up in his eyes “You don’t understand. I don’t want this, I never wanted this” he said, gesturing down at his massive pecs. His rounded shoulders bulged and flexed with each movement of his arms. Jonas was still eating and I was more puzzled than ever. “If you don’t want to get bigger... why do you keep eating?” I asked again, halfheartedly expecting a different response. “Listen, This is not possible. I don’t control this, like I said. I’m eating but I can’t stop. it won’t stop.” That's when I started feeling a little alarmed. I was tempted to try something, but I was unsure how’d he react. “Well what if I…” I said, reaching over to grab the tupperware out of his hands. His huge, powerful build immediately shifted and pulled away, out of my reach. “No, even if you tried, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking it back.” No doubt, I thought. This man could crush me in a fight. I sat there trying to let his words weigh on me. What I had halfheartedly expected to be a small, potentially fun fluff piece about a former gay kickball captain was turning into something else entirely. His compulsion, this all-consuming obsession with eating and lifting, could it really be entirely outside of his own mental control? I paused for a moment and an unsettling silence hung in the air of that stale apartment. “Have you seen a psychologist?” I asked in a gentle tone. “It wouldn’t do any good” he quickly snapped back. “This is not a natural thing, this is a curse.” Jonas had finished scarfing down his meal and sat up quickly to grab more food. I couldn’t help but be surprised by how quickly a man of his size moved. “You’re going to outgrow that kitchen” I said to him half jokingly, hoping to lighten the tone. “I’m outgrowing everything.” He sounded deadly serious. “I have no clothes that fit me anymore. I can’t run anymore and everything feels smaller.I don’t know when this is going to stop.” “If you’re upset about getting bigger, why haven’t you seen a doctor about it? Or a phscolo…” “I told you already” he interrupted. It’s just not going to happen.” He sounded more defeated than angry. “Ok, just tell me how you got into this lifting then” I asked patiently. I never thought i’d actually sit for a serious interview for my part time job. “I’ve been lifting for years. But this. All this… “ Jonas said, gesturing at his huge build. “This started last year. I met a man, an older guy. We were out at a bar. A big guy, muscular, older. We were chatting in the bar. I admired his muscles and then he told me he’d love to see me bulk up. I thought it was a weird comment so I just started to ignore him. He was really persistent, telling me he wanted to see me get huge and all this weird stuff. I mean, I liked his arms, he must have noticed, but then he just latched on. I don’t know what happened, but not long after I noticed I was eating a lot. It was subtle at first, but I just found myself eating, and cooking and I started taking up lifting seriously. I don’t know what he did to me. I still can’t figure out how he did it to me, but he’s made me like this.” Jonas had a seriousness to his voice that startled me. Here in front of me was a gargantuan overfed, overgrown bodybuilder who I knew was lifting on his own and eating endlessly on his own, and yet, there was a total conviction in what he said. He didn’t own any responsibility for his current actions, something that made me worry for his own mental state. “So if you quit your job, how are you paying for this apartment and all this food?” Jonas paused a little before taking another swig of a protein shake. “I have a donor, he’s paying rent. I get food delivered.” “Who’s the donor. Is it the guy you met? the older gentleman?” “I…. I might be saying too much.” He muttered. Then Jonas leaning his bulky torso in close to mine. I felt the heat coming off his huge body. “Listen” he whispered “I don’t want anything else to happen. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this.” When I felt his powerful arm against my shoulder I got chills down my spine. This man was huge, and probably out of his mind. I took that as my queue to leave. The guy had gone insane with steroids. That was the only conclusion I could think of. I thanked Jonas for his time and I politely mentioned that I would never publish anything without his approval, fully knowing that I had nothing to run anyway. Headline: Young gay man gets addicted to steroids, loses his fucking mind. Nah, that wouldn’t work. I headed back home to finish a little feature about Roller Derby girls. I had to get back to my real job too. I tried to shrug off the encounter with Jonas and go about my work that week, but on Thursday, a full week later, I got an email from him. He wanted another interview. “I have to tell you what's happening because, I don’t know what's going to happen to me. Lets meet this weekend.” I wanted to ignore it. This Jonas kid was blown up so big that he go into a rage and really hurt me if he wanted. Part of me was too attracted to the idea that this might be a chance for some real journalism, or at least a juicy story. That following Saturday I found myself walking up the stairs of Jonas’ Brooklyn brownstone.
  6. The third part of this story, though it is another origin story. I need to turn this into a series now that I have "good guys" and "bad guys" in the overall arc. Maybe have them duke out some kind of warrior battle or something and see who wins. It's been tough for me to write longer story arcs because I always favor the origin stuff, the initial muscle TFs. But maybe I can get a six-part series on here with a conclusion to this arc. Always appreciate the feedback if anyone wants to share. The Shrine of the Gods 3 The Dark that Calls to Me As I crossed into the end zone I dropped the football and screamed a loud, low call of victory as my teammates rushed me. Another touchdown all from me and my team, we were soon to clinch our fifth straight victory and qualify for state finals. I couldn't believe it, it was my senior year and life couldn't have been any better. Dave grabbed my pads and pulled me in close, “Sam you're the fuckin' MAN!” he shouted, head butting me with his helmet and smacking my ass in celebration. Patrick and Nate soon joined, and I head-butted back with aggression. “FUCK YEAH!” I shouted, pointing with pride toward the distraught Cardinals – our high school rival. “Panthers going take you down AGAIN!” I said grinning through my teeth, trying to seethe as much out of the losing team. I rocked my hips in a thrust of pride and dominance, pointing at the losers with might. My buddies shoved me back into the field as our players switched for the one-point conversion. I jogged with my head high and my smile wide as I unhooked my helmet and had our trainer Greg shoot some water down my throat. I hit his back in appreciation. Coach walked to me, shaking his head. “We're going to get penalized, Sam” he said. I shrugged, “alright Coach, I'll try,” I said, smirking knowing that I would probably forget again. I just loved the game too much. Loved to win, loved to dominate. The offensive side went back onto the field for one last go. We quickly worked our way toward the endzone once more. Taylor, our QB, signaled to me, I knew what to do, we were going to finish this with attitude. When he hiked the ball, I didn't slip through the defense as I typically did, but instead headbutted my lineman and tripped him over by surprise. I then knocked out another backer as I twirled out of the third guy's grasp, leaving all on the field and in my dust. I turned around and Taylor hit me with the ball, clinching our finish at 63 to 3. The boys lifted me and Taylor up as we each held one arm up in victory. “Better luck next time, suckers!” I shouted as we were carried back to the stands, jeering at our fans and then running off toward the locker room. “That felt fuckin GREAT!” I shouted as we worked our way back to the locker room. Nothing better than having a home game with a runaway win and the fans beckoning for us to lead our team to victory. Coach screamed. “SAM!” he shouted, I turned around as I lifted the pads off my shoulders. “Office. Now.” He said. I kicked off my shoes as I headed toward his office him slamming the door behind me. “You do that shit one more time and you're out! Your arrogance could cost the team, your school, a championship. No more unneeded violent to the other team and no more gloating!” He was serious, but I didn't give a shit. I wanted to tackle him right then, I could have easily overpowered him. The old man had nothing against me. “Yes, sir.” I said, quietly, telling myself it would be better to keep my mouth shut. “You're going to cost us everything. The final 4 starts next week, keep it together, son,” he said, his voice much more controlled. “If you wanna do this in college, if you want to win, you want to go pro, you have to follow the rules. It's no fun if you roll people over to the point that they get hurt, you'll lose your fans, your teammates, your girls, think about it, kid.” he said again. All I wanted to do was show people who was boss. Me. I was the man, the fuckin' warrior and I loved showing off, it was the only reason I played this sport. The team and the fans were just collateral. I took a breath, trying to contain my rage. “Yes, sir.” I said. I ran back into the locker room, outraged by my embarrassing confrontation. Who the fuck was he to have talked to me like that!? He wasn't taking our team to finals, it was all ME! I was the fucking champion! I ripped my undershirt off in rage as the cotton tore to shreds and looked down at my sweat-ridden, bulked body. I crunched my abs and pulled down my pants to get a better look at my bulged package and adoins. “Screw him! I am the man!” I thought to myself. I could hear the guys in the shower. “One of these days, I'll show them all who's boss,” I said with a smirk on my face. “If I were able to really push my strength on the world, they would all know just how much of a dominator I was, they would all lay under my rule.” The fantasy in my head was stretching my dick against my underwear. I looked down at it, smiling. “Maybe Cara will get with me tonight,” I thought to myself, increasing the blood in my dick. I slipped out of my briefs and threw my dirty clothes into the cleaning basket, letting my dick hold at horizontal, not giving two shits if anyone saw. I walked into the shower and told the guys what happened. “All that asshole! If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be going to state!” Dave said, trying not to eye my hardened dick in the shower. Of course my team supported me, my receiving skills won us the game! Brett, our captain, walked into the shower. He was like me, totally proud of his abilities and not afraid to show. He slapped my ass as he walked to the shower head next to mine, his dick swagging with girth as his semi-erection knocked back and forth against his legs. “I could hear coach in his office, Sam,” he said with a smirk on his face. “He won't be bitching when we take state in a few weeks.” We laughed as we talked about what we were doing that weekend. Taylor wanted us to come up to his step-dad's cabin in the woods, offered to have us do a little bird hunting in the fall before the season ended. “We don't have practice tomorrow, let's head up there!” I nodded my head, I hadn't been hunting in a few years, sounded fun to me. Dave had to back out, though: “sorry dudes, gotta run up north to take care of some college apps.” Brett, Taylor and I were in, though, and said we'd meet at Taylor's house to head up to the forest where the cabin was located. Taylor had the jeep, he could four-wheel it up there. The next day, we settled into the cabin and started loading our weapons. I could hear the birds flying and chirping above us, was looking forward to getting out. As we started our hike, though, Brett held his hand up to stop us, and to signal to be very quiet. “What's up?” I whispered. “Isn't that Edwin, that little twerp who goes to our high school?” Brett asked. Taylor chimed in, “yeah, what the fuck is he doing here? I hated that kid, he always cried every time the volleyball hit him in gym class.” I agreed, “yeah and he was too much of a pussy to get naked in the showers after PE.” “That kid wouldn't be caught dead outside or hiking, what is he doing?”Brett asked. “I think we should follow him.” We hit the safeties on our rifles and carefully followed Edwin through the forest. The kid had what looked like a very old piece of paper that he was so carefully following he barely gave himself the attention to notice if anyone else was around. This worked to our advantage as we were able to sneak pretty close to Edwin without arousing any suspicion. Edwin stopped maybe 50 feet ahead of us and began brushing aside sticks, leaves, rocks on what looked like just a stump above the ground. It wasn't. It became obvious that he was revealing a mound of some sort, something engineered. It looked very old and very inconspicuous. “Damn,” I whispered, it was cool. “How does he know about this?” “Not sure,” Brett said, “I'm looking forward to finding out though.” Edwin dropped down a hold and simply disappeared. “Holy shit!” Taylor said, “it must be a cave entrance, or maybe a burial ground." We set down our guns and carefully walked over to the entrance. It was small, but large enough for us to squeeze in. Brett lit up his cell phone and peered down, it was in total darkness. “Brett, turn your phone this way,” Taylor said, pointing, and the light revealed a ladder of sorts etched into the rock wall. “I'll lead the way,” I said, and threw my coat off, giving me enough room to squeeze through as I lowered myself into the cave. After only about 15 feet I hit the ground, and guided my friends down as well as they hit the bottom of the nearly pitch-black cave. We walked for 100 yards through near darkness, slowly opening into a rock cave and moving deeper and deeper underground. The narrow cave then opened into a larger cavern a long, wide, open atrium of a room with light from the sun shining down to illuminate the chamber. It was pretty magnificent, with a stream of water forming a moat around the chamber, and two distinct altars positioned probably 40 feet above us, up a steep ramp to the altars. I first looked to the lower altar and didn't see much of interest, but what looked like a dimly-lit set of clothes, but off to the right of the smaller altar drawn against the wall of cave were some intricate drawings, but what they made out I couldn't tell. Brett tapped me on the shoulder and whispered to me, “what the fuck is he doing over there?” which totally took my attention away from the drawings. Up on the higher altar was Edwin, ass naked, looking at a large, glowing but faint drawing of a warrior on the wall right behind the larger altar. He stood up on a large, rectangular altar that sat against the cavern wall, staring at the painting. Surrounding Edwin on the altar were four pillars at each of the corners of the rectangular altar. "What?" I whispered. I shook my head back at Brett in confusion. I didn't know what he was doing either but we decided to proceed quietly. I kicked off my shoes and sneaked my way up the ramp to a second, smaller altar about 20 feet away from the larger one where Edwin stood. Edwin was so distracted looking carefully at the painting ahead of him, he was unsure of what to do. Taylor followed me up and asked me, “what do you think I should do?” He asked. “You're asking me?” I said. “Let's grab him! Stop him!” Brett followed us closely behind as I turned my attention away from Edwin and toward the paintings next to the smaller altar, the one that the 3 of us now stood on. The paintings showed a story, like comic frames. I followed the drawings: a man, who looked to be incredibly muscular, would walk to the smaller altar, leave his armor and clothing and loincloth on it, then walk naked to the bigger altar, just as Edwin was doing. He put his hand onto the large painting of the warrior, positioned right in front of the altar, and the pillars would light up and engulf him in electricity. “Damn,” I said. It appeared that a “supernova” or something formed around the warrior, he gained massive muscle, and exploded with some sort of power. Whatever it was, I had to stop Edwin. “Let's stop him,” I whispered to my friends who nodded in agreement. “But how?” Brett asked. Edwin was gaining more confidence, he was looking like he wanted to set his hand onto the painting. I was growing more confident as well, the mere thought of going through the ceremony myself was making me excited. I walked up to Edwin's clothes and kicked them all off the smaller altar, having them slide down near the entrance of the chamber. With his clothes off the altar, the painting in front of Edwin went blank. What was a painting faded into nothing, and all before Edwin could set his hand on the wall. I smirked, proud of stopping the little twerp from going through with the ceremony. “Hey Eddy!” I shouted. “What are you doing up there?” Edwin turned around in total fear and embarrassment, shocked and surprised that a group of guys found how his secret place, to to mention the jocks of the high school. “Huh?” he said. Realizing others were around, he quickly covered his small pecker. “Don't just stand there!” I ordered to Taylor and Brett, “get him and drag him down here!” My friends shrugged, figuring they wanted answers too and walked the 20 feet up to Edwin, forcefully grabbed Edwin. “No, STOP YOU FUCKERS, STOP!” he shouted as they dragged him down, one on each arm. My buddies were way more bulked and heavy than Edwin, who probably barely weighed 150. They could easily overpower him. I looked back to the instruction paintings again, this time with purpose and desire fueling my every thought. I wanted to try to this, I was going to do it, I was going to accomplish the very act that I stopped the twerp from doing. I pulled off my flannel and my undershirt in one swoop and dropped them both onto the altar as I followed the first few frames. The warrior who participated in the ceremony was showed a confidence that I wanted to mimic. I wanted to be just as pleased and assured that I was doing the very act that a warrior was poised to accomplish I unbuttoned my jeans and zipped down the fly as I pulled off my socks, right when my friends were walking around, carrying the naked Edwin with them, down to the entrance area of the temple. They looked up at me. “What's up, Sam?” Brett asked, confusion riding over his face. Edwin was continuing to struggle but stopped in fear when he heard my plans: “I'm going to try it!” I shouted, not realizing just how confident I sounded. “Did you guys take a look at these drawings? Look guys!” I beckoned them toward the drawings. “The warrior gets naked, walks to the higher altar, and puts his hand on the painting.” They guys followed, thinking it crazy, but didn't stop me. They were too surprised themselves that I was going to try it. “how did you find this, Edwin?” I asked, directing my attention toward him. “What does this place do?” Edwin continued to struggle against my friend's weight, but he was having no success. “Talk Edwin!” Taylor commanded, also wanting to know what was to happen. “OKAY!” He said. “Just promise to let me go if I tell you.” I smirked. I was tired of making deals of cutting compromises, I didn't owe this twerp anything. But if this thing gave me the strength of the ancient warriors, I wouldn't care about keeping a deal with Edwin. “Okay,” I said, lying with a smirk, “I Promise.” “I was at a museum last week and found this archaeological map that showed me to here, to this place,” he said. “Supposedly the man who goes through with the ceremony gains the powers of the ancient god Ahriman. The god of ...” Edwin stopped himself. “Of what?” Brett asked, tugging on Edwin's arm, but Edwin knew it was too late, he couldn't reveal more, he knew it would be the end of him. I walked down to his clothes and ruffled through his jeans to find the paper. I read it carefully. “Ahriman, the ancient god of destruction, awaits the next male to enter his layer and complete his ceremony, bringing him back to life by infusing his powers into the mortal male, elevating him above humanity.” The rest that followed on the paper was a map to the temple along with some drawings of the ceremony, the same that were located on the wall next to the smaller altar. “Holy shit,” I said, smiling. “this is fucking incredible.” “HEY!” Edwin shouted as I grabbed my shoes and walked back up to the altar. “You can't do it. If you do, you'll kill me. You'll kill all of us! You don't know what it's capable of like I do! You don't know how to control him!” I dropped my shoes and turned back around to Edwin. “Come on, little man!” I said, “you were gonna go through with it? Don't you want to see what happens?” Edwin's description and the ancient map were enough to entice me. I had to try it. I finished unzipping my fly and pushed my jeans down, leaving me only in my gray boxer briefs, long cut down to do my knees to protect any chafing while during my hunt. “But wait!” Edwin said again, tugging his tiny, naked body against my buddies trying to escape. You said you would let me go! At least let me go, please! I smirked back at the nerd. “I remember saying 'I may let you go,' but not until after you check out the show first, bro.” I said. The hunt seemed like a long part of my history, now. I was only thinking of becoming a god, of becoming an immortal warrior. I couldn't wait, I had to try it. I just had to get naked first. Brett shouted up at me, too. “Sam, be careful, man, are you sure you know what that thing is going to do?” he asked. “I'm more sure of this than anything in my life!” I answered, enamored with the thought of going through with the ceremony. “When it's all over, I'll make sure to share some of my strength and powers with you for helping me out!" Bret and Taylor looked to each other, unsure but excited by the proposition. I saw small smirks arise on their lips. “You said you'd let me go!” Edwin said again, struggling once more, this time out of fear and urgency, almost knowing that once I transformed I in fact wouldn't let him go. No, my plan now was to enslave him. And maybe even do the same to my friends too. I didn't care about making deals anymore. “Oh no, Eddy,” I said, “you can't become a warrior without manipulating your adversary. That's why I'm taking the power. And why you're not. Once I merge with the god I'll decide what to do with you.” I tucked my hands under my boxer briefs and stretched them, feeling the cool air hit my naked loins as I shoved them down, past my hairy quads and shins, the smell of my masculine balls surrounding me as the breeze picked the sweat off my loins. I stepped one foot out of my briefs, then another, letting the cotton and lycra compression briefs land onto the smaller altar, a small spark of electricity pulling the briefs down onto the altar. A loud WOOSH surrounded me as the painting of the warrior lit up once again. This time much brighter and clearer than it was with Edwin. I smirked and turned around, my now naked body revealed to the guys, proud to show off who I was and what I was about to gain. “The painting was way brighter for me than it was for you, Eddy!” I said. “Clearly the god prefers a warrior male like myself.” Edwin knew it was true, his eyes were wide with fear. My package was probably twice the size of his and I was proud to carry it. I stepped off the offering altar and walked down by the guys and proudly smirked at them as I crossed myself in front of them, then up the ramp to the main altar, walking slowly and deliberately. I had to take in every moment to savor my nakedness in preparing for the ritual, and knowing that the guys were carefully watching me in envy as I took what was becoming rightfully mine. This was my reign, I wanted to feel every moment. I stepped onto the larger altar and noticed a yellow light emanating from each of the corner pillars, generating some sort of yellow-blazed electricity. There couldn't be any turning back now, I told myself. I wanted this more than anything. What would happen, I asked myself? I would never return to being a mere mortal again. I could do anything I wanted, I would be completely unbound. Once the team got a hold of me, everyone, even the coach, would be under my command. I stretched out my hand to touch the painting but as I reached out I noticed foreign characters beginning to glow on a tablet below me, at about waist height. Dropping my arm, I wiped off the dust and the characters magically turned to a language I could understand. “It's some sort of ceremonial commitment.” I said. “What do you see?” Taylor asked. I spoke more loudly, trying to read the characters as they turned to letter. “There's like an incantation that I need to say, to commit myself to this ceremony. Umm, to the god.” I chuckled, thinking it was crazy, and I turned around and added, “I guess I mine as well go for it.” I turned back to carefully read each line. Only two lines of the incantation were written, but I found that as I read each line, a new one would appear below or above the old one, so I wasn't entirely sure how long the incantation was supposed to last. But I made it this far, I had to take it to the end. I spaced apart my legs and spoke with confidence, reading each line assuring myself that this was worth it, letting the incantation give me more confidence as I read. Oh Great God of Ahriman I come to you, a pure man of strength and aggression Brought here in my One True Form, Naked and Proud To present myself to you in the only true way a man should, To submit himself to the power and presence of you. Both as a pure sign of commitment, And one of confidence, to show that true men Who like me are naked and ready, To receive the ultimate powers of the ultimate warrior-god. "Woah," I whispered to myself. This thing really was for real. I turned back to the guys, watching me in fear as my little talk gave me more confidence to speak louder. Edwin held himself in true fear and jealousy, having obviously never seen the warrior's incantation. I turned my attention to him, my ego growing ever bigger. “Apparently, the god didn't think you were man enough, Edwin,” I added with a smirk. “Only a man like me got the incantation. I'm moving forward with the transformation, you're not. You lost buddy, it's mine now!” I turned back to the incantation and continued. Look upon me, oh great god of Ahriman, And see that I am fully ready to receive you. Come out of your slumber, having been imprisoned here For the past ten millennia. Infuse yourself unto me and return to this world, to this mortal plane of existence And do so by fueleing me with your powers. We will become the one true immortal god to exist here, And will have unfettered control to rule this world to our complete will. The pillars around mere began heating up, sparking yellow electric bolts like magnets to each other, just every couple of seconds they would spark, forming a barrier of sorts around me. I also felt one hit my back and my ass as I read the incantation. A pure feeling of power and pleasure wracked through my body, causing me to stop and examine myself. I noticed my dick started to harden with pleasure as I grew ever more confident and aroused by the thought of becoming an immortal, naked god. The powers were reaching out to me, and giving me more confidence to continue. I smiled back at the guys below me, the mere mortals who were about to watch this jock become a true god right before their eyes! Grant me your powers, oh great Ahriman! And allow these mortals below me to become witness to the transformation That is about to occur. Let them see what will become of me, Let them fear with all that they know as your evil and wickedness Spreads into me, encapsulating your powers unto my body, And as we merge into the ultimate vessel of power. Let them see as their human friend becomes a god, and I promise I will commit to you, Ahriman, that I will make them the first of your slaves By bending their will to my utter being. The electric bolts started swirling with more aggression as the sparks hit me, creating a feeling of what was to become of me, granting me visions of power and strength and aggression, fueling my selfish wishes and making me prouder and hornier than I ever had been before. I turned back around, now my dick at full mast, and smiled at the boys below me, starting to back away in fear, all three of them, even while holding onto Edwin. I accepted my promise to transform the men below me to my will, a promise I would happily make to gain the powers of Ahriman. “This is it, boys,” I said, “brace yourselves for what is come. I don't go back against a promise to a god!” They started backing out into the corridor but I already knew that the incantation would stop them. Do not let them escape, oh Ahriman, enclose this room And I shall fulfill your first wish to enslaving them. The rock wall to exit the chamber immediately sealed over locking the men inside. I spoke louder and with grander commanding presence. Bring them to me, force them to watch us merge! Force them to be witness to the incredible powers we are to gain! To see and feel their self-despair as I become that which they wished to be. Oh Yes, Great Ahriman, make it so, and make me unto you. A strong wind shoved forward my friends and the naked Edwin toward the altar, forcing them onto their knees and trapping them against the floor, the rock holding their weight against it. They were unable to move, they were stuck in a bowing position and forced now to watch me, to watch me become the True God! I laughed as I looked down at them, not ashamed of my erected dick, of who I was, of who I was to become. I cracked my neck and paused for a second, staring down at the helpless humans, forced to watch me become a god. No, I didn't care about being naked, I didn't care about having a full-mast and extended dick. I was the hottest shit around! And they were going to fall victim to my powers. “Be ready boys, for it is coming.” They stared at my dick as I gave it a quick tug, relishing in their witness to my transformation. I turned back to the incantation one last time, knowing that they were watching me. I order it, Great Ahriman! I command you to fill me with your powers now! Awake from your imprisonment, arise through this tomb Implant your mind and your powers into me, And together we will Rule the World! The altar below my feet shook as the painting finally opened into a gold glowing, naked warrior as the electric pillars fully encircled me, forming a barrier of yellow light and power creating a circular fence around me. I had to do it, I had to gain his powers. I threw my hand onto the warrior's package, and felt the powers heat up in the altar around me. The sparks from the pillars worked onto me like a magnet, zapping me and drizzling down my skin. The painting of the warrior melted into the floor and the colors moved to the smaller altar as the sparks forced me to turn around, holding me in place as each pillar sparked onto me, shocking me into mini-muscle spasms. I looked with bewilderment as the colors from the painting moved onto the lower altar and literally melted my clothing into the smaller altar, dissolving and mixing into the colors of the warrior as they traveled through the rock floor and into the pillars of power, using my clothing as fuel to transform me, shifting the colors from yellow to gold and purple, each shifting and changing on a light spectrum as they now started to aggressively build themselves out of the pillars and onto me. “Woah!” I shouted as they increased with their energy and aggression, filling me with strength like I had never known before. My back twisted first as it bulked out, layers of sinew building over my shoulders and down my back as my body built up layers of muscle. I snapped by body forward as the sparks reached around to my front-side, burying into my abs and expanding them out from my six-pack to an easily-defined eight back, digging deep crevices across my body as my pecs flattened and widened out to match the new growth of my shoulders. “OH FUCK YEA!” I said with excitement. I was feeling stronger every second. “Oh god, yes this feels good!” The electric-ridden pillars sparked their way down my body as I felt my ass lock in and bulk out, creating a bulked ass that even the most fit of NFL players would have been jealous of. It locked into a square before pushing out into a bubble. I turned my head despite the forced movements of the electric sparks and got a peek, turning around and noticing my audience watching the bubble ass form. I smacked it with price. “That is WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!” I said with pride. “Everyone is going to want a piece of this!” I started chuckling at the total growth of my body My legs stiffened as my thighs bulked outward, building layers upon layers of muscle building as they worked their way down to my shins and feet, fine lines of well-defined, crafted muscle truly fit for a god. “Oh yes,” I said again, the pleasure of my growing body becoming almost unbearable. This was better than an orgasm, this was the surmounting pleasure of everything I had ever wanted. The hair on my feet started to grow as a thin line of dark brown hair worked its way back up my body, building my masculinity, giving me the look and physique of the god who was about to grace me with his very being. I knew as the hair wrapped over my quads, up my adonis and over my abs, that I was being made to look at the god at the peak of his glory, his strength, and his intoxicating looks. The bolts worked their way onto my pecker as my dick finally started to turn flaccid once more, me now distracted by the ceremony taking place. But it didn't mean it was getting smaller. No, I looked upon myself with awe as my dick plumped up to twice its normal size, my balls dropping and filling with its virulent seed, a seed fit for an immortal god. I grabbed it and wracked myself with another orgasmic wave of pleasure. “OH YEAH!” I said again, stretching out my arms to allow the power to bury its muscle-building purpose into me, watching as the hair grew over my forearms, thin, brown curls of hair grow over my ever-increasing size of mass and muscle, feeling my shoulders and neck broadening as my face shifted to that of a purely powerful warrior-god. “Jesus what is happening to him?!” I could hear Taylor scream, “we gotta get out of here!” They let go of Edwin, finally, but I knew they were too late. “OH FUCK YEAH,” I said again, “you're too late, humans, for I am to rise above you now!” I was so proud of myself I had to let them know that I was to be their boss, their king, their god, from this point onward. “Watch me, for it is the last thing you do as a free human, hahahah!” I shouted, feeling the shift in purpose from the pillars from bestowing me with muscle to bestowing me with power. The bolts turned red and their ferociousness started swirling around me in a storm of pure power. “Yes, here comes the power. The absolute fucking POWERS!” I screamed as they buried into me. The power to possess, to transform, to mold the will every creature to my purpose, to my calling. I could feel my mind open up as my body gained true immortality, as I could shift physics and reality to my very will. I stretched out my arms and let the powers bury into me as the tornado swarm of power lifted me off the ground, enveloping into me the very being of the god of Ahriman himself. “Yes, I can feel it! MORE!! MOOOORERREEE!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!” The flesh of my muscle-clad body turned into immortal carriers of power, I was becoming only a human in perception, a way for me to exist on this plane, I could do absolutely anything, and becoming unbound from the confines of humanity was only furthering my selfish want to dominate. To take over. To force those to follow me. My back cracked and my legs spasmmed as my flesh was replaced with powers. How was I to use them? What was I to do? My mind was so full of my selfish desires that I had nearly forgotten of my fellow humans, watching helplessly as I ascended above them. “GIVE ME MORE!” I ordered the altar, watching as the very platform that I stood on only minutes ago crack open with heat and energy, the coffin of the fallen god of Ahriman, finally reopened after millennia of waiting dormant. A supernova, bright with cracking purple and yellow light formed around me, merging my body on this plane with the existence of the netherworld, of the plane of Ahriman emerging from his slumber to cross the threshold and join me in the land of the mortals. “You want me? I am here! I am finally released, let us MERGE!” I could hear the spirit calling out to me, I could see its form, a red, wave of pure energy bridging from his plane and into mine, his power irradiating out from the cracked slab of rock and onto me, circling around my very being, my immortal body now finally ready to receive him. “When we merge, Sam, we will become the single most powerful entity in the universe. I waited for a true man of power and aggression to approach this altar. That little skinny thing did not have what it takes. It took someone who was bulked with a mind as twisted as yours for me to finally come alive. He didn't have what it took. You do. Now, let us become one!” The spirit wrapped itself over me then buried into my every orifice, I could feel it burying into my ass, pecker, nose, eyes, ears, mouth, anywhere it could, as as it settled into my body my powers finally awakened, a storm cloud of red covered me as an outline of my sparking, cut body and my skeletal structure lit up within the cloud. “I am becoming him. I AM BECOMING A GOD!” I shouted as my voice lowered, feeling the god's personality merge with my own, his evil and twisted mind finally settling into mine. I was loving this more than anything, this was what I was truly meant to be. “YES! YEEEESSSSS!!” I shouted again. As the last of the god merged with me, my human form exploded, becoming one with the clouds of power wrapping around me, sucking in the supernova into my very being. The true god's form had no body, it merely existed, and as I evolved to this stage, I took control of the powers surrounding me and formed into a smokey cloud of power, cackling with my new abilities. “OH YEAH THIS FEELS FUCKING GOOD” I shouted as the pillars and altar dissolved around me, the ceremony now complete. “This is what it is like, this is who I truly am now. Look upon me and worship me, mere humans!” Integrated into the god's pure power, I swirled up and around the mortals in the center of chamber, cackling with my newfound power. “I can do anything, now!” I shouted, my mind channeling a form of thought-speak into the humans' minds. My form cracked out purple and gold strikes of power as I came to realize all that I was capable of. My mind had fully opened to the abilities and corruption that poured into me. I was the hottest shit on the planet, no the universe, and I could do anything I wanted. My mind cared not of winning the championship, or of my coach, who I vowed to enact revenge upon. No, becoming a god freed me from all the confines that mere mortals held within them. The humans looked up at me with both fear and admiration. Enthralled with what I had become. I could entice them to do anything now, for me, or to me, or force them to submit to my power. My attention went onto Edwin and I was reminded of the promise I made to Ahriman: the promise to turn each of these men into my first followers. My pawns. I encircled Edwin, releasing and pushing my friends to the side. They kept their attention on me as I lifted the little guy up into the air, levitating his naked body and flipping around in a dizzying confusion. “No please, Sam, don't do this to me, don't hurt me, please, put me down...” he kept saying with a fearful, sorry plea to me. It made no difference to me, he was mine now. Encircling him in my power, I decided to have a little fun. I could deposit some of my power into him, making him a demi-god of sorts, and in doing so put him into my command and control. I started to push my power into him through his butt and pecker, feeling out his muscles and organs and transforming them into immortal containers, similar, but lesser than, my own. He felt me enter him, and felt me transform him. “OH FUCK!” Edwin shouted in both pain and pleasure. “What the fuck is AAAAAHHHHH!” His tiny voice screamed in fear. His body cracked as it grew from his measly 5'5” to 6 then 6'5” feet. “Oh yeah!” he shouted, his fear turning to confidence as he checked out his arms and expanding pecs, abs and thighs growing out with thick, masculine muscle. His voice dropped as I more violently enforced my powers into him, leaving him with a body of the most built athletes, his neck and face growing to match the masculinity I deposited into him. I could feel his mind opening up to my own, I twisted it away from innocence, away from being a normal senior who just wanted to get good grades, and corrupted it with feelings of lust, revenge, evil-doings. “Mmmm,” Edwin said as his voice dropped lower, “feels fucking good!” Taylor and Brett looked upon the scene in fear, now realizing that two gods were growing before them, two who could now take their self-will away from them. They backed to the corner of the cave but I kept them trapped, having kept the solid rock in place since Ahriman sealed the temple. The floating Edwin grabbed his package as it plumped to three times his former size, his veins and girth growing downward as his balls became heavier and larger. Edwin laughed in pleasure, feeling the true masculine power of manhood. All he wanted now was to serve me, and we both had a purpose under Ahriman: to take over the world, and to create an army of muscle-clad warriors. I dropped him to the ground and turned invisible, taking witness to Edwin's now-corrupted acts—waiting for him to follow my orders, corrupted by my power. He started chuckling as his raised himself from the ground, his knees rising, exposing his massive quads and dick as he stretched up his back and abs. “Heheh, yes,” he said, “the great god himself bestowed his powers into me, and now it's time I share them with you.” He raised his arm, new puff of hair under his armpit now exposed, and lifted Taylor from the ground. “You, Quarterback, know not of the powers I have within me, but let me...” he smiled, “share them with you, shall I?” Using his other hand, Edwin directed Taylor toward him and as he did, he used his mind to rip off Taylor's shirt and yank down his jeans and shoes, dropping them to the floor. “Wait, no, Edwin,” he said, “what are you doing? What are you doing to me??” Edwin reached out with his arms and grabbed Taylor, flipping him so his back was to Edwin's front side and hugging him at his chest. Edwin was now a little more bulked than the star football player, his head about 3 inches higher than Taylor's. He floated the two of them down to the ground and let gravity take its place for the man and his god. Edwin had Taylor frozen solid in fear, a tear rolling down his face as he looked to Brett in fear. Edwin let his lust take over him. He moved his hands down the jock's hairy chest and toward his boxer briefs, shoving his hands under his underwear and reaching for his massive package. “Mmm,” they both said in unison as Edwin grabbed Taylor's package. “Big man, but not big enough, yet,” Edwin added, moving his hands to the side of the jock's butt and ripping apart his briefs with his own hands, exposing Taylor butt naked and dropping the briefs to the ground. Now that both god and man were naked, Edwin could feel the jock's hairy butt against his newly-grown dick and his own thick wave of pubic hear. “How about becoming a god yourself, eh?” Edwin asked as he pulled back Taylor's head, kissing him on the cheek. “A god doesn't discriminate, I'll take any human I wish.” As Edwin's dick rose and began penetrating Taylor, so too did Taylor's rise, his mind becoming filled with the thought of gaining the seed of a god, of turning into one himself, of becoming mind-bonded with the god of Ahriman and to these two gods who were in the presence of him. He had never kissed a man before, but was now overcome with the lust of Edwin, the massive, power-ridden jock who grew from shrimp to master. Taylor tried to turn around to straddle Edwin appropriately, but Edwin remained in control, shoving Taylor against a rock ledge and penetrating him fully in his rear, mounting him onto his mega god-sized dick. “Ohh!” Taylor shouted, “give it to me, mighty Edwin, give me your seed!” he begged as Edwin, overcome with lust and a need to force his powers into Taylor, started pumping. Though Taylor had stopped crying, becoming fully transfixed by the power of the god, Brett could only look upon them with fear, his own eyes tearing up, not knowing what could happen to him next, fearing he would lose his own free will and becoming enslaved to the gods who rose above him. It didn't take long for Edwin's load to become ready, “Here it comesss!” he shouted as his dick chocked, cocked and pumped loads of his immortal semen into Taylor. “oh FUCCCKKKK!” Taylor shouted as he felt the seed spread through his ass and up and into his body, him now exploding with muscle he never dreamed he could have obtained by lifting weights. He threw himself off of Edwin as he convulsed in every direction, his legs and arms spreading out as they grew with pounds of additional muscle. “YEESSSS!” he shouted, watching as his thighs expanded into footballs, his adonis deepening its crevice to look like an arrow pointing at his ever-expanding, fully erected penis. His abs chiseled inward and his pecs flattened and pushed outward. “MORE MORE!” He said as his shoulders broadened and his hair grew down into a god-like mane. “Yes, I have become the god of strength!” He said as his muscles blew outward to, at least in human form, become even bigger than Edwin or me. “I can feel him entering my mind, let him take control!” He said as our minds finally met, me pushing my will and purpose into him. “Good man, Taylor, become the demi-god you always wanted to be and bid to my every will!” “YEEEESSSS! HAHAHA!” he shouted with a malicious evil, “I can feel your powers!!” he exploded into electricity as I elevated him to a higher demi-god status, becoming a true god of strength, making him more powerful than Edwin but still less than me, “YES YES!!” He shouted again, grabbing his package and fiercely masturbating until his seed cocked and exploded volleys of black spunk. The naked and transformed Taylor collapsed onto the cave ground, laughing in pleasure, Edwin joining him and lifting him up, the two of them checking out their massive bodies and immortal powers. “oh fuck yeah!” they said again, in unison. I reformed my true-god, electric and smoke-ridden form and encircled around Brett. “What to do with you?” I asked. Brett was my closest friend when I a human. And I wanted him to become my second in command. He could have the transformation abilities, the god who would possess and transform into any human form to best determine who we would recruit. I started poking and shocking him in humor, but the guy was nearly going to pass in shock, and I pulled myself back. “Maybe its best if I become something you understand,” I said, and I pulled the smoke back into a human form, turning my power into flesh, becoming the muscle-ridden god that I was before exploding into my true form. “Ahh,” I said as I formed back into a human. The muscle covering my body was perfect, I was hotter than the top models and football players I used to envy. I turned around to look at my perfect butt, and gave my dick a quick tug, wracking my body in pleasure before turning back to Brett. Taylor and Edwin flanked me on either side, the three naked gods looking upon the last human in the room. “It's time for you to become one of us, Brett,” I said, walking toward him. He started backing toward the cave wall, in incredible fear but knowing that, after everything else he witnessed, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. I extended my arm, “let me give you a glimpse of what I can do,” I said, holding my arm out for him to touch. “Grab my arm, Brett, feel what it is like to be one of us.” Brett had no choice, he had to either accept his fate willingly, or be forced into it. Of his own will, and in fear he would be forced into it, he grabbed arm, and I fed him the visions of being a god. “Oh wow,” he said, going into a deep daze as I saw the tent in his pants push hard outward. “Oh fuck,” as his eyes glazed over, seeing the power of the naked warrior-gods. Feeling the ability to arise above humanity, to become unbound, to be free. “ARGH!” He shouted as his dick ejaculated his last mortal semen, lost in the incredible pleasure of being a god. Brett opened his eyes and looked upon us, saw the perfection, saw the corruption. He wanted it. “Tell me what I need to do,” He said, “I'll do anything.” “Take it off,” I said, and watched as the jock threw his shirt and shoes off, quickly unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his smooth quads with his boxers, trying to get as naked as fast as he could. He stepped out of his clothes with no fear, not even covering his package. “Anything, my god,” He said, “I'll do anything. Turn me into you, Sam.” He said, looking upon my naked form with deep desire. “Accept it, Brett,” I said, turning back into my true-god form, “accept what you are to become, and relish in the POWER!” I broke myself back into a god as my electric powers surrounded Brett, digging into body. “Oh fuck! Yes, I can feel it! HAHA!” he shouted. Brett had smooth legs and only a small amount of pubic hair, but the guy already sported a massive package, accented by his horizontal dick from his earlier episode. Brett brought his arms down to his dick, feeling the power surrounding his loins. “OH YEAH!” He said again, “feed them to me, Sam! Give me your powers!” I sparked the same electric power that I gained on the altar, giving Brett the ability to possess, transform, and be immortal himself. Doing so increased his muscle mass: expanding his back, pecs, abs, and adonis. His dick plumped up again as his balls increased, and his pubic hair sprouted up over his waist line and over his abs as his legs pumped up to the size of a speed skater's, brown hair again rolling over the man's ass and legs. As I fed my power into him, I connected his mind with mine, and with my other demi-gods, the four of us connected in both purpose and power, they were now under my complete control, ready and willing to do anything under my bidding. Brett's body exploded into his own demi-god form, being the second most powerful of the bunch, and I separated myself from him, the god coming to understand his true form in pure power. His chucking turned into pure cackling as he realized all that he was capable of. “YES...YES!! HAHAHAHAHA!” he shouted. “I can feel the POWERS!” We both laughed and swarmed around the chamber, I ordered back open the entrance and we both swarmed up and out of the chamber, leaving our fellow demi-gods to follow us up in their human form. We encircled around the forest floor before collecting ourselves and turning human once more, our fellow gods levitating out of the mound's entrance hole and joining us. The four of us could barely contain ourselves, we wanted sex and we wanted more men to transform, we could think of little else. “I'm going to show coach who is his fucking boss now,” I said. “and we need Dave on our side too.” “We need the soccer jocks too,” Brett added, “they are the most masculine at the school after us. I want to join Chris and Hector to our side,” we nodded in agreement. Then we laughed, realizing what we were capable of. But I stopped when I realized something terrible. “We're not the only ones,” I said, sensing the other men who were transformed by other god's shrines. “FUCK! WE ARE NOT THE ONLY ONES!” I exclaimed again. “What are you talking about?” Taylor asked. “You guys can't feel it, but I can,” I said. “Ahriman was the god of wickedness, entrapped by other gods millennia ago. He is now free and in me, ready to rack his havoc on the world. But he wasn't the only one.” I shut my eyes and sensed the other gods that were now contained in other men around the world. “There's other men, too.” I said. “Men who merged with other gods, and they have a purpose to stop us.” I asked Ahriman why, “you told me you were the only one!” I said. He responded in my mind, “I was supposed to be the only one. After I was entrapped, other gods also threw themselves into shrine form to await to merge with other men. They are powerful and they will try to stop you, but I am far more powerful than they are, you will be able to conquer them.” I chuckled, “we have a challenge, men” I said, “other gods exist but we are more powerful than them. We will build our army, then we will attack these gods, and when we win, we will take their powers for ourselves!” The four of us cackled as we levitated above the tree line, turning ourselves invisible and flying toward the school. We would be prepared to build our army at the next team practice.
  7. Hi all. I am a loooooooong time lurker (maybe around 15 years). I have written a lot of short stories over the years. One of my original inspirations was O's artwork on cyoc and BBMSN's stories. More recently my inspirations have been the work of gitbigger (rest in peace) and scriptboy. Anywho, I decided to finally join and post one of my stories that I have been working on. I really have no idea whether it is any good, but I hope someone at least gets some enjoyment reading it. The events in this story are very loosely based on truth. I do have a friend that the character "Mikey" is modeled after. I added the "brainwash" tag since the characters cannot perceive reality. Game Nights Part 1 - Introduction I used to go over to my friend Mikey's house every Friday for game night. I was a pretty big guy - 6'5" and 270 pounds. I carried my weight well, as most people would tell you that I weighed 190. It always annoyed me that people thought that I was smaller than my actual weight. Unfortunately for Mikey, he did not carry his weight well. He was only 5'2, but weighed 200 pounds. I envied his body shape since we first met. My body shape had always been an enigma. I was tall and had somewhat lanky arms and chest like an ectomorph, but my shoulders were not much bigger than my wide hips similar to an endomorph. You might say that I was cross between a triangle and rectangle. If I gained any more weight, I would look sloppy with fat just hanging from my stomach, legs and hips while my upper body would maintain a slender look. Mikey was more of an apple. He had wide shoulders and narrow hips. I always surmised that he was a mesomorph that just had gained too much weight. Of course I had not measured it, but have often wondered if his shoulders were actually wider than mine (even with being over a foot shorter). His gut was more like a ball. Instead of hanging like mine would at that size, it defied gravity and just stuck out in a big rounded shape. Any shirt he wore always had trouble since his wide shoulders begged the shirt to be pulled upward with any motion and the gut was somewhat happen to get the stretched fabric off of it. I got on to a health kick after around three years of game nights. Mikey said that he wanted to work at his waistline too. They always say that apple shapes are more prone to heart disease so shrinking the waist-to-hip ratio would definitely be in his favor. Seeing him every week, it was really difficult to tell whether he was successful or not. It wasn't until I looked at an older social media picture that I was able to see a difference. His waist did not look any smaller, but he definitely looked healthier, if that makes sense. Another couple of weeks went by and we found ourselves chatting before starting to play some games. We were in his kitchen prepping some snacks. Apparently his eating habits hadn't changed that much, but he definitely looked better than even the picture from two weeks prior. When he turned and bent into the refrigerator, I finally saw something that had definitely changed. Mikey had always sported a plumbers crack whenever he bent over because those narrow hips provided nothing for his pants to hold on to. He still had the crack, but the shape was different - highlighted by the presence of glutes. Not that I check out my friends' butts, it is just something you notice when someone bends over in front of you. When he stood up and turned around, I finally figured out why he looked healthier. He had a ruddiness about him. His chest and arms were a little bit more muscular than before and he filled out his shirt in more ways than just his gut. The normal movements that might have caused the shirt to ride up were stabilized a little by his chest sticking out. I did not really notice anything more for the next few weeks. Though, I confirmed the ruddiness by looking at previous pictures again. He definitely had slightly bulkier muscles than pictures from the last month and especially when compared to pictures more than three months old. One of the game nights he was happy to see me after a tough week and gave me a hug as a hello. It turned out that it was Mikey's birthday and I was happy to oblige. His slightly spikey hair brushed my chin. He had hugged me as a greeting or to say goodbye after events before and I always leaned over to pat him on the back. I tried to picture why I would lean over so much before when I was only a head taller. I just shrugged it off. At another game night, Mikey decided to wear one of his older shirts from his college days - it looked like it might have fit better fifty pounds ago. It was stretched pretty tight around his shoulders and chest. His arms caused the sleeves to roll up to the bottom of his delts which highlighted their round globular shape. He kept pulling on the shirt, but it would not go below his belly button. Without even bending over you could see his ass crack. But it had two mounds shoved into his pants. You could see that the waist on his pants was tight as it squeezed his glutes. He wanted to pull them up, but his belly wouldn't have it. At the next game night, he wore an even smaller shirt. In this one, his belly button was fully exposed. Depending on which way he turned and shadows hit him, you could see somewhat of a turtleshell pattern forming on the exposed skin. A couple of months later he must have finally gotten off his college clothes kick. His shirt was long enough, but still filled out at the chest, shoulders arms and gut. The following month, i could have sworn that he was wearing the same shirt. This time, it was just barely covering to the bottom of his belly. In addition, the seams at his shoulders looked a little frayed and even separated a little from moving around during the night. I stayed and chatted for a while to see how he was doing. After a couple of hours, it was late and I had to leave. Mikey decided to hug me goodbye. As his arms swung around behind me, both sleeves ripped. Mikey was surprised by the feeling and turned quickly. His noise bumped my chin, and both of us laughed about it. Something was bugging me about the sleeves ripping. Mikeys always had wide shoulders for as long as I had known him. He was the type of guy that always had his arm up on the seat next to him in a car or at a table - probably to make sure his shoulders were not intruding on someone else's space. So knowing his own body, why would he buy a shirt that is tight in the shoulders? I looked at all of the pictures over the past few months and found that he had relatively the same proportions in every one. It was quite odd. Two weeks later, Mikey turned at one point in the game. From my vantage, his chest was almost protruding out as much as his gut. When he turned back, the shirt pinched inbetween the pecs and stomach. I could then see that his pecs had become big globes. In addition another friend who was a former football player came by to play. He was sitting next to Mikey and across from me. Mikey's arms actually looked bigger. I am not sure how much bigger, but the stocky friend had to have measured at least 18 inches and upwards around 20 inches. It was tough for me to judge shorter people's arms since mine were over 18 inches and his looked bigger because of his shorter limbs. It was then that it dawned on my that Mikey was wearing a much bigger shirt than before and yet the arms were still highlighted by the tight sleeves. The tag was sticking up slightly and i was able to nonchalantly see that it was an XXXL. It is so funny how different manufacturers cut things. I wore XL at 270 and his 3x looked like it was a tad too small in some areas. As we were saying goodbye, I found myself staring straight at his hairline on his forehead. I thought i used to see the top of his head. But that couldn't be right. We had to cancel game night for a few weeks because of severe weather in the area. Mikey and i still chatted online. He said that he was still trying to trim his waistline but nothing was working. It was actually up ten inches from when he started. I sent him a couple of pictures showing comparisons and told him that he still looked the same but with bigger muscles. Whatever he was doing was working. That was encouraging enough to keep him going. =========== A couple weeks turned into a month. A month turned into over a half a year before I saw him again. You know how it is when you get out of the habit of doing something - the longer you put off doing it, the harder it becomes to do it again. He wanted to celebrate his birthday with me again. When he opened the door, we were looking at each straight in the eyes. He was wearing the same shirt from the last time (~7 months prior), although it totally shrunk in the wash. I smiled to myself thinking about how he needed to learn to hang his cotton shirts instead of drying with heat. That was something I learned a long time ago, #tallpeopleproblems. It was a wonder that Mikey hadn't figured it out considering we were the same height. Or actually, our eyes were level, but the top of his head was maybe 2 inches above mine. Mikey's neck was maybe half as long as mine and our shoulder were probably close to the same height. I immediately noticed that the sleeves on the shirt were gone and little tears were at the shoulders coming inward. The shirt was no longer stretched at the waist, although his gut still appeared to be the same proportion. The bottom of the shirt only reached to his belly button so i could definitely see the gut still there and it just barely protruded on the shirt hanging over it. Instead, the top of the shirt was painted on to his chest and hanging somewhat loosely down. It definitely was odd that the shirt shrunk in the dryer but still maintained the same waist. He gave a big smile and hello, with an emphatic hug just like at his last birthday. When he did this, the shoulder and trap movement forced the shirt to ride all the way up and wedge under his pecs, revealing the solid turtle shell underneath. You could slap that belly and there wouldn't even be a ripple. All that was left covered by the shirt was his chest. It looked like two volleyballs stuffed into a pillow case. Mikey didn't seem to notice that his shirt had ridden up as he turned to walk over to the couch. I had never seen his full back before - just his lower back from shirts riding up as he would bend over. That instance I got to see almost all of it. When the shirt had ridden up, it also wedged into his armpits. It wanted to take the path of least resistance and completely exposing his lats was much less strain than being pulled and stretched over. I was a little shocked at how much his back flared out from his waist. Isn't it funny how some fat people look like they have an incredible v-taper from the back? You would never expect that he had a big gut until he turned to the side or faced you. I looked down and chuckled at seeing his underwear exposed. His pants were always drooping somewhat, showing the plumber's crack and portions of his underwear. Even when he pulled up his pants in the past, they almost immediately fell back down again. In this case, he must not have even bothered pulling them up since the top of the pants were beneath his bubble butt. Didn't I say earlier that his narrow hips didn't give pants anything to hold on to? Why would I have thought that when his oversized glutes could have held them up. Briefly my brain also wondered whether he could even have pulled up the jeans since they looked completely stretched over his quads as it was. Looking down further, the jeans left a good 5 or 6 inches exposed from his ankle up his leg. The bottoms of the jean legs were stretched to the maximum below his calves. So that must be why he didn't try to pull them up - there was no way any more of his legs would even fit. I always preferred loose fitting khakis to jeans so I never run into that issue. You would think that 3/4 length jeans would have had wider legs. My gaze was drawn back up as I entered the house and shut the door behind me. His thighs forced him to roll each leg over each other as he walked. This cause his glute to completely flex and then bounce on top of his jeans with each step. The boxer briefs containing them did not cover all the way to the top. You could see the top 3 or 4 inches where the glutes inserted into his pelvis. The top of the boxer briefs stretched over the glutes didn't even make an indentation. Traveling further up I noticed something odd about his head. First off, I could not even see his neck since his traps rode all the way up to the base of his skull. Even the bottom of his hair line was distorted into 3D as it curved out on the the traps. But still there was something odd. I silently did that thing where you mimic taking a picture with your hands. I cropped out most of his body and just showed his head in my field of vision. It looked like it was almost double the size of my head. He always had a wider head that me from being overweight, but this was bigger in all directions. I lowered my hands and stopped walking. He turned around at the couch and noticed me staring quizzically. He asked me what was up. I took a moment to consider the previous pictures I had looked at. His head was exactly the same proportion to his body as always. In fact, his entire body looked exactly the same in proportion except for the increased muscle mass. I cannot even remember exactly what I replied with, but it was something about how he looked good with more mass even though he was having trouble shrinking his stomach. Just from the increased muscles, it already gave the illusion of a smaller gut. He got a big grin on his face and patted his stomach. My earlier assumption turned out to be correct, it did not even jiggle slightly. Mikey did, however, feel that his shirt had ridden up. He exhaled fully and sucked in his gut to pull down his shirt - the way normal people do when they are trying on pants that are obviously too small. When he did this, his entire stomach tightened into corrugated muscles. His obliques popped out through the skin, perfectly framing a massive brick wall of abs. They were the most spectacularly shredded abs I had ever seen, which is quite a sight on someone trying to trim their waistline. His abdomen tightened so much that it was easily smaller than my 39" waist. He held that pose for a good 30 seconds struggling to pull the shirt out from under his armpits and pecs. Each motion sent shockwaves through the tightly flexed muscles. By the time he finally got the shirt pulled out, his waist looked like it was 2 or 3 inches smaller than a few seconds ago just from being tensed so much. He let the air rush back into his lungs and released the tension in his abdomen. Without actually taking measurements, his full sized gut also looked slightly smaller than when I first walked in. Actually, his gut wasn't even pressed up against the shirt anymore and the fabric just completely hung off of his pecs. Mikey crashed down into the sofa seat, a tad winded from the struggle and holding his breath. Finally, I got a visual on his gut again in the seated position otherwise I would have exclaimed that it magically vanished. I sat down beside him on the couch. Or a better description would be that he took up one and a half sofa cushions and I sat on the third one. He put his arm up on the back of the sofa like he always did and his hand stretched out reached almost past me on the other side. I also realized that he was basically sitting on the couch in his boxer briefs since his pants were not pulled up, but it was his couch so he could do whatever he wanted. Spurred on by what I just witnessed, I talked to him about doing stomach vacuums to help exercise the core. I also mentioned that they usually help shrink the waist by a few inches. He accepted the proposition and promised that he would try it out. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful - we watched a movie, played some video games and drank a few beers (me only a couple early on since I would be driving later on). Every breath and movement he took during the night, made the shirt creep up again. It made it up under his pecs and armpits about halfway through the evening. By then, he had had too many beers to notice or care. Game Nights Part 2 - Wardrobe Limitations One thing I haven't mentioned so far is that Mikey and I both worked from our homes. I had a small home business run out of my tiny apartment and he did hourly work dealing with global supply shipping and logistics. He moved into a new house before I started wanting to get healthy. It was actually on his moving day that I got inspired and then mentioned it a couple of weeks later. I heard that his housing community had a gym in it, and just assumed that Mikey was working out there. Working from home, he rarely went out (especially after trying to get healthy). Anything he wanted, he would just order it online and get it delivered. That was probably one of the reasons that his clothing never seemed to fit exactly right, because he would not have tried it on before buying. After the birthday, it was another 9 months before I saw Mikey again - just around his two year anniversary in the house. After much coaxing from me, he finally started up game nights again. I got pretty lucky with traffic heading over to Mikey's house. I also left earlier than normal in my eagerness. I wound up arriving 45 minutes before our scheduled time. I knew that he would just be getting off from work. I texted en route and let him know that I would just chill out while he did whatever he had to do. I was shocked when he opened the door in just his boxer briefs. He had a towel in his other hand and was rubbing his hair to dry it more. He had just gotten out of the shower and had not known about the text. My eye level was a little above mid-pec. The left pec was stretched upward connected to his arm drying off his hair. The right pec was just a huge and round - soccer ball? no... basketball? no... Maybe a smaller sized yoga ball would be about right for a description. I took a step back from the door to get a better overall view. His proportions were a little bit off. Obviously the enlarged pecs were a change, but I mean the head-to-shoulder-to-waist width-to-hip width proportions. His hips still had that narrower than they should be look to them. His shoulders were definitely wider, but that could just be from the bowling balls stuffed into them. His waist width looked comparably about the same as before. I guess the proportions were about the same and the increased overall mass just gave an illusion. He looked at me with a little bit of concern and asked what was wrong. I shook my head and told him that he was looking really good and I just wanted to take it all in. He just smiled and laughed, stepping to the side to let me in. Even with him to the side, I had to maneuver a bit to get through the door before he closed it behind me. As I walked into the room, I finally realized what was so off with his proportions. He had the proportions of a short guy - where his torso was longer than his legs. It was quite odd since he had at least 15 inches in height on me. His legs looked like they were a tad shorter than mine, but his torso was where he made up a foot plus of the height difference. Then his big ol' head - that I noticed 9 month prior - gave him another 6 or so inches in height. Before I turned back to him, I mentioned that I totally saw a difference and he was definitely making a dent in his waist. It was not that he was lean or shredded or anything, just that his gut was not protruding like it used to. Mikey got really excited and told me to take a seat. He tossed the towel to the side and put both arms above his head and exhaled. His entire stomach sucked in and even went upwards into his ribcage. He lowered his hands slowly and felt around his stomach. He got a look of concentration on his face and expanded his ribcage a bit to suck in the stomach even more. After feeling around again, he smiled - satisfied with what he imagined it looked like from practicing in front of the mirror. He turned to the side to give a better view. With the ribcage contorted, his pecs jutted out at least 2 and a half feet from his stomach. From this angle, the one visible pec totally looked like a ball. From his collar bone, the pec went up past his chin and curved all the way around below the top of his stomach before curving back up to his ribcage. Just like my previous commentary about how his stomach did not hang, neither did his pecs. I could not even fathom how those things defied gravity like that. Superior genetics, I suppose. Mikey was still on the stocky side even with his core/stomach exercises. It wasn't like his stomach depth was close to zero like you see on completely ripped and lean bodybuilders. With his stomach sucked in, he still had a bit under two feet from back to front. Part of that was his incredibly thick lower back muscles. I guessed with pecs like those, the lower back would grow thick out of necessity. His lats and traps flared out of his backside. If I had to guess, from his back to the pecs, it had to be four feet - maybe even closer to five feet in depth. That meant his upper torso was almost 3 times as thick as his lower torso at that moment. His lower half (i.e. less than half) was equally as impressive. Now I had said that Mikey opened the door in his boxer briefs, but that is not an adequate description. His legs basically gave zero opportunity to have boxer briefs pulled down. I could imagine that even if he had tried, they would immediately roll up on his legs. So at that point, his boxer briefs looked smaller that trunks and maybe a tad bigger than regular briefs. He had a good five inches of his glute exposed above the waistband, similar to last time, and a third of his ass was hanging out the bottom of his boxer brief "legs". At least he did make an attempt to cover his butt before answering the door. Those things could easily have turned into a thong if not positioned right. With his bubble butt sticking out over a foot from his lower back, he could tear any undergarment if he wasn't careful putting it on. As indicated, his quads looked like they were 3 feet in diameter and would not have allowed for the boxer brief legs to be pulled down. Mikey turned back facing me. My mind raced was with all of these proportions I attempted to calculate. But all of that shut down when I came to the realization that Mikey's legs were much bigger than his waist. From the front they looked about the same width, but from the side, back to front, his stomach was under 2 feet while his legs looked over 3. Shaken a little, I pushed all of those thoughts out of my head. I hadn't been counting, but it had been at least a few minutes since Mikey had started flexing. I muttered something about him having to breath. He put up a finger in a "one moment" sort of gesture. He then lifted both hands up above his head again and crunched down. He still had the vacuum sucking in any exposed skin, but abdominal muscle filled in almost all of the space in an explosion of power. While nine months ago, exhaling made his stomach look corrugated, this was light years beyond that. I couldn't even see the linea alba as it was pulled in so far from the vacuum that no light was reaching it. In between each ab separation, there were a few inch deep grooves. I would say that you could have grabbed on to then with your hand, but each ab itself was like a 24 ounce steak. Possibly you could stretch your hand to each side, but there is no way you could grip it. Normally when someone flexes during a vacuum, you just see the abs pop, but Mikey's obliques also showed up for the party. With skin stretched over top of them, it looked like someone was scoring a piece of meat with a knife for even cooking. Even the space between the abs and obliques was pulled all the way in like the lines alba. I surmised that I could fit most of my hand into those caverns and probably get up to my wrist in the lines alba. After twisting from side to side and maneuvering into different positions for a minute, Mikey finally let go and started breathing again. He wasn't even gasping for air or breathing heavy, it was like that took no effort at all. I had to know how all of that was possible. Mikey was happy to talk about it and plopped down on the sofa next to me. I was almost launched out of my seat when he did that. Luckily, he put up his arm in his normal style (giving me enough space to stay there). His narrow hips took up less than two couch cushions, but his shoulder width would easily take up the entire thing by himself. His hand hung off the far side of the couch and his bicep propped up my head some like a pillow. I was about to say something, but Mikey continued with his tale. He told me about how he started doing stomach vacuums after his birthday. At first he could only do it for about 10 seconds and the strain would wind him. After 9 months, he could hold his breath for 12 minutes doing the vacuum. With taking a deep breath, he had managed to reach about 30 minutes. He said that usually while working he would just hold his breath without actually timing anything. Mikey would alternate between taking a breath and doing a vacuum for most of the day. He estimated that a moment ago he had only flexed for about five minutes. I also wondered about how he had such shredded abs without any veins. Mikey furrowed his brow and mentioned that he still held about 35% body fat. If my jaw could unhinge, it would have hit the floor and burrowed a few feet into the ground. That absolutely mind blowing abdominal display with a hand deep groove in-between was done at 30+% body fat. That was another avenue that I had to push out of my mind before getting overwhelmed. As we continued talking, I noticed that Mikey had gone back into a vacuum. He was using minimal breaths to speak and kept everything sucked in. He started talking about how not breathing actually increases testosterone. That is why some of those celebrities died while suffocating themselves, because the increased testosterone leads to heightened arousal. Instead of torturing himself, Mikey opted for just learning how to hold his breath. That insight certainly accounted for his increased muscle mass in his pecs and shoulders. It was nearly an hour before I realized we should start playing games. Mikey was still in the same vacuum pose. As we set up the game, Mikey explained that taking shallow breaths, he could keep the pose almost indefinitely. We joked about it and I bet him that he couldn't keep it up for the rest of the night. He took that bet and immediately vacuumed again. He kept flexing and unflexing his abs the entire game just to distract me. Close up, I noted something interesting about his obliques. They stuck out from his pelvis almost like handlebars. To the untrained eye, they would be called love-handles. However Mikey's were solid and had the shredded look that obliques can get at low body fat percentages (????? I know, right?). From those handle bars, they actually curved inward before flaring out to the ribcage. It certainly gave the appearance that his waist was smaller now than before. I asked him about it and he took on a forlorn look on his face. He sadly noted that his waist was bigger now than before. I could not offer a good explanation. He clearly had shrunk his waist just from the vacuums. It did not make any sense why he would have gained a few inches. We kept playing and chatting well into the night. Sometime after midnight, Mikey lost his concentration and couldn't hold his vacuum any longer and conceded defeat. With that, I decided to take my win and head home. I did applaud his effort in holding a vacuum for somewhere around 5 hours straight. I didn't mention it, but his waist was absolutely smaller than when I arrived earlier. At the door, Mikey asked me what I wanted since I won the bet. I looked him up and down and told him next time to put some cloths on. Mikey looked down at his bare chest (obviously not able to see past it) and blushed profusely. He apologized 20 times before finally closing the door behind me. Over the next couple of weeks of game nights, Mikey taught me more about what he was learning on stomach vacuums and waistline reduction. Things were going great until we had to cancel few times in a row and fell out of habit again. =========== Less than three months later we were both eager to get back into it because Mikey's birthday had come around again. The door opened to me staring at the lower side of Mikey's pecs. I looked up and only saw pecs going on forever. Mikey kneeled on the floor, but that didn't help - darn his shorter than they should be legs. He got all the way down to a pushup position and I could finally see his face in-between the massive mounds of his pecs and traps. Not like his face was small. It looked 4 times as wide as my own face and twice as tall. Even if I was over 9 feet tall like Mikey, looking towards his face would still be half obscured by his pecs. I chuckled a little because in his pushup position, the top of his head was about as tall as me. He laughed too (although probably not knowing the reason for mine) and gave me a big welcome. Once inside, we went to hug since it was a birthday tradition. I got bumped away by his legs. He tried to lean over and I was almost shoved to the floor by his pecs. Wait, hadn't we hugged before? We both had confused looks on our faces, although we couldn't see each other. I decided to just bend over his legs and grab on to his obliques since there was no possible way I could get around his waist. Hey, I was right, his obliques were like handle bars - except really meaty as if I was holding on to big rolls of salami at a deli counter. He chuckled and reached under his pecs to pat me on the back. I let go and slid my way out from under his pecs. Obviously he was wearing clothing this time or I wouldn't have tried that... probably. Calling it clothing was somewhat of a joke though. He had on some leggings that basically looked like a second skin. They could not have been any tighter. In fact, they were so stretched that you could see Mikey's skin in a couple of places in the right light. His "shirt" was a string tank with such long strings that it barely covered the bottom half of his stomach (although a lot of the top half was already covered by pecs). We pretty much dove straight into movies and video games after that. I won't bore you with all of the details from that night. Mikey took the couch by himself. He was just barely able to fit onto it. I did not understand why he would have bought that brand in the first place if it was that small for him. It was better having me on the floor or grabbing one of the dining room chairs. If Mikey had sat on the floor, he would have completely blocked my vision. I was a little taller than his torso and head if I had been standing up, but his ass and legs propped him up by another 3 feet. There would have been no use trying to go to either side because the caps on his shoulders were almost 3 times as wide as the sofa from tip to tip. One nice thing to note was that after years of trying, he had finally gotten his waist under his hip measurement while vacuumed. He told me how confusing it was because his waist had actually gained quite a few inches over the past few months but somehow his hips gained more - most likely from those salami obliques. Games nights surprisingly lasted for most of that year. Every once in a while we would cancel, but we kept up the habit. It went back to me not noticing changes in his muscular or gut development since we were seeing each other every week. Game Nights Part 3 - The Release *NOTE: This part does include some sexual themes. Fair warning in case you do not like that sort of stuff. By the end of the year, we got busy with the holidays and such. We had vowed to celebrate his birthday again in a few months. By then, we were both eager to get back into it. The door opened to me staring at Mikey's crotch. It was covered by one of those sheath underwear styles. The sheath and rest of the briefs were forced upward by his quads. The pouch was resting in a little bed created by the protruding muscles. The sheath was draped over top, cascading over the muscles and down a little. I looked up and his turtle ridged boulder of a gut filled the doorway. I leaned in a little and just saw pecs blocking anything above. I said a hello with an obvious question mark at the end. Mikey tried getting down into a pushup position again and I could see his hair obscured by the massive pecs jutting out from the pose. Even in this position, the top of his pecs were still a couple of feet above my head. Finally, Mikey just completely plopped down on to the floor and looked up (looking straight at me from my view). My head was finally above his, but his traps and lats still stuck out far enough to be taller than me. His head was gigantic from this frame of reference. His nose alone was getting close to the size of my entire head. I probably could have climbed into his mouth if he stretched his jaw a little. I wouldn't have been able to get all the way inside, at least up to my waist, though. The thought of this brought a little smirk to my face. Once inside, we went for a traditional birthday hug. I tried to grab at his obliques again, but they were far out of reach. I told him I had an idea and dove on top of his legs. I grabbed on to the only thing I could find, the sheath underwear. It was difficult to hold since it was soft and bigger than my hands could grip around, but the fabric gave me something to hang on to. I used it to mountain climb up his legs. I then reached his gut which blocked my way from getting completely on top of the mountains. And I could not keep climbing since I was faced with a ceiling made out of pecs right above my head. He understood what I was trying to do and said he could help with it. He then performed his vacuum pose that he had been practicing for a couple of years now. Mikey's ribcage jutted out and lifted up his pecs, finally giving my head some room. His gut completely sucked in and up into his ribcage. I was able to climb into the cave and comfortably kneel on top of his legs inside of the space. If he managed a little bit more, I might even be able to stand. I tossed my climbing rope aside and went to try to hug him. That turned out as easy as hugging a brick wall. Feeling what I was doing, he exclaimed a quick apology and flexed his abdomen. I felt like I got hit by a car as I was catapulted away. Luckily my climbing rope was close by and I was able to quickly grab on before flying out and probably smashing into a wall. Mikey obviously felt the movement but could not figure out what was going on. Determined to do that hug, I scaled up again, entered the cave and dove into the abs. I remember thinking at some point when I saw him vacuum that I could stick part of my hand into the groove between his obliques and abs. I was wrong, I got up to my elbow. I was actually able to feel the space behind abs and almost touch my fingers inside of his stomach cavity. He put his hand on my back and gently pressed me into his abs to reciprocate the hug. Before descending again, I reached in-between his ab columns. I got up to my shoulder and still couldn't feel the end of the tunnel. Also curious about something else, I scooted back a little and reached up towards his pecs. I easily slid my hand in between the two. It was hot and slick in there. With the pecs jammed up against each other all of the time, he must just build up body heat and sweat like crazy. I reached my other hand in and continued to stand. Once my head entered, the entire world went dark and silent. It was like those movies where a bomb goes off and they mute the volume for a couple of minutes for effect. All light and sound vanished except I could hear Mikey's heart beat pulsing through the muscle tissue. By the time I got to my waist, my hands were feeling the deep crevice at the top. When I was fully standing up on his legs, my head reached fresh air again. I felt like I was in a funnel. Directly in front of me, was the top of his sternum, leading to his neck. In all other directions were pecs jutting upward. Mikey craned his neck and looked down as best he could. Think about trying to look at the bottom of your neck to see a cut or a mole or something. Now picture that mole as being a person almost 1/3 of your height shimmying up through your pec cleavage. He grinned and said hey but it was a cross between a croak and a whisper since he was holding his breath. The vibrations from his voice box were almost overwhelming - If continued for an extended period of time in that position, I would have disintegrated. As for getting face-to-face time with Mikey, I figured this was as good as it would get. Nonchalantly, I started just telling him about work and where my company was going. It was pretty much a one sided conversation, though he did nod and croak a few one word responses. I must have been fairly comfortable standing with his pecs holding me up, because we maintained that position for a good 30 minutes. I didn't even realize how fast the time had flown, and wanted to allow Mikey to breath again - though he seemed perfectly content. I began to adjust my footing to determine which would be easier, going up or back down. Diving through the pecs even came to mind, but I did not know where I would land once I came out. I managed to start turning myself around and found a mound of flesh that gave me some traction. As I continued turning and stepped, I heard (and felt) a rumble emanating from Mikey's chest. When I had turned myself completely around, I realized that I must have stepping on the underwear's pouch and the fabric was why it was easier to maneuver on. I tried to adjust where I was stepping but it was too late. Mikey's pecs squeezed a little bit harder and I knew it would be impossible to get out. Mikey slowly started to gyrate his hips and I could feel my feet be rubbed back and forth over the underwear pouch. My climbing rope solidified into a pole and started to rise up. The solid surface gave me something better to stand on and I began pushing with all of my strength but only managed to get a few inches higher. My attempt made the rumble grow in strength. I heard a whack and felt a ripple through his pecs in front of me. The space between the pecs started to part and I silently cheered that I would be free again. This turned out not to be completely wrong. Instead, the sheath fabric entered my space and the pecs closed in behind it. The top of the underwear was around my chin. While before, my climbing rope was bigger than both of my hand wrapped around it, it had grown to be larger than my torso. Realizing what might be coming, I really began to scramble to get out, pushing with my feet at the base of the sheath and pulling down on the fabric in front of my with my hands. Thinking that I would use the fabric to be able to climb up again was another incorrect assumption. All I managed to do was make the sheath harder and wedge me in more. I kept struggling and it became like quicksand where everything I did made it more difficult to escape. I started to get crushed in-between sternum, pecs and underwear. I never would have imagined saying that sentence before or ever again. I couldn't breath. The world was beginning to turn dim. With everything I had left, I pushed at the base with my legs since that had worked originally, knowing full well that it would accomplish nothing. Mikey bucked a few times while I was doing this and thick cream began to ooze out of the top. It didn't spray or shoot any where because fabric. I began blacking out as a warm feeling crept up my neck. A jolt shocked me out of it - Mikey still hadn't taken a breath in 45 minutes. And, oh my gosh, I can't breath and am going to drown. The cream was still being produced. It started pooling in the crater that I now lived in. Mikey's pecs relaxed a little bit and I no longer felt the life being crushed out of me. However, the cream was quickly passing my nose and almost my eyes. I hadn't taken a breath in well over 2 minutes and that was without training, scrambling in fear and almost blacking out from being crushed. I tried to move with whatever strength I could muster, but it was no use, any place I tried to move my hands was too slick to get any traction. Everything below my shoulders was still pinned, anyway. I quickly found myself fully submerged and the level was still rising. I would have thrashed about, but I had no strength left and no direction I could thrash in. My chest started hurting from holding my breath. My diaphragm started convulsing up and down, screaming for me to fill my lunges with air. All that was left was giving in. I just relaxed - resigned to my fate now - and let the liquid into my lunges. Minutes went by before I realized that I was not dead. I couldn't see anything. There's wasn't any air. Was that not death? I took a deep breath. That wasn't air that entered my lunges, but at the same time I no longer felt like I was drowning. In fact, I felt better than I had in any recent memories. Just then, something hit me in the back of my head. I felt the same thing hit my hands a couple of times and then swivel around my head a bunch. Finally my vision cleared some and I was able to wipe my eyes. The object was Mikey's tongue. He couldn't reach everywhere, but did manage to get my head and hands. The bottom half of my face was still submerged and the fabric was still producing cream, albeit at a slower pace. Mikey croaked to get that, then paused and croaked a please. It was definitely coming out at a quick enough pace to submerge me completely once more in another minute. I leaned my head forward and began to breath through the fabric. Doing this caused Mikey to start bucking again before the production started to go faster than it had originally. I compensated by breathing quicker and much deeper. When it started to slow after around 10 minutes, again Mikey began bucking and it became even faster. It kept happening a countless number of times. Each time was faster than the previous one. I do not know how I kept up, but I did. Finally it slowed up until it stopped. I breathed in everything that was around me, using my hands to scoop things up. I even scraped down Mikey's skin and my own clothing. I was a little bit disappointed when I had to breath air again. I felt the world shift as Mikey sat on his sofa. I never understood why he had bought such a small sofa. I couldn't see it, but knew that Mikey would be hanging off both ends. He croaked a question asking if I was ok. I tilted my head all the way back and could see the exhaustion on his face. I attempted to respond but all that came out was the sound of someone trying to talk under water. I waved at him and tried to push on the sheath. He nodded and spread his arms out and as far back as he could go. That was enough for the sheath and me to get dislodged. The sheath was still hard, but slowly becoming softer. I rode it down like an elevator and got off at the floor. I coughed a few times to clear my throat before being able to talk. I quickly exclaimed that Mikey had to breath. He finally took in a deep breath and was breathing heavy for a few minutes after. I asked him why he wasn't breathing before and he said that my feet would have been crushed where they were. That made sense. I thanked him for allowing me to continue to walk, with a chuckle. Although, I found myself standing on bare feet. I had come in with sandals on, but they must have gotten lost somewhere in there. I certainly wasn't going back to find them. I asked him how he managed to hold his breath for an hour. He told me about how when he made himself calm, and the testosterone started being produced from holding his breath, he could go for around two hours. He said it was like something inside of him still allowed oxygen absorption or that it replaced the need for oxygen. He looked over at the clock and gestured. I glanced at it and saw that it was 3 AM. Mikey was standing there with me standing on him for over 8 hours. He just smiled and said that he knew he had to do it and somehow managed to get past his previous record of 2 hours. He then got a solemn look on his face and thanked me. It was a genuine heartfelt thanks - I had never seen him with such a serious look on his face and knew that he really meant it. He said that for the past three years, he was unable to "do the deed" and in fact couldn't get it up in the slightest. During any diet or exercise routine he could not focus on it at all and needed some release from the tensions of work and life. He felt like he was exploding for all of that time and I never knew about it. After 50+ times tonight, he felt like he could finally breath again (pun intended). Game Nights Part 4 - My Turn After chatting for close to another hour, I decided to head home. I looked at my clothes and they were not in good shape. When I had looked at my bare feet before, were my clothes in this condition? I shook my head to clear my thoughts because I was actually having trouble seeing my feet under my pecs. I had to bend over way more than usual, but that was causing some light headedness. Over the past few years, I actually had kept up with working out and attempting to maintain a good diet (attempted, but not exactly succeeded). I was not as pear shaped as I had been before Mikey's moving day. My hips were still on the larger side, but at least my shoulders were a bit wider. In the previous few months, I had started gaining somewhat of a V-taper. With the wide hips, it formed a little bit of an X-shape or maybe you would call it more of an hour-glass shape, but that was much better than a pear. I was hovering around 20% body fat, so I did not have visible abs and a little bit of a gut. My pecs were always the hardest to get to respond, but I guessed I had made more progress than I originally thought. I asked Mikey if he had any old clothes I could borrow since I did not look so hot with dried sweat (among other things) and ripped clothing covering my body. Even if they didn't fit it was fine since I just needed to get home. After eight hours of standing there and experiencing all of that, I felt ready to explode and really needed to bang one out (but not in a million years at my friend's house). Mikey said that he still had some older clothes in his office closet. I went upstairs to check out what I could find and just threw my shirt and pants into the trash. There was a nice 3xl shirt in there. I started to put that on, but I couldn't even get my arms in there. My memories of Mikey wearing that shirt and how the manufacturer's cut was wrong flickered. I also found that one frayed t-shirt and jeans he had on a couple of birthdays ago. I held it up and wondered how he ever fit into that. I also pulled out the pair of jeans. Even though I remembered them being short on him, they should have been gigantic on me since he was over 15 feet tall, right? I pulled on the shirt and laughed at the torn sleeves. The little tears at the shoulders were growing a little bit more inwards while I was looking at myself in the next door bathroom mirror - that was odd. Pulled down, the shirt didn't even reach to my belly button and it was completely stretch at my chest to the point of being slightly see through. I looked like two cheese wheels somehow managing to fit into a spandex knee brace. Without a rounded gut like Mikey's, the shirt did not roll up. It was basically form fitting over top of my flared out lats and ended around the middle of my "hour glass". It wanted to take the path of least resistance and staying in place made less strain than rolling up would have. With the shirt ending right at my stomach's mid-point, it totally highlighted my nice v-taper that I was getting. I nodded in approval. I slapped my small gut hard as a salute to my nice bulges everywhere. It jiggled a little. I attempted one of Mikey's vacuums in the mirror. I exhaled fully and sucked in my stomach. I was taken aback that my stomach tightened as much as it did and actually made the shirt hang loosely from my ribcage in the front. Corrugated muscles popped out all over the landscape. My obliques were absolutely massive - a pear shaped advantage to the apple's narrow hips. Proportionally, they were definitely bigger than Mikeys, though his would be comparably longer because of his longer torso:leg ratio. My abs were not as shredded looking as Mikey's, and they had big globular shapes to them. It was interesting that Mikey's abs at 35% body fat looked a little bit better when flexed. His big ball gut must have been incredibly dense. I found holding my breath to be somewhat easier given the 5 minutes or so that I was forced to hold it earlier and then around 8 hours of not breathing any air. I ran through some different angles and poses that I had seen Mikey do with his vacuum. Each motion sent shockwaves through the tensely flexed muscles. Sucked in like that it wasn't too shabby and spurred me to work on my waist a little more once I got home. When I released, I did not feel winded. My gut even looked slightly flatter than a few minutes prior. I attempted to adjust the shirt a little, but it wasn't having any of that with my pecs straining it up top. I looked at my underwear and it was so tight that it resembled a thong. That was so weird, I did not remember wearing a thong to come to my friend's house. I tried to pull the pants on, but couldn't even get close. Things stopped around midway up my thighs because it was just getting too wide. This left my big muscular bubble shaped glutes - with a thong squeezed in-between - fully hanging out. I tried pulling from the bottom, but that was useless. The cuffs on the bottom left 6 inches exposed from my ankle up my leg. A few inches up from there, the lower part of the pant legs were completely wedged into my calves. I realized that I wouldn't be able to get these jean shorts up to the knee. Or were they more like daisy dukes - they looked short enough that they wouldn't even cover to mid thigh if I could have pulled them up to my waist. I took off the jeans and felt ripping near my armpits. The little tears started pulling apart, running down my lats on both side. Immediately after, the center of the shirt split at the collar and around my pecs. I was not entirely surprised given how tight the shirt was when I had put it on. A wave of something between euphoria and nausea overtook me. I felt like my time was running short and I needed to get home immediately. I was about to pop like that shirt just did. I went back into the office just as my thong burst free. I didn't even care, though. I just opened the closet and grabbed the first thing that I saw. There was a big piece of fabric on the floor. I picked it up and quickly looked it over. The logo was the same that I remembered from around a year and a half ago. It was that pair of underwear Mikey was wearing after his shower. I would never in a million years wear someone else's underwear, but this was a special million and one circumstance. I just needed to get home. I knew that the underwear would be way too big for me, but I could just use a belt. Wait, my belt. I fished through the trash and found that my belt was a little torn, but still usable. I threw on the underwear and started wrapping the belt around my waist. Except, it did not fit around my waist. It barely even fit across my back. It must have been torn in half during all of the events of the night. I tossed the belt back into the trash and realized that I didn't even need it. I must have been mistaken about the boxer briefs being from over a year ago. I went back into the bathroom since I had trouble seeing what was going on any more without a mirror. Those boxer briefs were definitely too small even for me. They were completely wedged up between my legs and constricting my groin. I turned to the side and saw that they were completely wedged up my ass, looking like a thong. What was with underwear looking like thongs tonight? I tried to pull it out of my crack, but it was like stretching a rubber band. It kept snapping back to the same position. After one last attempt, the boxer briefs shredded on both sides. I had to crouch down to pull out the mega wedgie they had left in their wake. I got a huge head rush again leaning over like that and felt like I was going to hurl or blow. Nothing happened, and I shockingly was not even hard at that point. The snapped briefs went into the trash, too. They looked like they were much bigger on the floor in the closet. In the trash they seemed incredibly tiny. I found Mikey's leggings from last year and started pulling them on as I walked back to the bathroom. I had to step back to take it all in. The leggings were completely see through from all angles. They were stretched so thin that I was shocked they hadn't just shredded apart. There was no way they would have lasted until I got home - they weren't concealing anything anyway. I peeled them off and checked out the brand name. I thought about getting a pair that fits later on since they seemed to be pretty high quality and durable. Still stark naked, I peeked my head around the corner, looking down the staircase. Mikey was dozing on the couch. His back was propped up against the wall and his head wasn't going anywhere with his pecs keeping it in place. I darted down the steps and into his bedroom to find some of his bigger clothes. I would have worn a tent at that point, I didn't care. I found his underwear drawer, so it must have been a million and two circumstance. Even with his three years abstinent claim, I completely avoided the few sheath style briefs that I found. There was no circumstance where my sword should fit into someone else's sheath. He did have a few large pouch spandexy things. I grabbed one and put it on, holding the top so they wouldn't fall down. I looked into his closet for some type of pants. I found a pair of shorts that an elephant would probably wear. It was good enough. I could just tie them up somehow. I checked to make sure Mikey was still asleep before darting back upstairs to the other bathroom. Quick in and out, I did not want Mikey to find me in his master bedroom or bathroom as I was already over the line for invasion of privacy (going through and wearing his underwear, as an example). As I neared the top of the steps, my heart was racing from running room to room, up and down steps. Another wave completely overtook me and I dropped to my hand and knees (the other hand still holding the shorts and underwear up). I started panting for air and moaning. The pain and pleasure rushing through my head was all that I could think about. I was basically at the point of orgasm for however many minutes I was frozen there. When it finally allowed some of my senses to return, one of the first things I realized was that I was still on the staircase. I used the moment of lucidity to crawl to the top and out of Mikey's field of view. I plopped down on the landing and felt around the front of the shorts for a wet spot. They were completely dry except for a bit of moisture from sweat. I felt a great deal of sorrow for my friend downstairs. If that was anything like what he had been experiencing for the past few years, I would have gone crazy. Still mostly enthralled, I got myself together enough to stand up and head to the bathroom. Approaching the mirror, my gaze was drawn to my legs. My thighs were big enough to force me to roll each leg over each other as I walked. I could even feel my glutes flexing and bouncing with each step. I let go of the shorts and underwear and they stayed in place. I always thought that mens shorts looked stupid because they never seemed to be shaped correctly. Then, when they would hang from the person's waist, the inside or the outside edges always seemed to ride up. These shorts sat below my hip bone and formed perfectly around my quads. I was a bit surprised that being a little more than a foot shorter than Mikey, I could fill out his short this well. The design on them had a lighter color in the middle and dark lines going from the center waistband to the outside edges of my legs. Just the design alone and how it drew my eyes made my hips seem small and my quads gigantic. I could definitely have gotten used to having a better image of myself in a mirror. Did I not have a good opinion of my reflection before? Turning to the side, my glutes perfectly filled out the back of the shorts and it really accentuated the shape. I wasn't able to pull them completely up to my hips for fear of ripping them over my ass, which left a good 6 inches of my glutes visible. My eyes trailed upwards. You know how models are down in the sub-7% body fat range to get their abs to pop, yet someone like Derek Poundstone has visible abs at 15%? The more muscle you have, the more body fat you can have and still show definition. Someone like Mikey at 35% body fat had big and bulbous muscles, giving them all a very rounded look instead of a cut and defined look. While I looking at myself in the mirror, I could have sworn that I had magically dropped under 10% body fat. My abs were these wide bricks stacked on top of each other. The top four were the only ones separated from the pack, with two columns bordering my belly button going down. However, I did not have any visible veins popping up - meaning I was at least 20% body fat, still. I imagined looking up a definition of bear mode in the dictionary and seeing my picture. My pecs showed a nice cut down the middle and a separation near the top at the upper chest. My torso was just thick all the way down (still curved inwards at my waist). My hips looked like hams were shoved in there with a massive adonis belt that joined forces with the ab columns to stretch the front of the shorts unnecessarily. My lats pushed my arms forward by about 20 degrees and to the side by 30 degrees. Unfortunately my smaller proportioned arms and shoulders looked completely eclipsed by what was going on in the middle. If you chopped off my arms, they would look quite impressive on their own. I seemed to remember that I had gotten my arms up to 19 inches, but these were clearly past 40 or 50 inches. It was a shame that they got outshined by everything else. I could feel another wave washing over my brain and just mumbled about how it would have to do without a shirt. I shut off the lights in the bathroom and office before quickly making my way back down stairs. If I let it overtake me again, I could not foresee how long I would be debilitated. Game Nights Part 5 - Finally Some Clarity Mikey was still dozing on the couch when I came downstairs. I woke him to let him know that I was leaving. I wanted to make sure that he locked up behind me - you never know when a robber might take advantage of an unlocked door and overpower you. He groggily smiled and stood up to give me a hug goodbye. I looked down at his legs, expecting to have to scale mountains. But we were the same height, weren't we? What was I doing when we first hugged last night? I looked at my hand and then at his chest cleavage. Wasn't I reaching up into his pecs with my whole arm before? My thoughts were interrupted as he reached me and we hugged. Since i was a taller, i just maneuvered my pecs a little and we were able to pat each other on the back. I held him for a moment remembering that the last time we managed to hug normally seemed like it was a few years ago. That thought too was interrupted as he was asleep again with face on my pecs. I just held him there for a few minutes, gently rubbing his back. That was quite an ordeal he had tonight and indeed over the previous three years. I scooped him up in my arms and brought him to his back patio. He was heavy, but one of the benefits of being over a foot taller and wider was that he was small enough to carry. The back patio was a nice enclosed space. He had a quadruple sized reinforced hammock that he would sleep on when it was nice out. However the hammock did not look big, maybe it was a regular size and I was mistaken about it being larger. I laid him in there gently and lit his firepit. It was a nicely designed space, with ventilation for the firepit to keep you warm without smoking you out, and a cool cross breeze to give you fresh air. As I was lighting the pit, I heard a long rip and the shorts fell from my waist, split in half. I sighed and picked them up off of the patio floor. I got another head rush as I bent over and the micro modal fabric of the large pouched underwear was almost immediately straining in response. I decided to stay until he woke up just to make he was ok. That meant it turned into a million and three circumstance because I could not hang around without getting some relief. I went into his master bathroom because it had an oversized shower stall. I was past caring about invasion of privacy, I knew instinctively that I wouldn't have even made it home in that state. In the bathroom, Just turning on the water started making me harder. I wasn't even done adjusting the temperature when the micro modal underwear just exploded off of me - that stuff was was supposed to be super stretchy. Temperature be damned, this was happening regardless of hot or cold. I jumped into the stall and started shooting before the door closed behind me. Imagining having to clean up an eight hour mess if this was going to be anything like Mikey earlier, I decided to just "self clean" so to speak. Out of habit, I breathed in as opposed to swallowing. Luckily my pecs were much more manageable than Mikey's and I could reach my head to breath in on my own. Since I was already in the shower, I decided to clean myself. I still had residues from the various events earlier in the night. It was quite interesting washing myself in the shower with my head(s) locked in place. It took a good hour for one load, but luckily did not continue afterwards. It would have been awkward shooting again (and again and again and again) like Mikey had. I wasn't stopped up for three years like he had been, either. I finished rinsing and turned off the shower. I mouthed a curse when I realized that I had never searched for a towel. I just shook my head and let myself drip dry for a few minutes. My head was finally clearing and I could use the time to think. I had come in with sandals on and then lost them somewhere on Mikey's body. I bent over and looked at my feet - how in the world could I have lost size 30 sandals on his body? They would have been visible anywhere, even in-between his pecs. I tried to picture the sandals in my mind. I recalled being in the store and buying size 13's. I also remembered my shirt in the trash had been size xl. When I was trying them on, Mikey's 3xl shirt and the ripped one felt like they would be too big for me. So why was my mind telling me that I order custom sized shirts online? All of the underwear ripped apart even though they were drastically different sizes. All of the pants and shorts were stretched around my legs with them also being different sizes. No... my car, it was regular sized. Why did it make sense to find clothes to drive home? I would not even be able to fit one leg in the drivers seat let alone drive home in it. Even my home had 8 foot ceilings. How could I even live there? My subconscious kept telling me to shake these thoughts out of my head, but my brain finally wasn't listening. Wait, Mikey was shorter than me when we first met by over a foot. Then he was much taller than me, more than 2.5 times my height. At that moment I was taller again by over two feet. Mikey was 5'2" a few years ago, right? He said that he was ready to explode for over three years. He was also 5'2" a little over three years ago. I finally pinned it down, things started changing when he started trying to exercise. No that's not it, he also said that he could not focus on a diet and exercise regime the whole time, which meant it started around when he moved into his house. I looked at the faucet, was it something in the water? No, it couldn't be. I knew for a fact that he drank filtered water from his refrigerator. I pondered what could be different between his life and mine. We ate the same types of food, nothing out of the ordinary - although I was more adventurous. He played more video games and was online more than me, but why would that cause this effect to happen? By then, I was no longer dripping wet. I stepped out and found his linen closet for a towel. I quickly dried myself off and went back to his closet to find something very large and stretchy. I was no longer under the fog of my subconscious saying that Mikey's clothes would be too big. I concentrated for a moment on how much taller I was than Mikey, my brain still said somewhat over two feet. At least that meant I was not growing anymore (or even worse, both of us were growing at the same rate). I found a much larger pair of lycra leggings, made by the same company as the ones in the office closet. That would have to do. After stuffing myself into the leggings, I ran the towel through my hair one more time and hung it over the shower stall doors. It occurred to me that I would have a lot of explaining to do with all of the torn clothes now in the trash. I was fine just buying him all new clothes to replace anything that I had touched. The harder topic would be me going through his bedroom and even using his master bathroom shower without asking. Since I was there anyway, I decided to check out what the leggings looked like in the mirror. They were definitely tight, but not to the point of bursting - finally! I tried to get some rough measurements even though my subconscious was telling me that I had already measured many times in the past. My brain was still fighting it off. It was actually quite difficult to measure since everything was so much bigger and my frame of reference was off. I looked at my hand and it seemed like a normal sized hand according to my eyeball judgement. However, just in relation to tiles on the floor and such, my hand had to have been at least 2 feet long. Using both hands as a quick ruler, my thighs were somewhere in the 90+ circumference range (almost 4 hands worth). I tried the same on my arms with more limited success. They were each in-between 2 hands and 3 hands - though closer to 2. A very rough estimate put them around 60 inches. My hands could not stretch far enough to fully cup my delts to judge their size. I felt the heft of my pecs. The felt like solid slabs of beef, though with the increased size they were probably closer to the entire slab of meat hanging to age in a butcher shop. I bounced my pecs in my hands to feel them pounding up and down and that flexed hard in the mirror. I could see slight signed of striations in the mirror, but not very distinct. That was wild to see at 20% body fat. I could recall flexing and barely seeing the separation at the bottom of my pecs before. My eyes traveled down from my pecs and I noticed that my stomach was sucked in. My abs were clearly defined now. The increased muscle density while growing provided further separation (still no veins though). I did a quick hand measurement and it was roughly 80 inches (3 hands plus a bit more). I tried to inflate my gut and tense it again, but nothing happened. I wasn't purposefully or even fully doing a vacuum pose. Actually, I wasn't even breathing. I forced myself to think about it and my last breath of air I remembered taking was at the firepit. I recalled smelling the embers and then getting a head rush when bending over right next to it. I did gasp when the shorts had ripped off, but could not recall actually breathing air any time after that. I tried to inhale but my throat felt like it was closed. I tried to exhale and some air bubbled up and exited my mouth - causing my stomach to suck in just a tiny bit more. I went to inhale again and was still blocked. It was like swimming with a snorkel. If you went under water and exhaled, you could feel the bubbles leaving the tube but then you would be trapped until you reached the surface again to blow out the water. But in this case, i did not feel panicked about not breathing. Instead, i felt like i had plenty of oxygen and did not have to breath. I felt like I would have to address not having to breath at some point, but it was not a critical situation at that moment. So the firepit... could there be something in there? I knew it was some type of synthetic coal and not wood. It even had a pretty yellow color to the brickettes. Some weird smoke could have some hallucinogenic effects and possibly distort perceptions. I knew that Mikey slept out there on the patio most of the time. Whatever residual smoke may have been hanging around the house when I would stop by, but not concentrated enough to have the long term effects that Mikey was facing. Having his breathing stopped while he slept might also explain why he took to doing the stomach vacuums so quickly and could hold his breath for record breaking lengths of time. I also had the marathon of not breathing air for eight hours straight, but I also had everything that was stored up over three years saturating my lungs - it obviously resulted in a much greater impact than residual smoke that had not been completely ventilated. It was around 7AM by then. I went to confirm my suspicions and found that Mikey was not breathing out on the hammock. I extinguished the flames and picked him up to bring him to his bed. I closed the door behind me to prevent any more of the smoke from coming. I smiled at the thought - I would not have imagined this yesterday. Here I was carrying 15+ foot tall Mikey and being able to maneuver enough to close a door without dropping him. But I was always big enough to hold him like that... Damn, I shook my head with disgust. That stuff works fast. Luckily I still wasn't breathing, as inhaling it would probably have a much greater impact. I went to lie Mikey down on his bed, but why did he buy such a small bed. it was supposed to be a double sized king and looks smaller than a twin with him on it. I quickly bit my lip to try to stay centered in reality. I shut his bedroom door and opened his windows to help bring in some fresh air. It was still difficult to concentrate, and took everything I had to keep focused on the matter at hand. I reached up and touched the ceiling. At least Mikey had lucked out by getting 24 foot cathedral ceilings. Otherwise, He would have been smashed into the place some time last year. I ran my hand along the ceiling to the doorway. The door was completely removed with a good chunk of the wall. At some point, Mikey must have had contractors out to reframe the doorways. I had never noticed that his doors went almost to the ceiling and were 16 feet wide. Everything had always registered as normal. Speaking of which, the office wall had been completely removed, along with the upstairs bathroom's wall. The only thing each of the rooms had were those room separator accordion type doors. My mind was still boggling over how these obviously strange things did not even phase me a few hours ago. On the opposite side of the bedroom, Mikey had a bench installed that could hold him. I gently tested it out and it seemed sturdy enough to hold me, too. I then heard Mikey take a deep inhale and then sounded like the normal labored breathing that people do when they sleep. That was good, at least one thing was off my mind. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I had been awake for over 24 hours (minus whatever amount of time i had been blacked out) and it was starting to wear on me. I obviously couldn't leave the house looking like this, and it was going to be difficult explaining the situation to Mikey since he had been under the influence of whatever that stuff was for over three years. To make matters worse, I still could not breath, meaning I also would not be able to speak. I sighed, or rather a couple bubbles trickled up my throat and escaped. I dozed off with the singular thought that I hoped I would wake up in my right mind. Game Nights Part 6 - The New Paradigm I woke up sometime around noon. I felt so groggy, I could have slept for another five hours. My roommate Mikey was in my bed and I was slowly realizing that I was on my corner bench seat. I tried to remember when we went to bed last night. We must have been so drunk. Even though I could not recall, I obviously brought Mikey to my room instead of his hammock. I stood up and stretched, rubbing my hands against the ceiling. I got a sudden chill and noticed the window was open. I rubbed my bare chest and could feel the goosebumps popping up. After closing the window, I rubbed at my arms and shoulders to warm myself up a bit. I inspected the current situation. I looked over my roommate to make sure he was ok. The silly guy was just wearing underwear and it was really cold in there. Other than his underwear being a little bit crusty, he seemed fine. He was in one of those sheath style underwear brands that he liked so much. Normally, I am not checking out my roommate, but laying there with no other clothes on he was basically on full display. He definitely looked bigger than usual - about as long as his thigh. It was kind of like when you have sex and don't fully go down afterwards. That not-fully-done chub state. It was not that I disapproved of the sight. He was actually looking pretty manly like that with the sheath somehow still covering it all. Nodding as a sort of "good for you", I pulled a blanket over him so that he would not catch a cold. We were just roommates and not partners, though I did not mind him being in my bed or basically being naked laying there. We never really talked about sexual orientation, but I suspected that he was bisexual, leaning towards women. I was more asexual, not really seeking the company of men or women. If a situation came up, I would go with the flow and wind up not enjoying it as much as the other party. I knew how to please myself and had not found anybody else who could come close. Just because I was not interested in men or women didn't mean that I stopped having fantasies. Since we were not specifically "into each other", Mikey being in my bed was not a big deal and it was better to just let it go. We shared most things around the house, anyway. Even without being a couple, we still cared deeply for each other. I would do anything for Mikey, even give my life to save his. And I knew he felt the same way. With Mikey safe and resting soundly, I went into the bathroom. It was a little bit warmer there. I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. I had to brush my hair a little with my hand - it was really messy, as if I had taken a shower and just let it dry with only a quick tussle of a towel. I had at least a day's worth of beard growth going and it was coming in pretty evenly. In another day or two, I would have a nice full beard. Also, I was only wearing leggings with no underwear. The previous night was beginning to be curiouser and curiouser. It looked like I had just jammed on the pants with reckless abandon. I pulled them part way down to take a leak. I really had to go - yep, there was definitely a ton of alcohol last night. I readjusted my package before pulling the pants back up. Allowing my penis to run down my inner thigh prevented any pain later on from constriction. I had to I wiped a little bit of drool from the side of my face and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. What day was it? With the hair, beard growth and pants, it seemed like I had lost an entire day. I pondered the question for a moment as I scratched at the beard. My best guess was that it seemed like a Saturday. That was good, Mikey was off on Saturdays and I could just let him sleep in. I walked out of my room to check email up in the office. On my way, I stopped by the kitchen to start brewing some coffee. I opened up a bag and poured the entire pound of coffee grounds into the filter. I grabbed two gallons of water from the pantry and filled the machine's reservoir. I flipped the on switch and sauntered towards the staircase. Through the front window, I noticed a car parked on the street. Those crazy neighbors were always parking in front of our house. Mikey and I never minded though since we both worked from home. He had his work with the global supplies company and I was sole proprietor of my home business. The weekends were always my time on the main computer and he took 7-4 (or longer) on weekdays. We had a laptop floating somewhere around if either of us had to use the computer while the other was working. Upstairs, I started responding to client emails and creating a priority checklist for the weekend. Things were pretty light, which was both good and bad. Nice to get some free time, but hard on the wallet with less billable hours to submit. I could hear the coffee machine beep downstairs. On the way out, I noticed the trashcan full of ripped clothing. Mikey and I really needed to stop getting drunk (or AS drunk as we must have been last night). At minimum, I missed out on something wild. Before getting started on my weekend list, I had to wake up a bit more. I poured myself a cup into my gallon sized beer stein (which doubled nicely a coffee mug). With coffee in hand, I stared out the back windows. The firepit looked like it had been used and then snuffed out, but nothing was cleaned up. Perhaps we had sat out on the patio for a while and Mikey had passed out. Or maybe Mikey had slept there at some point during the night and then had come upstairs because it was too cold even with the fire running. The coffee was nice. It was the perfect amount of heat on a chilly afternoon mixed with enough caffeine to bypass whatever lack of sleep I was feeling. It certainly did the trick and I decided to go for a quick run. Especially when exercising, my body produced so much heat that I forewent with putting on a shirt. I was like a plugged in laptop power cord. When I was off, I was cool to the touch. When I was running, you could burn your hand. I figured a nice brisk run would certainly get me going without overheating. I grabbed a set of keys and attached them to my leggings. Then, out the door I went. Whenever I went for a run, I always had to use the street. There were some complaints from the neighbors since I would have one foot on the sidewalk and one foot in their yards. More so when it had rained recently, I would leave footprints around the neighborhood. Whenever I tried to run on just the sidewalk, the path was so narrow that I eventually tripped every time. The street was perfectly fine, though. I could run faster than the 25 mile an hour speed limit in the neighborhood and also easily hopped over any cars that might be coming in the other direction. See, Mikey and I lived in a community of little people. All of them were only like five feet tall or something. Maybe a few came up to Mikey's waist, but none reached mine. They were all extremely light, too. Mr. Briggs down the street complains about weighing 350 pounds and thinking that he is too heavy. Either Mikey or I could shot-put him maybe a quarter of a mile away if we were so inclined. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. Another guy, something Italian like Donatello or Donato (I just call him Donny), talks about his big muscles all of the time. He is a tiny 200 pounds soaking wet - I would totally put my money on Briggs in a fight. I might be able to punt little Donny at least a mile if I caught the wind just right. Those two are probably considered the biggest fellows in the neighborhood next to us. All of those little people drove in these cute little cars. They reminded me of an electronic jeep that I had when I was a kid. I was sure that our neighbors all thought their little vehicles were impressive. I kept my opinion about them looking like toys for children to myself. Who was I to tell them otherwise. I came up to Ms. Ellie's house after a couple minutes of jogging. She lived around two miles away from us on the other side of the neighborhood. Ms. Ellie was an attractive 50 something year old little lady - nice as could be. As I approached, she greeted me and called me "hot stuff". I often wondered if Ms. Ellie was a cougar. I gave a cheerful wave in response. She looked me up and down and lingered on my legs. She then made a sly comment about how the cold didn't have any shrinkage effect. It occurred to me that I forgot to put on underwear before leaving and was obviously on display down my inner thigh. I blushed profusely, but there wasn't much I could do about it. She got a big grin on her face for still having the ability to make a man over 3 times her height blush. The grin faded quickly as she asked me for a quick favor. The Delinger boy next door to her constantly parked too close to Ms. Ellie's car. She always had to go next door and ask them to move it. Since she was just running to the store for a few things, she asked if I could help her out. I happily complied and gently grabbed the undercarriage of the car with both hands. It was a little bit of a strain to pick it up, but I could have carried it all the way back to my house two miles away. As gently as I could, I placed it into the middle of the street. She winked at me and said that she would stop by over the weekend and drop off some cookies from Mikey and me. Ms. Ellie worked at a bakery and always brought home extra dough that would otherwise be thrown out. She usually had cookies overflowing from her kitchen and loved to give them away. Mikey and I were both trying to watch our weight, but who could say no to free freshly baked cookies. Plus, she would bake a single cookie per cookie sheet whenever she made them for us. It was divine compared to the store bought junk where you need to eat an entire sleeve of cookies for one mouth full. Her eyes were lingering on my legs again as she said that she would see me later and called me hot stuff again. Although it sounded more like she freudian slipped - calling me hot stuffed. I then upgraded her in my head to: totally a cougar and possibly into me. I jogged next to her car for a minute as she approached the main connecting road outside of our community. At the last street, I made the motion of blowing a kiss to her and took off to the left. I jogged for another twenty minutes before turning back towards home. A few blocks from us was a park, mostly for the neighborhood kids. They had a bunch of salvaged or repurposed items. It was really neat that the crafty people in the neighborhood spent the time and effort to make a beautiful playground out of reclaimed pieces. The park was ideally situated right in the middle of the community. Most of the kids had less than a mile to walk before getting to play - good suburban planning from the original builders. There was this old monster truck with most of the exterior stripped down. Sandpits were placed around so that the kids would have a soft landing if they fell. A slide was constructed over the engine block to prevent anybody from falling in. Kids could climb up the tires, play around in the flatbed in the back and pretend that they were driving it. Overall, it made for a nice big jungle gym for the little people and their kids. It also made for an excellent piece of gym equipment for Mikey and me. Generally, we would only use it if nobody else was around. Every once in a while, we would stand with one of us on each side and "fly" it around with the kids inside. The rules were they either had to be in the front seats or sitting on the flatbed holding on to the constructed railings. If anybody at all broke those rules, the game would be over for everyone. Needless to say, none of the kids ever broke the rules so that they could get the chance to fly in a monster truck. We would make the motions like they were launching off of a hill and landing on other trucks. We would make the crunching sounds like there were big metal-on-metal collisions. All of the kids cheering was sometimes deafening, but it was so much fun. With all of the extra additions and construction, the monster truck weighed around 12,000 pounds. I slid under it and grabbed both wheel axles. I then started pressing it slowly into the air. While neither Mikey nor I could perform the "flying" carry by ourselves (at least not stably enough to prevent the kids from being launched out of it), we could use it for bench, squats (with assistance) and deadlifts. Deadlifts were the hardest to perform because we basically needed to grab the flat bed side and stand up with the truck sticking straight out in front of us. I could bang out a couple of reps since I was taller and had a longer reach. With the truck standing 12 feet tall and 12 feet wide, while Mikey stood a little over 15 feet tall, I had to provide assistance on the slide side to maintain his balance. 9... 10...... 11............. Try as I might, I could not lock out a 12th rep. Still, 10 was my previous max so getting one more was great. I stretched my arms out to the sides for a minute before grabbing the axles again. 7... 8........... My arms started sinking back, but then I gritted my teeth and gave it my all - 9! I slowly lowered the truck back down. My entire body was shaking by this point, but I wanted to milk that negative rep for all it was worth. My chest was burning like lava was about to erupt out of it. Steam started billowing off of my pecs into the chilly air. I was not looking down, but I could imagine that they were turning pitch black with my sulfur rich blood pumping through them. The wheels finally touched the ground and my arms flopped to the side like they were made of jelly. I closed my eyes and concentrated on flexing my pecs to keep the blood in them. I imagined what it would be like if they keep expanding and my entire body would grow to match. I had to stop myself from that train of thought because I started getting hard. The last thing I needed was to run the rest of the way home naked if the leggings gave out on me. After the much needed minute of rest, my arms were ready for action. I slid out from under the truck. I brushed a bunch of the sand from my back and ass before starting on some pushups. I performed 100 regular, then 50 with each arm, and finally 20 handstand-to-planche pushups. Now completely pumped, it was time for one more set under the truck. 4... 5..... 6............ Game Nights Part 7 - Introducing Morgan Mikey found himself in an unfamiliar place. Darkness was covering the room, but he could feel cold stone or concrete below him. It took quite a bit of time for his eyes to start adjusting. When they did, he could start to see walls - one, two, three, and the fourth seemed to be open. He started walking in the open direction but something impeded his movement. It was cold, cold iron bars - he was in a cell. He quickly searched the other three walls to see if there was a means for escape, to no avail. He called out through the bars for help, but he had no voice. He was trapped and nobody was coming to save him. Some amount of time passed: days, weeks, months, or maybe even years. There were no windows to tell the passing of time. The halls were just as dark as his cell. Some light must have been coming from somewhere or else he would be in total darkness. However, the amount of light always stayed the same without a day/night cycle. Nothing was there except for Mikey and the cold iron bars. Time started to bleed together and trying to determine days became irrelevant. Mikey knew that he was in prison awaiting his execution. The passing of time also grew his anticipation for the event. When would it happen? How would it happen? The only question Mikey was not asking was why, because he already knew the answer to that one. When the stress became unbearable, he began to grow. At first it was unnoticeable. You cannot tell that you have grown an inch without even being able to see your surroundings. It wasn't until he was around a foot taller when he started detecting a difference. The bars on the cell seemed smaller. From the day before or even a week before, the bars would have seemed the same. But Mikey could recall the first time he touched them. The growth continued. By the time he was three feet taller, he found out that there was a ceiling. By seven feet taller, he could no longer walk around the cell without scrapping his head. The unbearable anticipation turned into agonizing torture. Mikey finally realized the method of his execution. His fate was to be tormented with size until finally being crushed within the cell from his own growth. Though with the size increase also came an unbelievable strength increase. Mikey began to fight back. He spent his days slamming his fist into the wall - at the same spot over and over. He could feel the stone being chipped away. When he reached around 15 feet taller than he was originally, Mikey could no longer sit up in the cell. That did not deter him from his mission of slamming the wall. By then, too, his gargantuan fists shook the room with each jab. The hole in the wall was a few feet deep, but the wall's thickness seemed to go on forever. Eventually, his escape attempt had to come to an end. By 25 feet taller, he was too big to maneuver any more for a punch. He still dug his finger into the hole he had created, scrapping whatever he could out of it. That too eventually came to an end. Mikey grew to the point of feeling like a sardine packed into a can. There was no more available space and the execution date was finally upon him. Suddenly, the entire jail exploded from some unknown source. Mikey was not injured and was just extremely relieved that he could continue growing in peace. And grow he did. He quickly reached 50 feet. Looking at his hands, he was reminded of the rock golem in the Never-ending Story. They indeed looked like such big strong hands. He felt like he could crush the former prison with just one punch. By 100 feet tall, Mikey could no longer determine where the prison was. Not like he cared, anyway. The power rushing through him was all that he ever needed to know until the end of time. By 500 feet tall, he knew that he was a god and would rule over everything now and forever. Fate had other plans, though. The visage of his roommate came into view. They reached for each other, but the roommate vanished in a cloud of smoke before they could touch. Mikey began to shrink rapidly. Before he knew it, he was under 50 feet tall and still shrinking. The prison was in view again and quickly approaching. Mikey felt like he was falling, but his feet never left the ground. Cold wind rushed by him. He reached his original height, standing amongst the rubble, and continued his descent. He became buried under the stones and cinder. Any one of the pieces of rubble could have completely crushed him. The wind was still blowing and Mikey could no longer tell if his fate was to to vanish, be crushed or freeze. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and then a warmth covering his body. All of the anticipation and fear melted away. The prison no longer existed, Mikey was finally safe. ========== Mikey roused from his slumber. He felt nice and cozy with a blanket wrapped around him. He rolled over, wrapping himself into a cocoon with the blanket. He smiled as the dream/nightmare faded from existence and then dozed off again. ========== After my last set under the truck, I rolled out and brushed the sand off again. I went back to doing pushups. I continued going, without counting, until reaching failure. Even then, I rested for a few seconds and pumped out a few more. I kept doing that until I could not do a single pushup after the few seconds of rest. I slammed into the ground - slam is a fairly accurate description. If one of the little people was doing pushups it would have been more of a plop, while me hitting the ground vibrated all of the houses within a 500 foot radius of the earthquake's epicenter. I felt like a turtle on its back (even though I was on my chest). My arms were absolute mush. I couldn't even use them to roll myself over. I sort of wiggled my feet for a bit and then used them as leverage to pry myself up on to my side and then on to my back. I did a kip-up, although at my size a kip-up only helps me to reach a seated position. There is no way in hell I could move the amount of mass needed to land on my feet. Or maybe I could, I made a note to myself to try it when I had use of my arms. With some smart maneuvering, I was able to get up to my feet to start walking home. My chest was completely black and pumped with blood, with it spreading to my shoulders, triceps, neck and upper abs. From a distance, it looked like I was wearing a black cut-off sleeveless shirt. I only had a couple of blocks left to walk and then I could try to bang out my weekend billables - I thought about how one might think that was a sexual innuendo as opposed to a business term. I tilted my head while in my "pondering" face. It would probably be both ways. ========== Morgan patted himself off after getting out of the shower. His dark ebony skin always looked fantastic wet. The drips of water trickling down his body highlighted and accentuated all of his bulges and curves. He wrapped the towel around his waist and put on his glasses to check himself out in the mirror. He still had a great body from his years of playing football, but had definitely gotten fluffy after being out of the gym for 9 years. Even with the accumulated fat, his overall muscle size had not diminished much. A couple years ago, he and his friends were going to start working out, but you know how it is. You just get busy and there always seems to be tomorrow. Back then, Morgan used to go over to his friend Mikey's house for games nights. Then, life started getting in the way. He was too tired after work, or his wife took his attention away, or he just forgot. With all of the cancellations on his end, Mikey seems to start cancelling, as well. Then, game night almost completely stopped all together. The previous day was Mikey's birthday, but again with work and the wife, etc., etc. - time just slipped away once more. They had agreed to run a game night on Saturday (today), starting in the early afternoon, since Morgan's schedule was freed up. A few other friends were also going to come over. Morgan flexed his bicep in the mirror. It mounded up to an awesome 19 inches cold. He recalled being at Mikey's house a couple of years ago and Mikey had been bigger. He did not say anything at the time or even act like he noticed it, but Morgan was definitely a little jealous. As far as he knew, Mikey did not even work out so it was a slap in the face to have smaller arms. Morgan gritted his teeth and crushed his arms a little bit harder, gaining a bit more of a peak. He made a silent resolution to himself that after today, he would make time for the gym and regain his arm dominance over the rest of the game night group. It wasn't that any of them ever talked about muscle size when playing games, but Morgan knew that the others stole glances at his rolled up t-shirts and now that attention was being shifted to Mikey. Morgan moved into his bedroom, still with the towel wrapped around him, and grabbed a couple of dumbbells hidden in the back of the closet. He began fervently pumping out bicep curls. Even if Mikey was still bigger, Morgan wanted to give the best gun show that he could. His wife, Ashley, entered the room and smirked at the sight. The two of them were polar opposites. Ashley was a humble high school teacher - she taught STEM courses. In college, she fell in love with a jock on the football team. They dated for a few years and got married. Everybody could see that they loved each other, but they had nothing in common. Morgan played football and cared about his body (even though he let it go somewhat), while Ashley was an intellectual and put more effort into Morgan's body than her own. Morgan had quit football because he was secretly a gamer and wanted to spend 10 hours on a console rather than 10 hours a day on the field. Ashley had never even played a single video game and wanted to breed animals in her spare time. Morgan liked anime, sci-fi and fantasy vs. Ash's dry British shows, romantic comedies and teen dramas. How they made it work, nobody knew. But when they were together, they somehow were the perfect match. Ash wanted to come over to game night with Morgan. She was actually friends with Mr. Briggs' sister up the street. The two Briggses lived together in the same house. Ash and the sister could then hang out while Morgan and his friends played some board games. Morgan grunted out his approval of the plan and did not even lose stride in his reps. Silently, both of them were impressed that Morgan was able to curl so much without having worked out in such a long time. If he really dedicated himself to the gym, his muscle memory would totally be like the Colorado Experiment. He grinned at the thought of gaining 50 pounds of muscle in a month. Then, there would be no way Mikey could come close to his own arms. Ashley sauntered over to her husband. His biceps were definitely getting pumped from the exercise. She had been first interested in him because he was a jock. However, things changed and their relationship evolved. When they got married, Ash stopped caring about Morgan's body because she loved his heart. Unfortunately, he had also stopped caring about his body - leading to his current state. She still loved him for him, but if he did get super buff again, Ashley would have no complaints. She ran her finger along his exposed back. He was still a little moist from the shower. His little display of power and beautiful skin was totally making her hot. Ash tilted her head a little and ran her tongue around the curve of his shoulder. Morgan slowed his reps a bit to really squeeze out at the top. He held that position as Ash buried her tongue in the bulges and grooves Morgan's pumped arms were creating. He gave a low moan of pleasure in response. Ashley went up and kissed his neck and then his cheek. While she did this, an expert flick of her wrist sent the towel to the floor. Ashley then abruptly sauntered away and out of the room, keeping one eye over her shoulder to indicate that they would save "that" for later. Morgan had a silly grin on his face, completely naked. He was also completely hard both from his wife and the bloated pump his arms felt. Even if Ash hadn't removed the towel, his cock probably would have done the same job in another minute. Morgan, still smiling, naked and hard as a rock, resumed his bicep curls. Ash basically sealed the deal in Morgan's mind. If doing a few bicep curls elicited that sort of response from his wife, he was most certainly going to dedicate any extra effort into working out. Happy wife, happy life. The prospect of what he could accomplish and how Ash would respond made him even more hard. If before he was as hard as a rock, he could now drill through steel. His dick even started to hurt from blood pounding into it. He focused on the pain and the burning sensation in his arms became background noise. On and on he kept curling the weights. His arms became so tight that he could only get halfway up before being blocked by his own skin and sinew screaming out like Popeye - it was all it could stand and it can't stands no more. Any blood not going to his arms was diverted towards his dick. It too was screaming out that it needed release. With his hands otherwise occupied, the pounding cock was on its own. Just as Morgan was about to blow without even touching himself, he slowly lowered the weights on to the bed and picked up his towel. He smirked down at little Morgan, knowing that he was going to save the energy from that masterful edging for later. Ash was going to get her just rewards for encouraging him on his new path. Morgan wiped down any remaining moisture and sweat that had built up. He draped the towel on the shower rack and turned back to the mirror. He had to clean his glasses off since they got a little condensation from the steam still in the air around the shower. Just that 10 minutes made his somewhat fluffy body look borderline jacked. He flexed his arms hard and could immediately feel the cramps that were creeping in. He didn't even care as he flexed even harder. The peaks easily exceeded 21 inches now. Then Morgan groaned as the cramp in his arms overtook him. He shook them out and massaged his biceps some. He couldn't wait to see how Mikey compared. ========== Mikey entered a dormitory at his college. He hadn't been there in many years and things looked the same yet slightly different. It was his freshman year of college and he had just arrived for the first time on campus. Inside of the entryway of the dorm was a courtyard (inside of the building). There were plants and trees, surrounded by a walking path. Birds chirped in the trees. In the center was a large ornate fountain with multiple tiers. Mikey looked up at the ceiling and there was a mural of the sun and clouds and the sky. The clouds were moving through the painting. His class for the day was meeting at the fountain, in the courtyard, inside of his dorm building. Because that's just how they roll in dream colleges. Still carrying his luggage, since he had just arrived and not yet moved into his room, Mikey walked over and sat on the grass by the fountain. There were thirty or so other students there. One was his freshman year roommate but he did not recognize any of the others. The professor stood on the edge of the fountain and began lecturing. Mikey could not hear any of the words, but instinctively knew that it was a biology lesson regarding anatomy. The professor continued speaking in garbled words, but Mikey understood all of it. The anatomy lesson went into ways to make muscles grow and change peoples sizes. The professor was now standing on the second tier of the fountain. She continued on with the lesson but somehow was on the third tier without breaking any stride. Each tier she went up, she became bigger and bigger, as if to give a real time demonstration to the class about what she was talking about. Without even Mikey realizing it, the professor was on the fourth tier and was a massive giant. Mikey was confused and impressed at the same time. He wondered how she was doing it. He looked at his fellow classmates to see their reactions and they were all giants, as well. Mikey looked down and found that he was sitting on a single blade of grass that was strong enough to hold him up. A chime rang out like in a high school, indicating that class time was over. The giant professor began to describe what everyone had to do for homework. The chime rang again, indicating that class was over once more. Mikey was distracted from his homework assignment and his heart pounded loudly three times in his chest. The other students began to pack up their things as the chime started going continuously telling them that class was over. Wait, what? Mikey's eyes opened slowly and he found himself in bed, wrapped up in a blanket. There was a rapid pounding on the front door. He groaned and dragged himself out of bed. With eyes still pretty much shut, he walked out of the bedroom like a zombie. Game Nights Part 8 - Game Night Returns Morgan parked his car after dropping off Ash down the street. He noted that someone must have already arrived since there was a car in front of Mikey's house. That was fine, Morgan was never the first one to arrive anyway. The driveway was free, so Morgan pulled in there. He adjusted his glasses and flexed his arms a little. The pump was still there, but definitely not as tight as an hour before. He got out and clicked the door locks. As he walked up to Mikey's door, he noticed someone was walking in the street about a block away. Morgan barely paid attention as he rang Mikey's doorbell. Patiently waiting, Morgan glanced back at the person approaching. Something was definitely off. The person looked like he was taller than the cars, WAY taller than the cars. Morgan's eyes almost bugged out of his head when he realized the person was a giant - he had to be somewhere in the 20 feet tall area. Slightly panicked, Morgan rang the doorbell again and knocked. He only allowed a few seconds of a response before jamming his finger into the doorbell multiple times and slamming on the door. Morgan took a step back from the doorway, his mind was racing with the fight or flight response. He had to get to his car, but would the giant attack before it made any difference? Morgan had played many video games with giants as enemies, but he had never thought that they were real. The tallest person he had heard of was 8 or 9 feet tall. The approaching goliath was at least double that. Random pictures he had seen of those tall people showed them as lanky and usually needing a cane to walk. The figure a few houses away from Morgan was not frail by any means... and... and... he had blackened skin spreading across his chest. What a chest it was, too. It was large and rugged, obviously pumped up from recent exercising. With his current state of mind, Morgan obviously couldn't get an accurate estimate on size, but it was at least a foot overhang from the giant's abs. The abs were sucked in tight, making the most incredible X-taper Morgan had ever seen. Morgan loved his wife, but the fear and a bit of awe for the muscled giant made his cock ache in his pants. Fight or Flight gave way to silently lusting to be dominated by the figure. The potential energy stored up from edging earlier was coming back with full force. Morgan heard the door open and his flight response immediately kicked back in. He tried to dart inside without averting his eyes from the street. He was sadly mistaken in his attempt as he collided with a massive hunk of flesh. He stumbled backwards and realized that it was a leg, possibly a human leg, yet impossibly huge. He tried to get away, but tripped on his own feet and tumbled to the ground. The giant from the street was upon him almost immediately. The original giant indicated to the new one in the doorway to step back. Then, he easily picked up Morgan. Completely terrified now, all Morgan could do was tremble in fear. ========== I continued walking home. As I reached about a block away, I saw Morgan at our door, ringing it frantically. I smiled and waved, but it did not seem like he saw me. I shook my head, realizing that Mikey was probably still asleep. I wondered why Morgan was visiting without calling first, but it was always a pleasure having him over. I tried to make some signal, putting my hands up to one side of my head to indicate that Mikey was sleeping. All that accomplished was to make Morgan look completely confused. Though, he did back away from the door. He must have understood enough to realize that I would have to unlock the front door and let him in. Mikey finally opened the door when I was passing our next door neighbor's house. Morgan tried to rush in - he must have been really cold standing outside. It was above freezing, but there was a certain chill in the air. I was still warm from my exercise, but quickly cooling down. Morgan took a tumble after trying to get inside. I hastened my last couple of steps to reach him. From a cursory glance, things seemed to be OK, but he was looking at me with wild eyes. I waved at Mikey to step back from the doorway - Mikey was standing there with a slightly dazed look, but did move backwards. I scooped up Morgan and carried him inside. He was shivering violently in my hands. The poor guy was definitely cold from standing outside and probably also suffering from a mild concussion. I thought that he must have hit his head when he tumbled backwards. That also would explain the wild look in his eyes. I gently held him close to my chest to warm him up as I walked inside. He was staring up at my face the entire time. But by the time I sat him down on the couch, Morgan started getting a look of recognition on his face - that was good. It meant that if he did have a concussion, it was not serious. Mikey was finally getting out of his stupor and gave Morgan a big hello with an even bigger smile on his face. Morgan also seemed to start recognizing Mikey, although he was still silent on the couch. I stood to get Morgan a glass of water. As I passed by Mikey, I slapped his arm and made a sharp jabbing motion towards my leggings. Mikey began blushing profusely and ran into the bedroom. That dummy was still wearing the crusty sheath underwear from the night before. Morgan watched the two hulks leave the room. They looked like his friends, but severely oversized. The one was definitely Mikey. Morgan would have recognized that goofy grin anywhere. Mikey always had that same grin whenever he was with other people. Although, Mikey was no where near 15 feet tall. Wasn't he? Morgan closed his eyes and pictured the last time that he came to a game night. It was still the same image that he had from earlier in his own bathroom. Mikey was a little more than 6 feet tall. This guy was over two times that amount and two times wider than Mikey, as well. Morgan also pictured Mikey's roommate at that time and he was something like 6'4" or 6'5" or so. Roommate... Mikey lived alone, right? The coffee I had made around an hour before was still hot and obviously Mikey had not drunk any of it. I knew he wouldn't mind if I poured Morgan a cup. I rummaged through the cabinet and grabbed a little person glass and little person coffee mug. Those things were so silly. Why would anybody ever drink 8 ounces of liquid? That amount could not even be considered a mouthful. But the little people seemed to like it, so Mikey and I kept some of the smaller sizes in our kitchen. Pouring the coffee had to be done somewhat delicately. I tilted the pot slightly so that a little splash could fall into the mug. Then I did it a few more times and got pretty close to the top. I just used the refrigerator dispenser for the water and brought both back to Morgan. As I was placing them on the end table, Mikey came back out wearing shorts and a t-shirt that only covered his pecs and about half of his shoulders. I took that as an opportunity to throw something else on. I remembered my meeting with Ms. Ellie earlier and realized that I too was probably a tad on the revealing side wearing only my leggings. I could hear Mikey exclaim that he had forgotten about game night and just woke up from a nap. He apologized to Morgan - though I still could not hear any responses from Morgan from the bedroom. Morgan was trying to organize all of the questions in his head. The first obvious one was to find out how all of this happened. But the question did not escape from his lips. The relevance of the question faded as he tried to figure out what "all of this" even meant. Mikey just started chatting about some video game he had played a few nights ago. Morgan went through the motions of acting like he was listening - nodding his head and such - but was still focused on his own questions. After that brief distraction, Morgan could not remember the original question. Was he going to ask if Mikey had been working out? Or was it about the blackness on my chest? Morgan turned those questions over in his head and then brushed them aside. Of course Mikey had not be working out because he was naturally big and muscular. And the blackness was obvious from the sulfur rich blood binding to the iron in my hemoglobin. Morgan tried harder to figure out his questions. He knew that Mikey and I were roommates and both stayed in our house since we had home businesses. He also knew that he was a little person, even though in the back of his mind, he felt like he was normal sized a few hours ago. But that didn't make sense to him. How could he have possibly been normal when he was quite obviously small. Finally, Morgan blurted out the question that was bothering him. He asked Mikey why he was wearing only underwear when he answered the door. Both of them started laughing as Mikey tried to explain that we got drunk last night and he did not recall what happened. He had found himself asleep in my bed wearing only that. Since Mikey was woken up from the nap, he was still groggy and did not realize what was actually happening. I could hear the laughter in the other room. It made me feel good because it meant that Morgan was returning to his normal self. I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and put on some underwear and a new pair of leggings. Underwear never seemed to do much, but I bet that my friends appreciated the little bit of extra effort. However, everybody knew that shirts did not really fit me well and that I would always go without them while at home. My chest was still black, but most of it had started fading from everywhere else. I returned to the living room and waved at Morgan. He no longer had the wild look in his eyes and was not shivering anymore. Morgan was happy to see me and asked how I was doing. I smiled and shrugged. I wiggled my hand in a "so-so" motion. He said that he felt the same. Work was always crazy busy and he and Ash had begun talking about starting a family. There was always so much on his mind that he was glad to do something fun other than video games for a change. He also mentioned that Ash was up the street at the Briggses. Mikey made him promise that Ash would stop by to say hi before they went home. Mikey was now sitting on the floor in front of Morgan with me leaning against the wall, standing to Mikey's left side. I caught Mikey staring at Morgan's arms as they chatted. I tapped his shoulder lightly to snap him out of it. He just bluntly asked if Morgan had been working out. Morgan got a sheepish smile on his face and said that he had just started again a few hours prior to coming over. He also went into Ashley's response to the exercise. I was a little taken aback since we usually did not broach the subject of sex or Morgan's marital relations. What he said next, though, really shocked me. He told us that whenever he was at our home, he felt a little bicurious. He still absolutely loved his wife and never wanted to do anything that might jeopardize the relationship. But he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with a couple of normal sized guys like us even for one night. Morgan started trying to rationalize his feelings by saying that a little person and a normal person being together would technically not break any wedding vows since normal people like Mikey and I could never actually have sex with a little person. Or at least not have sex in any regular sense of the word. Mikey tilted his head back towards me and we gave each other a sharp look. Mikey obviously was having as much trouble dealing with this as I was. Morgan looked up at us in earnest. He had the expression that you get when you know that what you just said is about to be mocked and ridiculed. Mikey and I were totally on the same wavelength. The last thing we wanted to do was make Morgan feel ashamed. Mikey started easing into his response. He told Morgan that any type of sex, even irregular sex, would be breaking his vows. Neither Mikey nor I wanted to be the cause of a failed marriage. Morgan looked down with a hurt and dejected expression. Mikey thought for a few seconds on what he should say next. He reached over and put his hand on Morgan's shoulder, basically engulfing the left side of our friend's body. Mikey continued by saying that there may be a loophole. Muscle worship could avoid the sexual parts and still give Morgan the experience of being "with us". I had to nod in agreement. A married person is allowed to worship muscles as long as it does not go too far. Morgan looked up at us with the cutest smile I had ever seen. It was the look at pure joy and acceptance. He nodded with tears welling up in his eyes. He said that he would like that very much. Mikey pulled in Morgan close to give him a big hug. We were both so happy that our friend felt comfortable enough to open up about his feelings. That kind of subject is never easy to broach if you do not know what the response will be. In the middle of the hug, our doorbell rang. I gave Morgan a light pat on the back as I went for the door. It was Bill Briggs. I could hear Mikey whisper to Morgan that they would talk more later. Then, Morgan went for a tissue before the newcomer could see that he had been crying. Opening up to two friends was his limit. Briggs cheered about having game night starting up again when I opened the door. He was breathing heavy from walking the couple of blocks to our house. I figured he would have driven over, but was proud of my friend for at least getting a little bit of exercise. He put up his fist so that we could "pound it". It was more like him tapping his tiny fist onto my index finger knuckle. I grinned and ushered him in. The three of them all started talking to each other about video games and what not. We set up one of those online party games just to get things rolling. The afternoon faded into evening as they continued chatting and we all switched to playing some board games. It was really nice having Morgan and Briggs back at game night. I could not recall the last time they had visited. Game Nights Part 9 - Let the Worship Begin Later into the evening, Ash and the lady Briggs walked down the street and rang our doorbell. We had just finished up one of the games a few minutes prior and everyone was chilling out before starting up a new game. So really their timing was almost perfect. Everyone seemed happy to see each other and hugs and kisses went around. Bill had already seen Ash earlier when Morgan had dropped her off. It boiled down to just Morgan and Jess Briggs hugging and kissing. For Mikey and me, it was kind of leaning in and patting the sides of our thighs. That was good enough for us, anyway. It wasn't really an occasion calling for us to get all the way to the ground and floundering around for hugs. The Briggses were first to call it quits. They left together and walked back up the street. Jess was on the slim side - a testament to how genetics and diet can alter how even siblings look. I guessed that she would not be winded after walking home in the cold. She had shivered a little bit as she entered our home upon arrival, but was not breathing any heavier than a normal little person would have been. I could definitely feel the chill in the air, but I was still fine being shirtless. Bill was probably collapsing from breathing heavy after the two blocks of walking. Mikey and Ash talked for a while afterwards. Every once in a while, Morgan interjected a comment. Of course, I was the strong silent type - being mute and all. I knew only a little bit of conversational sign language. None of my friends knew sign language, anyway, so my responses were more like charades. I did not feel bad being left out of most conversations. If there ever was something that I needed to say, I could get my point across or write it down if it was absolutely necessary. When Ash started getting tired, she dropped a few hints to Morgan - ones that he was completely oblivious to. A little while later, Ash was still dropping hints, so I tapped on my wrist to get Morgan's attention with a "check out the time on my watch" gesture (not that a watch could even fit on my wrist). It did not even occur to me how odd the gesture was since watches could not fit any normal sized person and were made just for little people. He finally realized what time it was and dropped a hint back to Ash that it was getting late. Both she and I rolled our eyes at each other. Mikey spoke up as they were making their way to the door. He asked Morgan to stop by again tomorrow around noon and we could all catch up more since it had been a couple years of only talking online. Morgan smiled gratefully and wished us a good night. Mikey and I stayed up for a little bit longer playing some video games. Eventually, Mikey passed out on the couch. I could see him dozing before he nodded off completely. He was probably still groggy after having been woken up from a sound sleep 10 hours or so before. I figured it was a good time to go to bed myself. After all, the previous night I felt like I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep and even then I had slept on my bench. ========== Mikey took a walk through the neighborhood. The street was narrow with no side streets. In-between each of the houses, he could see the backs of neighboring houses on the parallel streets. The street itself was narrow, around wide enough for one little person car to fit down, or one Mikey in this case. All of the houses were the same dimensions in the sub-division and basically had the same beige/tan exterior and reddish brown shingled roofs. Mikey knew this place well. It was his new home and he felt welcomed and comfortable. It was very relaxing walking down the street and he felt like he could do it forever. From above, he could see that the sub-division was based on a peninsula surrounded by water as far as the eye could see. He dove down from the sky and landed on a telephone pole - Mikey was a crow. From his vantage point, he could see the town center and an elderly gentleman shuffling through and intersection in the distance. Immediately, he was upon the man, back in his human form. He could now see that the older figure was a little person, but so was Mikey after his transformation. Mikey was even a few inches shorter than the hunched gentleman. The realization shook Mikey to the core and gave him some recollection that he should not be there in the sub-division. It was not his home and something was very wrong with the place. The calm and relaxing feelings were a facade. Mikey was also able to bring the old man out of his stupor. They both knew that they had to escape. The pair of little people quickly made their way to the town center. They found a tall white skyscraper traveling up into the clouds. It was completely out of place in a cookie-cutter sub-division but at the same time seemed to belong there. The sheer magnitude of the building made them feel tiny and insignificant. Mikey and the old man ran into the building and started climbing the steps. The entrance had looked like an office building atrium. The steps seemed like the best option since they did not exactly know what they were doing there. Around the 5th floor, they exited the staircase and could see a hallway encased in glass. The hallway overlooked the atrium five floors below. As they ran through the hallway, two security guards stepped out in front of them. They told Mikey that the old man was coming with them but that Mikey should leave. As Mikey began to protest, the world began to fade into darkness. Mikey woke up in his bed. He lived with his girlfriend - not as lovers, just a girl who was his best friends with. Mikey knew this place well. It was his home and he felt welcomed and comfortable. It was very relaxing in his bed and felt like he could stay there forever. ========== Mikey woke up and the dream quickly vanished from his mind like a puff of smoke before he even had a chance to think about it. He looked around the room with bleary eyes. He was in the living room and the sun was up. He then looked down and around himself - he had fallen asleep on the couch. He felt something weird on his pecs as he moved his head around. He reached up and felt his face, he could tell that he was sporting a full beard since he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. His pecs were also completely covered with fur. It was emerging from the neckline of his tight shirt. He also felt that his stomach was complete covered in fur, as well. He looked over at the time and saw that it was around 11 AM. He continued scratching at the beard and decided to get cleaned up since Morgan was scheduled to be there around noon. Mikey got up and made a pot of coffee - knowing that I would probably want a cup. During the night before, I had had a half of a cup while Briggs and Morgan had finished the rest. Mikey just rinsed out the pot and set up the machine again. He then lazily walked down the hallway to my room. I had woken up a few hours prior and was already upstairs at the computer. I hadn't completely caught up on sleep, but the 4 or 5 hours that I had gotten were solid. It was enough to make it through most of the day. I realized that I hadn't had time to finish my billable hours the previous day because of everyone coming over. Right when I woke up, I didn't even hesitate to pull myself together. I was past halfway on my contract work when I heard the beeps from the coffee machine. I decided to ignore it and keep focused on finishing up. Mikey stripped down to take a shower in the master bathroom. He hadn't even gotten cleaned up from the adventures two days ago. Since Morgan was coming over for some muscle worship, Mikey wanted to at least be presentable. Nothing would kill the mood more than him knocking out Morgan with some ripe smells. As the water warmed up some, Mikey checked out his fur in the mirror. It seemed completely unfamiliar, but he could not recall when or if it wasn't there. It was a mousy blond color, closer to brown than blond. It completely covered his pecs, but stopped at his neck and shoulders. On his stomach, it framed out his abs with it a little thicker at the divisions between each ab. He sucked in his gut a little bit and flexed. The hair condensed together and formed a much darker outline bordering around the individual ab muscles. He relaxed and it still showed perfect definition even back in the regular turtleshell shape. He ran his hand over the hair and it felt rough and sturdy, not like the silkiness that blondish hair usually has. In the shower, Mikey could see a little bit of residue from my fun in the early hours of yesterday morning. Since he was cleaning himself anyway, Mikey just cleaned the tile walls while he was at it. I had taken a very quick shower before running upstairs and was simply dressed in a pair of boxer briefs, which fit more like tighty whities. As Mikey was finishing drying himself off, he heard the doorbell ring followed by a few knocks. I also heard it from upstairs but wanted to finish up my work. It was pretty quick for Mikey to throw on one of his favorite pairs of underwear - the sheath style briefs and go answer the door. He opened the door and welcomed Morgan in. Morgan found himself in stunned silence seeing the mostly naked man before him with slightly damp fur running up from his crotch and over his pecs. A flashback of yesterday hit him and he remembered bouncing off of Mikey's legs as he tried to enter the house. Morgan absentmindedly started reaching for Mikey's legs, but Mikey quickly turned away. The motion sent his soft penis sheath swinging like a pendulum. Mikey walked towards the staircase and asked Morgan to shut the door behind him. He then came up the steps to let me know that Morgan had arrived (obviously calling up to me would not have received a response). I indicated that I needed a little bit of time. Mikey nodded, getting the drift of what was happening, and went back down to Morgan. I could hear some muffled voices downstairs, but continued pushing through on my projects. ========== Mikey sat on the floor with Morgan on the couch, just like they did yesterday. They chatted awkwardly for a little bit - nothing all too important and basically trying to ease into the topic of muscle worship. Finally Mikey broke past the elephant in the room (in this case the elephant was the topic being avoided and not Mikey and his big "trunk"). He asked Morgan what he was hoping to get out of the muscle worship. Morgan did not really know what to answer. He started talking about seeing size comparisons and then feats of strength and feeling our muscles and seeing both of us wrestle and getting involved with the wrestling (as much as he could) and measuring us and even seeing what spooning with a normal sized person and little person would be like. He was basically all over the place. Mikey had to slow him down. If we got into everything that Morgan was describing, it would take all night and basically lose its meaning. We needed to have a more concise plan so that we could all get the most enjoyment as possible out of the experience. Mikey started out with the feats of strength. To do this, we would basically have to go out into the cold - it was 5 degrees chillier than the previous day - and play around at the park. Mikey described our workout routines with the monster truck. Any of the larger objects at the park would require both Mikey and myself to even have a chance of lifting them. But then Morgan came to the realization that he would have no frame of reference during the worship. He had no idea what lifting a monster truck or anything larger would entail. Morgan could not lift a car, let alone a huge truck. The feats of strength would basically be lost on him other than it was something large that he could not budge with no perspective of the actual weight. The wrestling might have been interesting. I had a bit more strength than Mikey, but he definitely had the leverage over me with his weight and stockiness. Either of us could lift the other one, but we had never tried struggling to stay on the ground while wrestling each other. If we did go that route, we definitely could not let Morgan get involved. That would be a guaranteed injury, if not worse. Even with Mikey and I going at it, one slip and half of the house could be taken out. Bringing it outside would be like driving a massive stake into a major seismic fault line. The tremors would be felt throughout the neighborhood. Yeah, Mikey and Morgan agreed that it might be better to ease into wrestling some other time. So then they started discussing size comparisons and spooning with a little person. Both sort of go hand in hand. Morgan would be able to feel our muscles envelope him and just keep the whole session calm and relaxing. Mikey mentioned too that leaving it more as a relaxed sensual experience instead of a testosterone charged one might keep us on track with maintaining his wedding vows. They then began discussing some positions that they could try out. While talking about it, Morgan got up and started massaging Mikey's feet. They continued conversing as Morgan massaged. Mikey's feet were huge in Morgan's hands. They seemed like they were around 2 feet long and Morgan could not even get close to wrapping both hands around even at the smallest width. Mikey's big toes were a few inches thicker than Morgan's wrists. Morgan moved up to Mikey's calves. Morgan edged his way in-between the big legs stretched out in front as Mikey still sat on the floor. Morgan could barely hug the plump pillows that Mikey's calf muscles formed. Mikey's words trailed off as he watched Morgan messaging his legs. His brain drifted away from whatever he was trying to say and became completely tuned in to the little person's motions. Mikey twisted his left leg - the one that currently held Morgan's attention - and flexed it slowly. The plump flesh began to harden under Morgan's finger tips. It was not shredded looking, but Morgan could feel how dense it was. He tried to jam his thumb into the calf but his efforts were easily repelled. Mikey reached forward and gingerly lifted Morgan up with his hand and set him back down on the other side of his right leg. Mikey then laid down on his side with his legs on top of each other so that Morgan could access both at the same time. Morgan kneeled down and traced up both of Mikey's shins with his fingers. When he reached Mikey's knees, Morgan cupped the massive quads in front of him. He then surprised Mikey by climbing up the shins like a ladder and straddling Mikey's left knee. Morgan turned slightly and placed his right hand on the calf just behind him and left hand on the deep groove in-between Mikey's quad and hamstring. He began to rock back and forth, gently massaging both Mikey's upper and lower leg at the same time. It had been over an hour since Morgan had arrived. I no longer heard the voices from upstairs. It did not matter, though, as I was shutting down the computer. I had just finished my work for the weekend and was curious to see what the two guys downstairs were up to. Game Nights Part 10 - Conclusion of Chapter 1 I came down the staircase and saw Morgan straddling the mostly naked Mikey's leg. Not like I was any better wearing a pair of boxer briefs that that were now wedged in-between my ass cheeks from sitting, standing and shifting around upstairs. Morgan had taken off his shirt by this point, revealing his white undershirt. The sleeves of his undershirt were slightly strained around his biceps and crept up into the space just below his shoulders. He still had his pants, shoes and socks on. Seeing the scene below me, I pictured Morgan riding a stallion as he rocked back and forth rubbing his hands over the mounds of flesh. I sat down behind Mikey, leaning over but propped up with my right hand on the floor. I followed Morgan's lead with massaging Mikey's legs. Morgan was prevented from denting the tissue, but I easily managed to get in deeper into the muscle with my free hand. Mikey let out a low moan. He could not recall having been massaged before, but it felt better than anything he could have imagined. Even Morgan rubbing the skin felt fantastic. It was like when someone rubs their fingers along your scalp. They aren't penetrating any tissue, but it always feels so good. I massaged up Mikey's hamstring to where it met his glute. Not expecting it, Mikey twitched in excitement. Morgan bounced off of the powerful leg like a ragdoll. Luckily I was able to catch him. From my elbow to finger tip, was about five feet long. Morgan landed on my arm and just laid there limp. His head was resting on my bicep and his entire body down to the shoes filled up the space of my forearm, hand and fingers. I shifted my weight a little and used my right hand to gently pull off Morgan's shoes. He shimmied a little to start removing his pants and then the undershirt. I took all of the items and tossed them on to the couch (which was almost within arm's reach). Morgan was then lying on my forearm in his boxers and socks. He felt his back spread out over my forearm and began to grope around behind himself. I could see him tenting in his boxers from the experience of laying on a bed made of muscle. He started reaching for himself but I stopped him. He looked up at my face in protest. I simply smiled and shook my head. He nodded back knowing that the rule was not to go too far with this. Meanwhile, Mikey had rolled over on to his stomach, with his arms out to the sides. I tilted my arm downward and Morgan was able to slide off on to the floor next to Mikey. Mikey's right arm would reach up to Morgan's waist, usually, but Mikey was propped up by his massive chest in that position. The top of Mikey's tricep was now up around Morgan's shoulders. Morgan began to trace the definition between Mikey's arm and shoulder muscles. He once again climbed up the flesh and sat above the elbow, just below where the tricep horseshoed around the arm. As he started massaging the tricep and down around to the bicep, Mikey shifted a little and got into a pushup position with his hands placed closer to his waist than his chest. Morgan was propped up a few feet off of the ground, but still stable. I stayed close by to catch Morgan in case he was flung off again. Mikey began doing pushups, but slowly and only around halfway up to keep the angle small enough for Morgan to stay on. Morgan grasped the edge of a horseshoe with one hand while he felt the rest of the tricep tense underneath of him. Now he looked like he was riding a bull at a rodeo, hanging on while the animal bucked and tried to shake him loose. After a couple of minutes of this, both Mikey and Morgan were panting a little bit from the exertion. Morgan slid to the ground and Mikey pushed himself up on to all fours - knees and hands touching the floor. I shifted around Morgan to get closer to Mikey's head, now kneeling to get a better vantage point and free up both of my hands. In this position, the top of Mikey's tricep was taller than Morgan. Mikey could feel (but not see) that Morgan was going under him. In response, he exhaled and arched his back to pull in a full vacuum. Morgan was about to get on to his hands and knees to crawl under, but the vacuumed gut pulled up enough that he could just walk upright into the space. Morgan took off his glasses and handed them to me. I put them on to the mantle behind me. He then closed his eyes and slowly walked into the cave. Mikey's still damp fur on his stomach was hanging down around 5 or 6 inches and brushed across Morgan's face. He lifted his head up and took a deep inhale. He felt like he was a car in a car wash but at the same time he was in a tropical rain forest. He felt the heat and moisture surrounding him. He was shaken out of his fantasy world when he tripped on a fallen tree. Or rather, Mikey's semi-hard cock got in the way. Morgan knelt down and gently ran his hands from the base of the sheath all the way up to the tip. Mikey's eyes rolled back into his head as he let out a rumble - almost more like a low growl than a moan. I snapped my finger and both of them looked over at me. I waggled my finger at them and they immediately stopped to make sure that it didn't go any further. Almost on cue for not going further, there was a knock at the door. I absently mindedly reached over and opened it. The sweet smell of cookies wafted into the room. Ms. Ellie came waltzing in without an invitation and gingerly kicked the door closed behind her, not even phased by what was happening. Shit, I had forgotten she had said that should would bring cookies over sometime this weekend. I did not even hear the car outside with my mind focused on the action in front of me. Much to all of our surprise, Ms. Ellie put the cookies on the floor and said that she was going to join in (it was said as a statement of fact instead of asking permission). She did not even bat an eye in embarrassment. Ms. Ellie completely ignored Morgan underneath of Mikey - she obviously had no interest in a married man or what adventures he might undertake in his free time. Mikey and I gave each other a quick glance and just shrugged. She walked up to Mikey and rubbed her fingers through his chest fur and then clamped down with fingers intertwined in the hair. She pulled him in for a full on motorboat in his pec cleavage. Morgan felt Mikey's cock twitch next to him and start to get completely hard. Ms. Ellie then pet the side of Mikey's pec and moved on to me. Mikey was left in a daze, but never faltered in his stomach vacuum - knowing that Morgan was under there. Morgan started crawling out from the cave, going in-between the massive pillars of Mikey's arms. It was a tight squeeze getting out with Mikey's hardening cock and huge globular pecs - further enhanced in size from the expanded ribcage - obstructing the way. Mikey finally inhaled again as Morgan got out. He still could not see Morgan, but could feel the little guy at his pecs. Morgan took a page from Ms. Ellie's book and grabbed on to the chest hair. He began scaling up Mikey's pecs, using the hair for hand holds. He easily reached the top and sat down on one of the pecs. He kicked his feet around to rest on the other pec and laid back with his head on Mikey's shoulder. Ms. Ellie climbed up on to my legs and went straight for my abs. Since I did not breath, I was in a perpetual vacuum pose. My organs had all shifted up into my chest cavity at some point, giving me an incredibly tiny waist. It also gave plenty of space for someone Ms. Ellie's size to walk in under my ribcage. She turned around, planted a foot on each of my legs and started grinding her backside ever so slowly over my stomach. My ab columns flexed involuntarily. It gave Ms. Ellie a two foot wide ribbed plank to lean against. She grabbed on to the skin bordering the sides of the columns and held on tight as she grinded up and down, up and down. It was like she wanted to clean her delicates on a washboard just as tall and even wider than she was. With her back pressed up against them and hand gripping the sides, she was basically stroking my abs like they were a gigantic cock. If I could have moaned, it would have been the longest moan in the history of the world. I could literally feel my abs getting harder and tighter as she continued to stroke. They began turning black as night with iron sulfide accumulating in them. They were flexed so hard that my chest was being pulled downward. No longer would Ms. Ellie be able to stand straight up, but luckily standing up was not on her agenda. Meanwhile, Morgan had started crawling around Mikey's neck and was massaging his traps. He then slid, head and hands first, down the middle of Mikey's back. It was slippery enough with some moisture from Mikey's shower mixed with a bit of sweat building as things were heating up quickly in there. Morgan turned himself around and started massaging Mikey's lats. The lats spread out just as far as Morgan could reach. Morgan really pushed hard into the lats to massage them. He placed his feet on to the top of Mikey's glutes to use his entire body in an effort to dig into the tissue. It must have been working because Mikey was grunting from the pressure on his glutes and running up his back. Ms. Ellie stopped her grinding and instructed me to lean over. I put my hands on the floor in front of me as I was told. I was thankful that my abs could get a reprieve. Still standing on my legs, she was now within reach of my nipples and she took full advantage of her position to fondle them. I had never paid much attention to my nipples, but they were now harder than an awl and just about as long as one (though much much thicker). I could have poked a hole in a tree large enough for a family of birds to live in. The doorbell rang, and I instinctively opened the door again without an ounce of brain power dedicated to the task. Mr. Briggs popped in cheering about a second game night, although he barely got one word out of his mouth as he began to grasp what was happening before him. He had seen the three cars at our place and figured we were going to play some more games. He was sadly mistaken, although not entirely upset by what he walked in to. He swung the door closed and just stared. Neither Mikey nor I were fully aware that he had even come in. Mikey was still grunting and moaning when he looked up and saw Briggs standing there watching him. In complete shock, he quickly pushed himself up, sending Morgan tumbling off behind him (luckily Morgan didn't break anything). In the motion, Mikey's fully erect cock thrust forward, impaling Briggs' face on the wall. More accurately might be that Briggs' head slightly impaled the head of Mikey's sheath underwear. Mikey tried to scooch forward to assist, but all that accomplished was pushing further into Briggs. Briggs was lifted off the ground by Mikey's cock, hanging there all 350 pounds of him lifted up by a massive penis sheath. It all happened within a second or two and we could instantly hear cracking from Bill's spine from the pressure/torsion it was under. But something even worse came next. Mikey was already at the point of orgasm when he sat up, from Morgan digging into his back. With someone's head jammed into his cock, it sent him over the edge and he blew his load. Luckily, Mikey was wearing the underwear or else he might have shattered Briggs through the wall to the outside. With his head completely pinned, all Briggs could do was try to swallow, though most of it was spilling out, covering his head immediately and quickly moving its way down his body. Morgan pulled himself to his feet, slightly dazed, and walked around Mikey to see what was happening. He stopped in stunned silence when Briggs came into view. Even Ms. Ellie had stopped fondling me in shock and awe of the scene in front of us. It all lasted for about 5 minutes. Five minutes of Briggs pinned 2 feet off the ground by his head partway wedged into Mikey's penis. The initial shock faded into an acceptance of the situation. What was happening now was just the natural order of things. When it was finally order, Mikey's softening cock slowly slid Briggs back to the floor. He was alive and panting a little for air, but he seemed no worse for wear other than his glasses looking slightly bent. The cracking we all heard must have been from the wall behind him - although there were no visible dents or cracks in it. ========== Bill Briggs was already a cute guy. He had this goofy and nerdy demeanor about him. He had a shaved head (bald since his teens according to him). Bill always wore glasses and sported a thick beard - neatly shaped and trimmed to about 4 or 5 inches long. It was just long enough to hide his neck. He obviously had a ton of DHT going on with the baldness and beard, but also with his body hair. I had only seen part of his belly exposed once (or twice including now with him hanging there), and his stomach was completely covered in fur. Surprisingly, though, his arms and legs were devoid of hair. Bill always wore shorts regardless of the temperature. I remember one guy back in college wore shorts every day like that. There was only once that I saw him with pants on and it was the hottest day of that school year. He probably had an interview or something, but the thought always makes me laugh. I had never seen Bill in pants, though. He always seemed to have a t-shirt on, too. Though he would wear a jacket when traveling in the cold - not today though for his quick jaunt down the street. His collection of nerdy logo-t's must have been as huge as he was. At 5'10" 350, Bill was by no means a tiny man. He was also gay, but still in the closet with his friends and family (especially with his house mate sister, Jess). I could always detect it when he was around. He never did anything remotely "gay", but he would have a far away look in his eye for just a moment whenever the Italian bodybuilder Donny was mentioned in a conversation. He never once had that same expression for anybody else. I always hoped that some day Donny might notice him, but Donny cared about Donny and did not want anything to do with big Bill. When Bill started to grow, it was subtle at first. He still looked like a fat man, but the shape changed more than the size. His chest began to inflate in his shirt, filling in the space in-between it and his beard. The lower parts of his chest were no longer flattened and traveling off to the sides of his stomach. They began to crease the center of the logo on his t-shirt and form gulley traveling down from his shoulders ever so slightly. Bill's shoulder span started to look like that neat thing heavy guys get - where if he wore a backpack, it would be a mile stretch to reach the tips of his shoulders. He did not have any clear definition where his neck met his traps, where his traps met his shoulders or any real shape to his shoulders at all. It was just a football field to get across them. With the mile long shoulder width and chest beginning to fill his shirt, Bill began to look like he was leaning backwards. His shoulders were placed so far behind his head, his chest was now so far past his beard and still his stomach was so far past his chest. Add in that his arm angle was already facing forward, sitting at rest, you almost felt like telling him to stand up straight because he would be a foot taller. But then looking at him from the side, you could see that he already was standing up straight and just had unbelievable proportions. A couple of things did change completely in Bill Briggs' favor. The first was that his arms filled in the t-shirt sleeves. It being a 6XL shirt already, the sleeves just sort of hung there. It wasn't that Bill had skinny arms before, it was just such an excess of fabric. Before, the shirt was draped over his shoulders. Now his shoulders gave a really nice shape to the top of the shirt and then his growing arms did the rest of the work. The second was in his shorts. At one point the shorts hung down with a huge excess of fabric just like his t-shirt had. The waist length on the shorts was very large, but his thighs did not completely fill the legs. So the image you can get from it was completely flat looking on both on the front and back sides. Regular guy clothing is usually very flat, so if you have any bit of an ass or bulge, you have to squeeze in or get a larger size. Yet, big-and-tall guy clothing is massive on both sides and then just hangs awkwardly, giving a horrible silhouette that further kills any body image that the guy might have of himself. This was also true of any of the shorts Briggs would wear. With his growth, the backside of Mr. Briggs' 7XL shorts was stuffed with two large oval-shaped watermelons. There was certainly enough fabric to fit even more size, but his ass at least took care of the awkwardness. On the front, he started filling in behind the zipper. It looked like a cucumber was stuffed in there, but it was completely soft - giving a nice curve that pushed on the zipper without straining it. Just like with his t-shirt sleeves, the legs of the shorts were filling up with stout powerlifter legs. These legs pushed the bulges on the front and back sides upwards and slightly more out. Where alone, they would not have been straining the shorts, with his thighs growing in, it looked like the shorts were now getting close to busting at the seems. Bill was still up against the wall. His head was no longer touching as his massive back propped him up. His lower back still had visible space between it and the wall. I could have stuck my hand into that space. However, his watermelon ass cheeks also now touched the wall, giving a wide curve to his back side. The space was slightly obscured by the huge hams shoved into his triceps. On the front side of his shirt, there was now a shelf. His chest had gained so much meat that it was almost a completely horizontal surface sticking out a foot from his beard. The entire surface almost merged with his shoulders, making his head look like it was sitting on a serving platter. Bill's legs were just thick, so sickeningly thick that they oozed power. His legs now rivaled my waist. The big ball gut was no longer sagging under its own weight, but rather looked like a solid boulder that you could use as a heavy punching bag. With it and his bulge lifted, Bill's silhouette was incredibly attractive. Donny would no longer be able to ignore this powerhouse. I licked my lips looking the new Bill over. I identify as asexual - note that while Ms. Ellie's efforts were insanely pleasurable, I was not aroused by it and kept it in my pants... underwear. Though, even I had the thought in the back of my head about taking the new Briggs for a test run. If only I was a little person, maybe I would try it. We all looked at Bill with some amazement and wonder. Everyone else's breath was as silent as my own. We could hear his shirt and shorts groan ever so slightly before things normalized and he stopped growing. He started a bit under six feet at 350 pounds. He was now standing around 6'2" and quite a bit more than 500 pounds. He looked like he could walk into any World's Strongest Man competition and take the title in his sleep. The flab was still totally there, but he looked powerful. An elite powerlifter might reach 1,500 pounds raw on the big 3 with numbers upwards around 2,000 when on major gear. Just looking at Bill now, we would all be shocked if he couldn't hit a raw 5,000 pounds and then some. Bill was just as much in shock as the rest of us. However, the more times we blinked over the minutes of just staring, the more normal it all seemed. Why were we all staring at Bill in shock? Did he say something unusual when he walked in? Bill looked up at Mikey and mumbled a question about what was happening. Mikey shook his head and the thoughts completely faded. Mikey recounted events of Bill coming in and probably wanting to get involved with the muscle worship. He then apologized for losing control and shooting off. Bill wiped some of the spunk from his face and smiled, accepting the apology. That was what happened, Mikey was correct. The shock we all felt was from Mikey losing his control, it all made sense now. But my attention was then turned to Mikey. After all of this, did he look smaller? In my head, I remembered how Mikey was 10 feet tall, but he was looking like a 9 foot tall person, or maybe even less. A wave overtook Mikey and he flopped backwards off of his knees. Suddenly, all of the dreams he had over the past few days flooded into his head. The prison, the school, the suburb - the memories of feeling like he was falling through the sky although it was really him shrinking. The dreams were coming true. Mikey started crying as the realization that his life was a lie dawned on him. He was not a 7 foot tall man and he did not have any real muscle development. Mikey ended his descent at 5'5". His memories from a few years ago leaked into his subconscious and told him that he should be 5'2". It seemed like he kept some of the height growth from whatever had happened since then. Suddenly, he was very aware of his body and his slightly below average penis with the huge sheath underwear draped over him. He was still crying as he ran his naked little body upstairs to the office. He found some of his old clothing and put it on. Nobody in the living room could think of what to say or how to comfort him. It did not matter, though. By the time he came back down, we looked at each other and smiled. Bill commented about not realized that Mikey was upstairs. Ms. Ellie walked over to him and comforted him. She asked him why it looked like he was crying, but Mikey did not know the answer. None of us did, really. I could not recall why Mikey was even at my house. Morgan had come over for muscle worship. I did not understand why Mr. Briggs, Ms. Ellie or Mr. Mikey had come over. Oh right, Mr. Mikey and Ms. Ellie came over to drop off cookies. They lived together, but for some reason took two cars coming over. I noticed the car keys on the mantel next to Morgan's glasses and tossed them to Mikey. I remembered thinking that it was a neighbor's car, but I now recognized it as Mikey's. Mr. Briggs said that he should head home and gave me a quick fist bump. The jab of his fist really hurt - it was definitely going to bruise my knuckle. He was always doing that to me. Powerlifters never seem to realize their own strength. Morgan thanked me, put on his cloths, glasses and shoes and headed out, as well. Ms. Ellie was still comforting Mikey and told me that they would swing by next weekend to see how I was doing. She always worried about me living alone and working from home. They walked outside and got into their separate cars to drive back to their house. I went about my business cleaning up. I did not remember ejaculating during the muscle worship, but the wall where Mr. Briggs was standing was wet with spunk. I just shrugged, since I lived alone it did not matter too much. I then noticed the sheath underwear on the floor. I scratched my head since I never wear those things - how did it get on the floor and why was it damp?
  8. Hialmar

    Unit 246 : Prologue

    Unit 246: Prologue It was unreal. It felt unreal, at least. The other six young men were writhing in pleasure inside the chamber, as their bodies transformed into something else. Something new. Something the galaxy hadn't seen before. There were Smith: the cocky delinquent who had been sentenced to service in the Space Fleet after too many knuckle-fights, Larson: the tall, sinewy and taciturn tracker with a past in martial arts, Eymundsson: with an impressive record in Strongman competitions, Blanchard: the explosives expert, who looked like an ancient Greek statue, Karpov: the short and stocky bodybuilder, who was a skilful sniper, and Schnauzerschwarzwald, another sailor with a bodybuilding-hobby. Despite his short and fragile physique, Pauwels had been re-assigned together with the other six to the Marine Research branch of the Empire's armed forces. Weeks had followed, when Corporal Collins maintained high-intensity drill with them, only interrupted by repeated time for blood-samples and urine-samples taken by the Research Team. The first two to go into the chamber were Eymundsson and Schnauzerschwarzwald, after being injected by Version 1.1. Like any other tall man, Eymundsson hadn't been able to build a wide and V-shaped physique: His strength was impressive, but his muscles were lean and oblong, rather than peaking bulges. The opposite had been true about Schnauzerschwarzwald: Built like a heap of globes of brawn, he wasn't particularly tall, and didn't demonstrate the same amount of explosive or persevering strength of Eymundsson. The change had begun already after their first session in the chamber. Early on found suitable for encryption and code-breaking, Pauwels wasn't the typical field operator, and the first week at the Research Ship had been uncomfortable. Although bullying wasn't precisely the right word for it, Smith had spent some time intimidating Pauwels, and Schnauzerschwarzwald had been slightly too smug about his physical superiority. Eymundsson had noticed, and had a little talk with them, and after that things changed to the better. Karpov had become a good friend: They were both about the same height, though any physical similarities ended there. Karpov looked like "a little tank" -- a description he earned from Blanchard. The following week Smith and Blanchard had went into the chamber: Though any physical changes had been less obvious, than in the case of Eymundsson and Schnauzerschwarzwald, Blanchard had begun to show the same assertive and confident behaviour of Smith, and the latter's general physical shape had changed into the same symmetrical and harmonious body-type as Blanchard. Corporal Collins and Pauwels watched their six brothers in arms undergo the next level of the treatment. Instruments were fastened to their chests, arms and buzzcut heads, and the equipment hummed of power directed into the chamber. The men inside the chamber writhed and moaned on their reclining seats. Their glossy boots rested against their foot pads, and their growing legs were covered in wide camo-patterned trousers. Their tanned and sweaty torsos were naked under the impact of the transforming process, and their glistening individual shapes were scanned by the equipment. One of the anonymous white-clad researchers impassively declared: "Scanning physical shapes of test subjects.", and pressed a few buttons. "Fusing scanned shapes into desired enhanced shape." The sound from Pauwels' friends became more excited and intense. "Fuck! Can't believe ... Uh! Adding more of your symmetry, Blanchard, and getting beefy like you, Karpov.", Smith exclaimed. "No, I don't want to ... Uh! I don't need more mass ... I ... No, I don't need obedience-implant ... I ... NO! What's happening?", Larson shouted, with an increasing level of fright in his voice. "YES! Do it! Taller like you!", Karpov moaned, watching Smith, Larson and Eymundsson change before him. He was right. Pauwels could see his stout and sturdy little friend grow taller, without loosing his wide and brawny body-type. One of the researchers approached Pauwels and Corporal Collins from behind: "Corporal. It is time. You and Pauwels will be given Version 1.3." Without any further ado, Pauwels and Corporal Collins were injected with Version 1.3. It stung. Pauwels felt warm, and felt some perspiration to form. He removed his t-shirt, and the dogtags dangled on his conditioned but thin naked chest. He felt Corporal Collins' hand on his shoulder. "It has begun. Do you understand how your ability to keep lean will affect the field, and how your decryption talent will affect our shared brainwave-pattern?" "I suppose I don't." "Are you afraid?" "I would lie if I told you, that I am not, but you and these six are among the finest men I have ever met." Pauwels hesitated and shivered. "Sir. Will I ... Will I achieve similar traits like the others?" "If our calculations are correct: Yes. Hurry up, test-subject. Entering chamber NOW!" And they entered. One minute later, Pauwels felt how he became more like the other men of his unit. Eymundsson's height and raw strength. Karpov's mass. Smith's confidence. Blanchard's and Schnauzerschwarzwald's symmetry. Larson's endurance and relentlessness. And Corporal Collin's courage. They were transforming into the Prototype Marines together, and Pauwel's let it happen. Two hours later, he wasn't Pauwels any longer. He was Unit 008. He had the body of Unit 008. He had the mind of Unit 008. He was proud to be Unit 008. * * * Chapter one take place decades later. Perhaps centuries. You'll find it here:
  9. Shahrazad2

    A Couple of Hunks

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

    A Big Cheater

    Hey everyone, I've long sort of wanted to create a forced growth story that involved these kind of themes, but never had time to do it before. I thought about breaking it up into chapters, but I decided to go with one long story since this is a one-off anyway. I hope you guys enjoy! _______________________________________________________________________ My boyfriend Aaron cheated on me. I found out the night before our one-year anniversary. I mean, I understand why he did it. He’s been complaining about my new size and my “excessive” body hair, for months. You see, Aaron wants a male model, and I am no longer anything like that. I am “grotesquely” muscular now (I mean, is 250 lbs of muscle on a 6’ guy that huge? I don’t think so) But for Aaron, that’s way too big. I’m way too big for him. He likes men smaller, more submissive. Aaron is a smart man. He’s extremely sharp, witty, funny. He works in corporate giving and has been able to climb a steep career later quickly. All these things drew me to him when we first started dating. The fact that he wasn’t exactly my type didn’t bother me much. He’s very handsome, naturally tanned thanks to his half Mexican ancestry, and after a day or two without a razor, he gets this nice thick designer stubble. The guy totally grabbed my attention when we first started dating. It wasn’t until later I realized how controlling he really was. Aaron likes those Anglo-looking smooth chested Abercrombie model types. He would practically show disdain for other Latino gay guys. He must have had some sort of complex involving his Mexican family. Personally, I don’t understand why. Maria, his mother, is an incredibly loving and caring woman, but he always seemed to act embarrassed by her. For a time, I almost fit the bill for the kind of white boys Aaron fawned over. I used to be pretty thin, 180 or so pounds. I didn’t know this about Aaron at first, but his attempts to control my appearance, to keep me and mold me into his type, became more and more apparent the longer we dated. I’d always been pretty hairy, so I had often been described as an “otter”, which didn’t bother me any. There are some hot guys that identify as otters, but Aaron wanted me to stay shaved and smooth. So I shaved for him. What dope I was. So back to me- I like all kinds of guys. I like big hairy bearish men or thinner handsome guys like Aaron from all kinds of backgrounds, but the type I’ve always really liked the most are those huge weightlifters. Even as a kid I’d lust over those super heavyweight bodybuilders in the muscle mags. Especially the offseason type guys- Big hairy, beefy, powerfully built men, and muscle bears. But who doesn’t like a big muscle bear? Obviously, these kinds of guys are pretty rare in the gay community and they’re thankfully not the only kind of men I am into. I had never actually even dated a big lifter (and I do like them really big). Everyone I’d been with up till then was pretty normal, generally athletic. Roughly same age. In fact, I never really expected to date some bodybuilder either. But eventually, with the ability to make changes in my physique becoming easier, with the certain, shall we say, abilities that I had been blessed with and practiced (as limited as they actually are) I decided to start making changes. The little tricks I could pull, the levitation of small objects or changing the color of cloth, I billed as a magic trick and it made me pretty popular at parties. I enjoyed my reputation as an occasional magician (even though the powers of the council frowned on it). But Aaron never found out about the real spells I could weave into my life, to him it was just parlor tricks. Which is just as well. I had recently began learning and expanding my repertoire, and with much excitement I was getting to the level where I could make the kinds of changes I really desired. Actual changes in the matter and size of an object, and then, of a person. I was starting to learn the spells that for so long had eluded me. I was gaining the technical ability that was going to allow me the body I had always wanted. The kind of body I had always lusted after. First I started to change my appearance with the simple things. Non magical things. I grew out my beard, which I liked a lot, and Aaron didn’t seem to mind at first, but he kept telling me “it’s getting long, you should trim it”. Then, like I mentioned, I let my body hair grow out. Aaron didn’t like this. He said I should shave it or “at least keep it trimmed”. Good lord could he be an asshole. He was so charming most of the time it was easy to forget how obsessed with appearances he could be. His constant preening in front of the mirror should have been my first clue. “you’re getting prickly” he would complain. Once my body hair really started getting thicker after a few weeks I started getting real complaints from Aaron. I told him I was tired of shaving and trimming for him and I liked it and it was my natural appearance and he would get used to it. He didn’t take too kindly to my comments. He thought it was “gross” and needed to be trimmed. Well screw that. Then a month later I began the most serious of grievances. I started my big bulk. With my aforementioned abilities, I’m now able to make physical modifications that can be… rather dramatic. I’d done smaller transformation spells periodically. I’d changed hair color, even dabbled in minor spells that changed weight before. But all that was preparation for bigger things to come. This was going to be the most intense spell I had ever tried to cast, and really stretched me to try something I never thought I’d be able to do. Under the power of my body modification spell my physique began to slowly change. Each day after the spell had been cast I could see my muscles grow fuller, thicker. The gains I made were just slow enough that it might possibly be viewed as steroid induced, but fast enough to provide me with the results I eagerly waited for. Aaron certainly accused me of doing a cycle, which I didn’t mind. Watching my muscles inflated rounder, fuller, thicker day by day turned me on. It was such a rush, and I was getting so much stronger in the gym. In less than three months I grew from 180 to 225. I outweighed Aaron by 30 lbs, and was definitely outlifting him. It bothered Aaron a lot. It’s definitely a power thing, as a top he didn’t care for me becoming bigger and stronger than him. “You’re getting too big” he complained. I got big fast and it freaked Aaron out. He quickly went from being the bigger man to being smaller than me, less muscular and weaker than me. That really upset him, though he tried to hide it. At first he was competitive with me in the gym, but after I started out benching him and out lifting him, he lost interest in working out together and started going in the mornings instead. I know that was because he was embarrassed by how much stronger I was than him. Part of me was sympathetic. Aaron is a control freak and he must have felt like he could control his boyfriend before I started growing. I thought for a time of turning the spell on him and have him grow, but then I figured…He probably wouldn’t want to get that big. It wouldn’t be ethical to change someone without their permission, right? We stopped having sex. I know it’s because I had gotten too big for his taste. I grew to 240 and then some. I loved it. I was benching 275 with ease and with all my chest hair I was looking like a big muscle bear. My muscles budged in all my shirts. My arms were 19” inches around. I began to notice that I was (and am still) getting attention from a totally different set of people, and boy was I getting a lot of attention. The attention was also starting to come from kind of people who I also favored. Other big gay lifters. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe to fit my new size, but I was happy. I couldn’t keep all of my gains totally lean, so my midsection thickened a bit. My face filled out some too, but not too much. I just sort of bulked up into a big guy everywhere. My arms, my chest, shoulders, back, butt, thighs grew beefy and strong. I looked like the offseason bodybuilder, the kind I always wanted. I didn’t care if my abs were defined. My stomach was so hairy I couldn’t really see them anyway. Though, to be honest, I really only feel that big when I see a picture of myself. That’s the only time I really realize how large I am now. And that reminds me of when, a month before our anniversary, Aaron decided he didn’t want me in a facebook photo with him. He said with a half-joking smile “No one is going to recognize you anyway, now that you’re a roided out Sasquatch”. He told me I was “turning into a muscle freak” and that I “needed to stop juicing” so I could look normal in pictures again. I guess part of me knows I should have dropped him right then, or he should have dropped me, but part of me still had this attachment to his charms, which are numerous. And again, he’s also really handsome. For all of his apparent self-hate, I think it’s his mixed ancestry that provided him such stunningly good looks. So then Aaron cheated on me. Apparently he had been cheating on me since I had started bulking up. He was cheating on me before I even really got big! And then, a day after we broke it off, that asshole had the nerve to flaunt his new blond boy-toy in front of everyone on facebook. He didn’t give a shit about me. Now he could bring Elliott out in the open and show him off. The picture he posted of the two of them, with Elliott grinning like an idiot was the last straw. That dumb blonde twink and my idiot ex had really poked the bear, so to speak. He was going to get it. What it was, I wasn’t sure. So I was angry, feverishly thinking about what I could do. I could turn his stupid twink boyfriend into a toad (the council would never let me do that if they found out about it) or maybe I could make Elliot fat, or I could shrink his dick… (again, the council would notice) In actuality, I really couldn’t do any of those things. For one I didn’t know how to and for another, the council monitors the use of spells and especially, especially the use of curses. I think, to be honest, the regular spells don’t receive any attention, but using anything that can qualify as an actual curse lights up their screens like a Christmas tree. It would be seen. And I could get into big, big trouble. So what could I do, then? Something to fuck with Elliott and Aaron, but nothing damaging or hurtful. If I got audited, it would have to be something I could spin as a blessing, as harmless. It also had to be something I knew how to actually do. Something I had experience with. Muscles and hair, naturally. That's what got him to dump me, and well, everyone likes muscle, right? The council could overlook me giving some stupid gay man gigantic muscles, right? What if I made Elliot so big Aaron would be disgusted by him? What if I made Elliot so hairy you couldn’t even see skin on his chest? Or so huge he could barely move? Well , that is exactly what I decided to do. I will be honest, I sort of stalked Aaron and Elliot that week. By the time I cast the spell I had been observing them from afar for several days. I felt like I had to do this to perfect the spell. The greatest thing about my spell, if I do say so myself, is how layered it is. I really did my homework on this one, because Elliott would be oblivious. He wouldn’t notice a hair of his out of place, so to speak. Now that was my masterpiece. That took a hell of a lot of preparation too. Part of me was sure it wasn’t going to work. But sure enough it did. Elliot Zimmerman was soon going to turn into a gigantically overblown muscular furball. ____________________________________ Elliott and Aaron had gone to Palm Springs the weekend the spell took hold. As Aaron drove that Friday evening the first changes began. Dark hair began sprouting underneath Elliott’s shirt. His thin blonde treasure trail began to grow wider, darker and thicker. Oblivious to any changes, Elliott just scratched mindlessly as a fan of short, dark hair began to spread and first over his stomach, then over his chest. Aaron, concentrating on the road, didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The sun was setting, it was getting dark in the car anyway. Elliott’s beard began to sprout, growing high up on his cheeks where no hair had grown before. It came in thicker and darker than ever, contrasting with the light hair on his head. In the dark car, Aaron didn’t even see his boyfriend’s new stubble. The same dark hair began to spread over his forearms and on the top of his hands. Elliott’s body hair spread rapidly and grew long, soon completely covering Elliot’s thin torso. It rapidly formed a forest on his chest and stomach, all the way to the base of his neck. Black hairs began to poke out from under his collar. The growing fur began wrapping around to his back, spreading out into a striking pattern. It continued to lengthen and thicken until his entire back was covered in the same thick carpet of hair as his front. His chest hair had grown so bushy and dense that it began to poof out his shirt ever so subtly. Soon there was unbroken thick coverage from his beard all the way down to his toes.. Elliott had in the course of about an hour gone from a fairly hairless guy into an exceptionally hairy young man. At the same time, Elliott’s shirt started to get ever so slightly tighter around his lean frame. By the time he stepped out of the car in Palm Springs, Elliot was nearly 10 lbs heavier. He didn’t know that was the amount at the time, but it was apparent on his thin body that his muscles had grown. Aaron, upon stepping out of the car and seeing his boyfriend, suddenly became aware of the changes. First and most obvious was the thick stubble, which Elliott never had had before. Secondly, his arms were completely covered in thick black swirls of hair and his collar showed a thicket of long chest hair. “What the fuck is this?” Aaron exclaimed poking at the hair at the base of Elliot’s neck. “And when did you start growing a beard?” Elliot just shrugged. Nothing really seemed different to him, he didn’t feel any different. “I dunno” he replied This seemed to infuriate Aaron even more. “What do you mean you don’t know? You didn’t look like this when we left LA! Is this some kind of prank? Did someone put you up to this?” With his long fingers, Aaron grabbed some of the long hairs at the base of Elliot’s neck with his hand and pulled hard. “OW!” Elliot cried. “That hurt!” Aaron looked at the almost two inch long chest hairs he had pulled out that were now between his fingers. “Disgusting!” he exclaimed. “What kind of prank is this? Did you glue this on? Where’d you get this hair? This is disgusting Elliott, this is really gross.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about babe. Let's get inside the hotel.” Elliott replied calmly. The two made their way inside and into the hotel room. Aaron kept looking over his boyfriend, shocked to see his bushy forearms, covered in thick black hair. The hair continued up his arms and on the other side of his collar, he saw a thick fan of hair extending down his neck towards his back. Aaron could only guess what hairy mess lay underneath that snug tee shirt. And was it his imagination or did Elliott look bigger too? He couldn’t be sure. When they got into the room, Elliott, not keen on revisiting the strange behavior Aaron was displaying, just calmly set his stuff down and started the shower. Aaron looked on in horror as Elliot stripped of his shirt, unveiling what had to be the hairiest torso he had ever seen. Completely covered in swirling masses of black hair, from his stomach up over his chest and shoulders to his back. Everything was covered in a nearly equally thick distribution. Not only that, but the short beard he sported was looking longer, growing farther down his neck and totally merging with his chest. Aaron was beside himself. “Jesus christ, you’re like a fucking monkey! What the hell has happened to you? This can't be, this isn’t real!” Elliott just looked at him puzzled as he continued to prep himself for the shower, pulling off his socks and taking his braclets off. “I mean, this has to be glued on” He continued. Aaron walked up close, reaching out and touching the thick hair with his hand. It felt real, it looked real, but all that was impossible. How could a blonde guy have sprouted a total rug of black hair all over his body in the span of a few hours? Aaron looked up, in the light Elliott’s hair appeared brown, not blonde. “What is going on?! Is this like hidden camera or something?” Aaron continued. “It’s super gross. You’ve got to take this off.” “OK, I’m jumping into the shower now” Elliott said, ignoring the hysterics of his boyfriend. Aaron watched his boyfriend, now the hairiest man he had ever seen, turned his furry back to him and walked nude to the shower. “I think I’m going to hurl!” Aaron yelled back, full of hyperbole. Aaron started poking around the room, looking for a camera or some sort of indication that this was a prank. He tried to figure out if he was on something, maybe he was high? Maybe they were both high and he was hallucinating. Aaron splashed water on his face and then went to bed. He tried not to think about whatever was happening too much. He dozed off only to woken up a half hour later by the feeling of a beard rubbing up against his neck. Elliott was cuddling with him. Aaron could feel all this hair, pressing up against him as his boyfriend snuggled up close. “Off!” He protested “Off of me until you either take that nasty costume off or shave it off” He protested. Elliott again just shrugged his hairy shoulders and turned to face the other way, cuddling with a pillow instead. The next morning Aaron woke up, having nearly forgotten about the night before. Until he looked over and saw the large, dark haired, heavily bearded furball next to him. The man still had the face of Elliott, but his beard looked to be three inches long. Every inch of his muscular body was covered in a carpet or black hair. Even though he was still laying down, there was no mistaking that Elliott was bigger. “Jesus, Elliott, what has happened to you?” Aaron asked loudly. Elliott’s eyes flickered open and he stretched his long, powerful arms “Wha?” the man groaned in response. “Elliott, wake up. I know this can't all be real. Take this disgusting costume off, stop trying to pretend… “ As Aaron said this he pushed his hands into the powerful hairy expanse of Elliott’s newly muscular back, feeling the rippling cordes of solid muscle. There was no mistaking the feeling of pushing into muscle like that. Aaron moved his hands around to Elliott’s larger shoulders. this wasn’t fake, this wasn’t a costume. This was real hair and real muscle. Aaron’s eyes grew wide as he realized that the man he was in bed with was indeed Elliott Zimmerman. Overnight 40 lbs had piled onto Elliott’s frame. The man had rapidly grown from a twink to a superhairy musclebear. Aaron felt like he must have been losing his mind. He had to be dreaming. His boyfriend looked like he was just inflating with muscle. The man half asleep next to him was over 220 lbs of sculpted, hairy, muscular beef. Elliott groaned again: “I’m starving. Can you get me something to eat?” Aaron decided he’d probably need some fresh air. “I’ll get something.” Aaron said, throwing on a shirt and heading out. He tried to clear his mind, figure out a rational explanation for everything. He tried to reason with himself, figure out why he might be hallucinating or dreaming. By the time Aaron return with some coffee and a bagel, Elliot was up out of bed, a shirtless hulking beast hunched over the table in their hotel suite. He was busy cramming food into his mouth. The man looked absolutely massive now. “Goddamn, what has happened to you?!” Aaron exclaimed again Elliott looked up doe eyed. With food in his mouth. “Huh?” He muttered. “Oh, sorry, I got hungry and you took so long… I ran downstairs and got some stuff.” Elliott had now surpassed 250 lbs and was growing just a little larger with each bite. Aaron stood there, mouth agape. He was watching his now dark haired boyfriend grow beefier by the second. With eat bite there would be a slight swell of his rounded shoulders, or a flex of his thickening traps, or a little twinge on his meaty forearms. Aaron stood there silently, able to see his boyfriend blowing up into a furry behemoth right in front of him. Elliott didn’t seem to mind the changes . He seemed actually to not really be aware of them, except for in the sort of most vague terms. He knew his shirts didn’t fit him anymore, but he didn’t really seem to know why. Even when he looked in the mirror, which now reflected gigantic bodybuilder with enormously broad, bowling ball shoulders and massively meaty, extremely hairy pecs, Elliott didn’t seem to process it. Elliott continued to stuff his mouth full of the pastries, sandwiches and snacks he had found downstairs. He had virtually stockpiled food in the hour that Aaron had been away. And soon he was pushing past 270 lbs of offseason fur-covered muscular beef. Something about his heavily bearded face also made him look different. He looked even darker. “There’s a taqueria next door we should go to!” he said with a near perfect accent. “Stop it! Stop it!” Aaron exclaimed. “You’re turning yourself into a monster! Stop eating!” Elliot stopped, but he just stood there, puzzled. Neither of them really knew what they could do next. As the day wore on the growth continued, it slowed down, but it continued throughout the rest of their Palm springs vacation. Aaron was shaking though, the changes put him on edge. Nothing seemed right. Even Elliot’s face was becoming harder to recognize. His hair was black, his skin was tan. His nose, something about his nose looked different. He sounded the same, he was the same height, but everything else was so totally transformed that Aaron hardly couldn’t believe it was real. Much to his own disgust Aaron had to track down a big and tall shop in town to find clothes for Elliott to wear. At his new size, nothing he owed would even come close to fitting. “Gracias mi amor” Elliott said when Aaron returned with his new clothes. “Te quiero muchísimo”. Aaron just sat there puzzled by his flawless Mexican accent. Elliot didn’t ever speak to him in spanish. Part of Aaron wondered what it would be like to parade around with a huge 300 lbs slab of muscle freak on his arm. It might come with a certain cache to be seen with a giant gay muscle freak who could be seen as “his” boy. At the same time, Aaron was still disgusted by how overly hairy and large he was. In his mind, it was beyond disfiguring. Complete excess.Totally gross. He has never been with a man so big, but at least Elliot seemed as placid and under control. Maybe he could turn out to be a giant muscle slave of his afterall. Watching Elliott walk now would almost be comical if he wasn’t so baffled and shocked by the transformation. The huge man now sauntered with his legs apart, thighs bulging so thick that they inevitably rubbed against each other, his back so broad that it forced his hefty arms up from his sides. Later that day Elliott wanted to go to the pool, but no longer owned swim trunks that would even get past his bulging calves, so regardless of the rules, Elliott went skinny dipping behind Aaron’s back. Staying at a gay establishment proved beneficial for the enormous muscle man. They were quite tolerant of his rule breaking. Elliott attracted a huge amount of attention from the gays around him. Aaron was beyond embarrassed. To him, Elliott looked totally deformed from too much muscle. A body warped into a ridiculously unattractive size, covered in so much hair that he looked more animal than human. Elliott’s beard was wild and untamed, growing down to the top of his overgrown chest. Nonetheless, somehow this huge hulk was attracting choruses of “woofs” from the older men around the pool, all of whom were impressed. “Is that your boyfriend?” one older bearish man asked Aaron poolside. Aaron nodded sheepishly. “Man, you latin boys sure can grow nice and big. What are you feeding him!?” Aaron didn’t even know how to respond. Latin? Was Elliott latin now? Sure enough, the dark tan he had developed, the excessive black hair, the strong prominent nose...long gone was that blond waspy look. Elliott could definitely pass for latino now. As he stood there, disapprovingly watching the whole scene unfold, he heard Elliott use the kind of slang his gay cousin would say. “Aye, papi...” he said to one of the 40 something bearish men flirting with him in the pool. What had happened to his boyfriend? Aaron cursed himself internally. He now had an overblown latino gorilla as a boyfriend. Had Aaron been with this freak the whole time? Had the small twink he had envisioned actually been some massively overgrown hairy cholo? Whatever was happening, this wasn’t for him. How was he going to get out of this? Aaron had enough of the gawking and attention from the rather rambunctious older gay crowd. They wanted a piece of his now enormous boyfriend. Elliott liked the attention, flexing his now 25” inch arms and getting a chorus of ooos and awws. Aaron stormed off, something Elliott didn’t fail to notice even in the crowd of his adoring fans. Elliott went out with his new “friends” from the pool, eating and drinking that evening. Even some fooling around. By the time Elliott returned to their room at midnight, he was shirtless, bigger than ever, and drunk. How 350 lbs man could get that drunk was a mystery. They left palm springs the next morning. Aaron didn’t say a word to the overblown muscle bear next to him on the car ride home. He was passed out anyway. There was hardly room to move in that car, with Elliott's shoulders pushing right over the seat into Aaron. It made for a cramped driving experience. Aaron kept looking over with disgust at the overgrown freak next to him. At least he had trimmed his beard back. He was still so gross though, his muscles so bloated, so covered in sweaty, nasty body hair. And his face- he wasn’t even handsome anymore, with that big nose, huge black eyebrows and beard. Aaron said to himself. A disgusting, ratty mess of hair everywhere. And all that enormous disfiguring muscle. He looked totally deformed to him now. How could any man find this pile of meat attractive? Some guys must be into the missing-link look, he reasoned. Aaron heard his soon-to-be ex mutter something in spanish in his sleep. ‘And now he’s Mexican, of course’ Aaron thought to himself. He had the face of some nasty gay cholo like his cousin and his friends. He cringed at the idea of dating one of them. _______________________________ 10 days after I had laid the spell down on Elliott, I gasped at the beautiful,freakishly large muscle hulk my work had created. He was walking in WeHo, crushing the sidewalk and getting stares from every passerby. His thighs rolled around each other, fighting for space. His shirt and shorts were barely containing all his hairy mass. Dark hair, dark eyes and the biggest muscular build I’d ever seen. Every inch of him bulged with extreme mass. I really didn’t even recognize him. He was like a dream. Gone was that twink I hated, here was a overgrown, hirsute latin mass monster I had created. He really did look latin too. Extremely handsome. I was quite proud of my work. The sheer freaky size and furriness factor was the only way I could be sure I was looking at Elliott. 400 lbs superhairy muscle freaks don’t exactly come along every day. And he was far inconspicuous everyone was staring at him as he sauntered along, his huge mass flexing and bouncing with each step.. And clueless Elliott knew no different. It was as if he had always looked this way. He imagined being 400 lbs of rippling muscle was just as natural for him as having black hair and a furry chest. Although now he found himself single again. After Palm Springs Aaron had stopped talking to him all together. He wasn’t even responding to his texts, even the little love notes he had sent in spanish. Elliott was truly a sight to seen. Every muscle bulged and flexed with just the slightest movement. His traps, his massive rounded delts, his huge furry chest and thick, hair-covered cobblestone abs. The man’s massive back was even covered in a carpet of hair. There just were no bodybuilders who compared to him in size now. XXXL shirts were struggling to hold together on his massive frame. His arms were pushed out far to his sides because of the sheer size of his lats. God, he just exuded testosterone. He just exuded a hyper-masculine, overblown sexiness. So much muscle. So much to flex. And Elliott was totally clueless about why he was so special. Our eyes met on the street. Fuck, I wanted him so badly. I wanted that gorgeous, huge muscle beast. And damn it, I was going to have him. ____________________________________________________________ Aaron was still shaken by the weekend with Elliott. How could anyone transform like that over a few hours? He kept looking at pictures in his phone of the smaller blond man he had dated before Palm Springs. A total opposite of the mexican muscle freak he had left with. He wasn’t crazy, he couldn’t be. There was something going on that caused Elliot and even his previous boyfriend, Kevin, to grow into huge bodybuilders. He couldn’t say how, but it must have connected back to Kevin. Aaron had a new man that weekend. Some hookup from Grindr named Spencer. A cute, shorter recent grad from UC Irvine. Spencer had the lithe little build of the white guys he usually went for. It was in such dramatic contrast to the monster he had just parted ways with, not hairy, not dark, not overgrown. The two jumped in bed together the first chance they could. As Aaron lifted Spencer’s legs up in the bed and began pounding his ass, something strange started happening. The few hairs on Spencer’s chest started spreading, growing a little thicker and fuller. With each thrust Spencer’s body inflated ever so slightly larger, growing more muscular, more defined. Aaron looked down after a moment to see a now hairy chested, athletic looking man who was starting to visibly grow in front of him. He stopped pounding him immediately, freaked out by the noticeable developments. “Ay, No terindas!” Spencer said in effortless spanish. Aaron’s blood ran cold. “Fuck!” was all Aaron could mutter as he watched his Grindr hookup’s dark chest hair grew visibly thicker, spreading over his shoulders. At the same time, Spencer’s muscles started to balloon, becoming heavier, thicker and larger right in front of him. This time, the whole thing was happening even faster.
  11. Hialmar

    The Security Squad, part six

    PREFACE This is the most discomforting chapter in the story. The one who doesn't recognize satire, when he sees it, is blind. I also want to thank Arpeejay for a discussion about bodyweight. DISCLAIMER The story takes place in a totalitarian society. Unpleasant political slur of two opposite kinds will occur. Likewise, sexist slur will take place. Violent deaths will be mentioned. If anything of this disturbs you, please be warned. Part one is found here: Part five is found here: - - - ”And why do you volunteer for this? You know, that in the past all members of the Security Squad were drafted.” I watched you inquisitively. You seemed to feel uncomfortable before my imposing presence. ”I saw the advertisements. You know, the ones, like, BECOME THE PERFECT MAN: JOIN SECURITY SQUAD or LESS OF A MAN, THAN YOU WANT TO BE? JOIN SECURITY SQUAD, and I thought, that I could perhaps give it a chance.” ”I see. Yes, we have had a considerable influx of patriotic volunteers, since the advertisement campaign was launched.” You squirmed. ”I don’t feel very patriotic. Not patriotic enough.” ”Don’t worry soldier. You will be. You will be fine. Your squaddiefication will take place within a few days. It isn’t something dangerous.” I was allowing my thoughts to wander back in time: How Brad and I, Bill and Sergeant Williams had been tested the days after our own squaddiefication a decade earlier. Bill and I managed to lift a 2250 pounds each. Brad managed to lift almost 1800 pounds. - - - I was hanging out at The Patriot with you and Brad. On our way there, we had passed by the usual political posters: ”Is your wife a secret Terrie?” and ”The Security Squad protects YOU!” The Patriot was officially a local ”member-restricted recreation association for members of Security Squad and their friends”. There wasn’t anything untrue about that description, but it didn’t describe the reality either. The walls were painted in black. Flags and recruitment posters hang on the walls. Sixty percent of the Security Squad’s personnel never frequented The Patriot, which could be a surprise for those, who only knew the establishment from its official description. When you and I entered the building, we had been met by the mixed scents of cigar smoke, beer, male sweat, anti-perspirants, moth repellents and leather. Brad and I towered over you, and I felt protective. You were so young. Comparatively small. Like I had been before my squaddiefication. Recently transferred to the non-enhanced segment of the Security Squad by the enlistment authority. Like Brad and me, you were dressed in the everyday wear of the Security Squad: Black t-shirt or tank top, black woolen army sweater, glossy cargo trousers of black leather (with a belt buckle carrying the crest of the Security Squad), heavy boots, patrol cap and a black bomber jacket. We could have frequented the place in civil attire, but we knew what the squad-fans wanted. Our arrival was met with approving cheers by the ”friends of the Security Squad”. ”Oh look, Chad! They brought a Squaddie-pup! He hasn’t been squaddiefied, yet!” I whispered to you: ”I told you, that you would become popular. Handle it wisely. Don’t let anyone beg you into something you aren’t comfortable with. They are the fans. You are in command. Remember that.” You nodded. Brad towered over you protectively. At 7’6” and 450 lbs he was a living embodiment of what it meant to belong to the Security Squad. Some of the recruitment posters were actually based on him. ”When the Lord Protector signed the Immoral Entertainment Decree and the Indecent Behaviour Decree eighteen years ago, there was initially some hesitation and uncertainty over how they were supposed to be interpreted. Two talkshows on TV were closed down, since they were known of making fun of The Leader. There were some discussion coming from The Leader’s religious backers about closing bodybuilding competitions, beauty pageants and wrestling, but the nationalist backers of The Leader thought there could be a patriotic value in those competitions, so they were retained. I have heard, that some un-patriotic scum fled our country and now compete for other countries, which is a disgrace. Oh, thank you Eric.” Eric, the bartender, had placed three pints of beer in front of us. He knew what we preferred. In several ways. Several other Squaddies — both squaddified ones and non-enhanced ones — stood or sat in other corners of The Patriot, but the major share of the patrons were squad-fans. The squad-fans came in all shapes: Short and tall, thin, overweight and muscular, but they all preferred a decidedly masculine style. All kept their hair short (in different ways). It was in rather general use among squad-fans to sport flags and other patriotic patches on their jackets. The jackets came in several styles: Denim jackets, bomber jackets in synthetic fibres, leather jackets — especially biker style jackets. Some of the squad-fans rode motorbikes, and kept old-fashioned biker style alive. ”Since what was called ’propaganda promoting a gay lifestyle’ was forbidden, there was an abrupt end to Pride events, and gay pubs were closed. The Lord Protector decided to turn existing same-sex marriages into civil unions, but he resisted any suggestions to abolish civil unions. His military advisors adviced him to not re-instate the don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Where you grew up, it was probably harsh to be fond of other lads, but, as you see, that is not the entire truth about our country. I’m happy to bring you here.” ”It is a relief after what I went through. This place feel unreal.” You looked at some old Security Squad memorabilia, and some black and white reproductions of Tom of Finland art. The convsersations in the room were rather loud. Drunk laughs from one of the corners. One of the squad-fans approached us. He was a buzzcut bloke in his mid-30s, and dressed in jeans, boots and a squad-sweater replica. ”Permission to speak, Sergeant.” ”Permission granted, civilian.” He gave the impression of usually cultivating a rather cocky demeanour in other surroundings, but, when speaking to us three, he behaved slightly shyly. ”Just exactly is squaddification? The results are, eh, very impressive.” ”Your first visit to The Patriot, mate? That squaddiefication exist isn’t a secret: It is obvious for everyone. But exactly how squaddiefication is done is classified information, I’m afraid.” ”Oh. Sorry for asking. I’m a great fan of Squads on Patriot Channel.” Squads was a reality series about life in the Security Squad. I had watched episode one and two of the first season, but swiftly dropped the habit. The content was extremely edited, and didn’t give an accurate impression about everyday life in the Squad. ”I would guess, that you’re not alone on that account in this crowd. Have you had time to discuss with other fans here?” ”Some. It’s new to me, all of this.” ”Don’t worry, civilian. You are among friends here.” More cheers. I looked in the direction of the entrance, in order to find out why. ”Hello Bill! How is the night going?” ”Awesome Joe. I have spent all night at Beer Burger Bar, and already shagged three squad-hags.” I turned to you. ”You see, my friend, Sergeant Tannen here, is into the vagina business.” I turned to Bill again. His 600 lbs brawn to his 6’6” height couldn’t fail to attract most of the eyes in the room. ”Three? Really? Isn’t it time for you to settle down with kettle and lids, at your age?” ”I don’t disagree with your lifestyle, and you don’t disagree with mine. Isn’t that a deal?” I turned to you again. ”Now you wonder, perhaps, what a confirmed straight guy like Bill is doing here…” You nodded shyly, looking at Bill’s bull-god physique. ”But we have a saying in the Squad. Perhaps you haven’t heard it, yet. The difference between a straight Squaddie and a bi-curious Squaddie is three pints of beer.” Bill roared of laughter. So did some of the squad-fans, who had overheard our conversation. A massive leather-clad biker had approached us. For a non-squaddified man, he was certainly impressive, and a life dedicated to working out was required to carry his outfit the way he did. I was proud of you, when I noticed that your gaze didn’t flicker. ”Please Sergeant, may I speak to the Squaddie-pup?”, the biker asked me. I acted the way he expected. ”Permission granted, civilian. Treat him well. Otherwise, I and Sergeant Smith here have to punish you.” The biker shuddered, but perhaps not purely out of fear. ”When will you become squaddified, Sir”, he asked you. ”In two days. Why do you ask, civilian?” ”I would be honoured if you remembered me during and after your squaddification. Would you do that? My name is Chad.” ”Perhaps I will”, you answered, one part confident, one part acting. ”Do you allow me to make myself worthy of remembering? It would be an honour to make you happy, Sir.” ”I’m sure, that you know what to do, civilian. I’m a squaddie-pup. I am superior.” I could detect a small trace of insecurity in your voice. It would be erased in two days, I reflected. But the squad-fan didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. To be in the presence of me, Brad and you made his day. He began to unbutton your fly. You leaned backwards against the desk, your leather clad legs wide apart, and let the muscular biker become your willing slave. More drunk cheering from a corner. It seemed to make Bill horny again, and he had definitely bucketed down more than three pints this evening. He had found a willing admirerer, too: A bodybuilder type dressed in army fashion, having loop screws in his earlobes. Absent-mindedly I noticed a short heap of flyers. ”The Security Squad needs YOU! Ever considered serving your country?” The The Patriot franchise had been a success as a recruitment ground for the Squad. I supposed that the level of success, in that regard, silenced any doubts some of The Leader’s advisors could have had in other respects, but what would they expect, when they removed all inhibations from a man? - - - It was two days later. I stood between the Zythronic racks, wearing the helmet. Initially, the four of us, who were the original new breed of improved soldiers, used to take turns inside the growth chamber. Later, our group of expert Improvers had been expanded into twelve members. It was my turn, and I liked the job. The twelve of us Improvers reach some small improvements every time, even if the pace of change has slowed down very much. The initial transformation is always the most dramatic, and there is seldom much to add or change, but it felt good to be in the chamber again, exposed to the Zythronic Field, the Vril Power and the two other forms of radiation. This way, the twelve Improvers always were slightly bigger, slightly stronger, slightly faster, slightly better than the recently changed squaddies, and they treated us with respect. The respect we deserve. I watched you: A Potential Domestic Terrorist. We used to say PDT, but the civilians shortened it into Domestic Terrorist, and were very grateful for our work on hunting you down, increasing the security for normal, decent people. We had improved the processing routines, and moved the chairs into the growth chamber. You sat in your chair, and the arms of your chair ended with metallic knobs connected to the Zythronic Racks. You were dressed in your orange-coloured prison-dress, your legs fastened to the legs of the chair, and your wrists strapped to the arms of the chair. ”Are you going to execute me?” ”You are mistaken. This is not an electrical chair.” ”What is it then, you bloody Fascist?” ”Watch your mouth.” ”It’s not like you haven’t abused me. Physically. Verbally.” ”Verbal abuse is more common in the Police Force. We don’t have the habit of calling you Liberal scum, even if you are. As for physical abuse — some prisoners need to be disciplined, but not to the degree, that they would no longer recover. Our off-shore prisoner camps are a valuable asset to the Security Squad.” ”An asset?” You looked like you couldn’t believe what you heard. ”You believe in a cause. That is honourable, even if you are misguided. Men with principles, like yourself, would hold equally firm convictions, if they were patriots. Even defend their convictions, by taking up arms.” ”You may lock me in, but you are not able to change my mind.” ”Let us see about that.” No reason to slow it down or hold back. The green infusion was now administerable by a rather quick injection, and all three biochemical formulas could be administered by the chair. Perhaps better to ease any pain away. Our purpose was not to torture you, but turn you into a weapon: Into one of us, so I let the Zythronic Field trickle through your palms into your body at a modest 8% level. ”Ummmm. What’s that? Ummmmmm. What’s happening?” I didn’t answer. I let the robotic arms of the chair administer the chemicals. Then the wet electrodes lowered themselves to each of your temples. They always scream. Afraid of losing themselves, I suppose. It is true to a certain extent. Memories fade or disappear, but deep-seated personality traits do not die, nor do instincts and urges. I do not remember my own conditioning. It is just a black hole in my memory. When I ask other Squad-members about it, they tell me the same. We do not remember the conditioning. I guess you will forget this pain, as all the others have done. As we all have done. I warmed the radiation emittors under the floor up. Your chair was lit up from the floor, and bathed in a purple light. We had, by time, found, that doing it this way increased the conditioning. ”No, I…” Your mind was surprisingly resilient. I increased the Zythronic Field to 10% and increased the radiation from below. ”No, uh… uh… nnnnnnn” You struggled in the chair. I could notice the physical effects of the treatment, since you began to fill out your prison dress. 12.5% perhaps? ”Mmmmmmm, oh, um, mmmmmm” Close now. After having done this multiple times, I had learned to guide this process carefully, and the helmet helped me to do it intuitively. The sound of your voice changed: The tone of fear turned into the tone of revelling. Look at that neck of yours! You liked this. I could see it on your face. And your hands were becoming larger. And covered with veins. ”Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I comply. Yes, I obey. Oh YES! Fucking YES! Sir! More! Give this patriot MORE!” I was so happy to reward you with what you asked for. And this was just the Preparatory Phase. I was going to process you and the other two, later in the afternoon. - - - I looked through the list. The one who volunteered because the appeal to his vanity and insecurity. The pup who was sent here by the enlistment authority, and found a haven from his repressive upbringing. The one who was successfully re-programmed from terrorism to patriotism. The usual fare. As always, I was proud to squaddiefy you and the other two subjects. There would be no use of destroying expensive uniforms, as had happened the first time. All three of you were dressed in elastic mini-shorts, and nothing else. The Preparatory Phase had had its effect on you. You all looked fit and vein-covered, and your eyes had that familiar dim gaze. ”Soldiers! This is the best day in your lives! You will grow into your country’s finest defenders: The defenders of Improved Democracy. Unlike the inefficient democracy of other nations, slowed down by debates and never-ending official reports, our Improved Democracy implement decisions immediately, because the Lord Protector is given that executive and legislative power. ”Perhaps you watched telly a few days ago, the Prime Minister of Ruritania demanding: ”Mr. Lord Protector, tear down this wall!” But we know the truth: Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against terrorism. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against unwanted foreign workers, who rob indigenous workers of their jobs. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against killer clowns. We are the greatest country in the world, and you are the best of the best: You dedicate your lives to protect our liberty. I am proud of you, soldiers. Right now you are non-enhanced Squad members. Within a few hours, you will be full-grown Squaddies. Do you want to improve yourself for your country?” ”SIR! YES, SIR!” ”Then take your stations.” You grabbed your Zythronic racks, like the other two. I knew how the different bio-chimcal formulas were pumping in your blood from the Preparatory Phase. They just needed some more encouragement. I concentrated on the Zythronic Power. It began to stream. You and the other two were silent for a few seconds, but then began to moan of pleasure. I increased the intensity. By the help of the helmet, I could sense the Zythronic Power, and I knew, that the moment I awakened the Vril Power, I would be able to sense your feelings, shape your phiscal forms according to my will and share the pleasure you felt. I increased the intensity further. 65%. You were ready for the Power of Vril. I awakened my own Vril Power, activated the cannons, and my mind reached deep into your own, and caused your slumbering Vril Power to awake. Awake. Surge. Erupt. Consume you. And the Vril cannons bombarding your responsive muscle tissue. A shimmer of gold and bronze surrounded us, letting the Muscle Beast out. Letting the Power Being out. We were all connected now. I could sense your feeling of strength, of power, of confidence, of abandon, of delight and pleasure… Each of you reacted to the treatment in your own particular ways. ”So good. Fucking unreal. Like being Compton. Like being McCarver. Look at these! So unbelievable. Like being Agent Venom. Uhnnnn. Like being Bane. Can’t believe it. Uh, uh! Like fucking becoming The Hulk. Oh! Yes! The power! Can’t believe it! Uhnnn.” ”Oh, yes! Pump me full of it! Unit want more! This patriot can take more! Will crush all resistance. Will crush all threats. Demolish. Pulverize. Able to do that, now. The strenght! So much! Never too much! So free. Not responsible for anything. Just obeying orders. Keep it going!” ”Unbelievable… So good! Oh. Much! Couldn’t have dreamed… Nnnnn. Growing with my brothers… Defend. Protect. Uhnnnnn… No squad-fan any longer… No squaddie-pup any longer… Yes! YES! Squaddiefy me! SQUADDIEFY ME! Yes! Can’t believe it! This! And this! And the power! And the strength! And, uhnnnn… So hard. Uncrushable… Don’t hold back, Sergeant! Give me more! Want it… Crave it… MORE! YES! RAW, BRUTAL, NNNNNNNNNN! SQUADDIE POWER!” I knew how intoxicating it was. At my mere thought, the room bathed in purple, and, at another one, it was exposed to the relentless empowering influence of a blue shimmer. After the Preparatory Phase you had all looked like contestants in Men’s Physique, but, now, your well-defined abs turned into six hemispheric cannonballs of steel. Your shoulders became like bowling balls. Your pecs became like basket balls of warm, uncrushable flesh. Your thighs swelled and bulged into pillars able to carry 1500 pounds or more. Your waists were narrower than your thighs. Your calves looked like rugby balls. Your necks grew in power, your jugular vein pulsing under the relentless pressure of the muscle-building and enhancing forces. 90% 92.5% 95%. The machine working at an efficiency of 97.5%. I knew I had to concentrate on my conception of perfect masculinity, and the helmet would interpret my brainwaves into reality. Inside this chamber, my will was law. I held the all-powerful control of your bodies and minds. The feeling was more than exhilarating. I was able to form my brothers in arms into the fighting machines I wanted them to be, and they wanted to become. Perfect masculinity… Uhnnn. Felt good for the Improver, too. I wasn’t allowed to lose control now. Uhnnn. Despite it was tempting to just let the machine decide… Uhnnn. No, I was in charge. I am The Improver today, and I have to improve you. Yes! Join me, squaddies! Become… Oh! Yes! Become… specimens of perfect masculinity. Specimens of perfect virility. Like… Like Brad. Oh fuck! The chamber convulsed in intangible flames of gold and bronze, blue and purple, when you all absorbed the highest power level, developed your personal physical optimum and reached perfection. - - - There were a handful of things to do by routine. Blood pressure. Blood samples. Urine samples. You were given some time for shower. You received uniforms in your new sizes, and you were, of course, a sight for gods to dream of. Absent-mindedly, I was thinking about what the future had in reserve for you. As usual, the first kill had to happen shortly after squaddiefication. We didn’t want any inhibations to return. It would be inefficient for the needs of the country. I remembered my own first mission. We hd to suppress a potential terrorist threat. We stormed the building in the middle of the night. All domestic terrorists were sleeping. One of the women looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before. I only dimly remember her chestnut-coloured hair, her green eyes and a dimple in her chin, because she cried out: ”Joe, it’s me. Why are you doing this?” It was very strange. How did she know my name? I shot the Terrie bitch. The mission was a disappointment, since no weapons were found in the terrorist base. Soon our new squaddies would be sent on similar missions. - - - I returned home. Brad had been busy cooking. ”Lot of paperwork, today?”, I asked. ”Yes. And you must have supervised a squaddiefication. I can see, that your traps are slightly larger than before”, he answered. ”They are?” ”I’m not blind, Joe. I can’t wait to lay my hands on those traps of your’s.” We finished our chicken and rice rather quickly, and decided to eat our apple-and-ginger pie later. We finished in the oversized sofa. Brad gave my traps a massage. The TV was on. The News reported that The Lord Protector had attended the inauguration of a statue of Berzelius Windrip. Then followed a re-run of the 2031 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. We had seen it before, and switched the TV off. I reclined in the sofa, laying on my side. Brad’s back rested on my chest, and I let my right arm protect him. It felt strange, but it felt good. Brad was the most perfect man I knew, but I was heavier than him. At 7 feet and 500 lbs, I was able to lift him and carry him, if I wanted to. I let my lips touch his gold-coloured buzzcut, and whispered: ”I am inspecting the test subject.” I let my hand massage Brad’s right pec through the fabric of his sweater. He let out a whimpering sound, rose and removed his sweater and his shirt. He turned, and removed my shirt. We returned to the sofa, Brad’s back on my chest. I nibbled on his silky ear, and let my hand return to his right pec. With a playful voice, I whispered: ”As I said, I am inspecting the test subject.” I returned to my everyday voice: ”Oh. And by the way. Two of todays new squaddies looked strangely similar to you, Brad.” ”They always do, Joe, when you are the Improver of the day. Unless you feel especially protective of them. Two, you say? I though there were three scheduled for today?” ”There was. Do you remember the squaddie-pup we brought to The Patriot two days ago? He’s the one. I felt protective of him. He reminded me of myself before.” ”Let me guess…” ”Don’t say it. Yes, he became massive like myself. He needed to put some flesh on the bones, don’t you think?” Brad didn’t answer, but he pressed his naked back harder to my chest. It felt good. I knew what Brad liked, so I had kept my leather trousers and boots on, just as he had. I could feel the ravines and ridges of his back towards my powerfully brawny pecs. I let my hand slid to his abs, and continued to whisper: ”I am inspecting the test subject’s abdomen. A hard wall of bricks, nay: steel, is covering his lower torso.” Brad shivered, and I could hear how his breathing became heavier. I swallowed. ”The test subject is still growing and transforming. He is turning into a monster! A hero-monster full of hard, masculine muscle. Bigger than anything I have seen. Bigger than anything I could imagine!” I let my hand slide lower, and I could feel his rod throbbing inside the black leather. I fingered and pressed teasingly. He moaned. I rose, my left knee still on the sofa behind Brad’s back, my right leg standing on the floor, his body between my powerful leather-clad thighs. ”But there is a squaddie who is heavier than the test-subject.” I gave his shoulder a friendly clench, before I removed my knee from the sofa, stood with my legs wide apart in front of him, and let him watch my presence. Then, I bent my knees, grabbed Brad, and held him: One arm under his leather-clad bum, another one behind his naked back. I let my lips nuzzle his buzzcut again. ”And that is Sergeant Wilson.” Playfully, I used him as a barbell three or four times, and then returned to my ordinary way of carrying him. Brad moaned in his deep voice and shuddered in delight, when his behemothic partner carried his 450 lbs frame into our bedroom, the way as usual. I smiled. I loved to be a squaddie.
  12. Hialmar

    The Security Squad, part 5

    Last chapter is found here: - - - It was several minutes later, and this individual unit of our Squad must have been released from the chair. This individual … I … was focused on my duty. In order to become useful for my country, Squad and sub-unit I had to improve myself. As in a dream, I stepped in file behind Bill, and with Sergeant Williams behind me. Bill entered the membrane, then I. We reached each of our stations at the same time, and stood for a moment between the active metal racks of our own stations, our legs broad apart, our boots firmly on the ground. My racks stood opposite Brad’s station, so I could see him well. I had Bill on my right. He faced Sergeant Williams on my left, closest to the membrane. We could feel and hear how the racks vibrated and hummed of power. All three of us grabbed our racks at the same moment, eagerly joining Brad in the enhancing process, and became living Zythronic conductors. The power hit me. The name of the Preparatory Phase was apt: It was just a preparation for the REAL power levels. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a moan, when I felt how the power current flowed through me, causing my muscles to tense and relax, tense and relax in an upward-spiraling wave of energy. ”Increase levels to 65%”, a British voice instructed someone. Just a few seconds later, I could feel the rush of even more power. I felt pumped. More than pumped. All my muscles were engorged in an incredible way. Real growth was occurring at an unimaginable rate. And it happened to my brothers too: Williams, Bill. And Brad. Bill couldn’t control himself: ”Yeah! Fuck, yeah! Make me a fucking beast!” Sergeant Williams wasn’t speaking. He was immersed in the experience, his eyes shut, sweat trickling from his temples and his naked chest, causing his pecs to become shiny. His neck swelled into a bullneck, and, unlike Brad and me, his waist didn’t shrink noticeably. There had always been something ox-like about his shape, but that aspect was now enhanced and intensified, and it looked that Bill was evolving in that direction, too. Brad welcomed the increased power levels, shouting with his, now significantly deeper, voice: ”Good! So good! Don’t stop it! Keep going, keep going! Uhnnn… YES! More! Give me fucking more! Don’t hold back! I can take it!” He had always had a narrow waist, broad shoulders and a barrel-chest, but these traits were now enhanced in a way I couldn’t describe. I could feel the machine relentlessly work on myself, too — shaping me, making me harder, more defined. My abs felt like the proverbial cobblestones. My back like a brickwall. My former fragile self disappearing in the mindless power blaze, and a stronger, heavy, pain-resilient and confident me emerging out if its energetic forge. ”Increase levels to 75%”. ”Increasing levels to 75%, Sir!” A lesser man would now, undoubtedly, have felt excruciating growth pains, but the four of us had three bio-chemical formulas synergetically pumping in our bloodstreams, and the gradual rise of Zythronic power had raised our resilience to pain. Instead of pain, I felt a rush of pump, pleasure and power, when the energy levels increased and hit me. My hands instinctively cling and grabbed to the conductible racks, not letting any little bolt or spark of power escape my power-hungry brawn. Pump. Pleasure. Power. ”Zey vould now haf ze stamina to bear ze brunt of ze Vril Power. Be ready to avake ze Vril Power within ze test subjects. From vhat I gather, ze mesomorph is likely to handle it best, but I am eager to see its effect on ze ectomorph and ze two endomorphs, too. Ve didn’t have any opportunity to experiment on zeir bodytypes in ze past.” ”Warming up the Vril cannons, Herr Doktor Professor!” ”I hope for your soul and conscience, that you are right this time, Helmut. My heart would break if something happened to these fine boys. For heavens sake, we don’t even know what Vril really is!” Another sort of humming sound began to fill the chamber. Deeper. Like a heartbeat in a far off, long-forgotten, super-nova. Like a heartbeat in the depths of Earth. Like a heartbeat in the middle of my soul. Then, I shut my eyes, and was overwhelmed by black lightning in my mind, stars exploding in violet fire, the primordial song of Nature, and the feeling of something happening in my solar plexus and immeadiately under my navel. A force, that had slumbered inside me, unknown, and unbeware of its own existence, stirred in its sleep, increased in intensity and warmed me up. A sphere of unimaginable force formed between my solar plexus and my navel, then expanded in every direction, affecting my heart, my loins and dick, my legs, chest and back, my shoulders, my arms, hands and traps, my neck and my head. An otherworldly fire burnt in me. Changed me. It felt like I became taller. I had always been short. I grew taller! Like Brad! Like Brad? I opened my eyes. Radiation cannons hanging from the ceiling were emitting crackling bolts and currents of unholy power at each of us four — targets unable to resist, even if we had wanted to. But we didn’t want to resist. Bill was writhing in anabolic bliss, his hands crampingly clenching the Zythronic racks (as did the hands of us all). The heavy presence of Sergeant Williams stood erect and imposing, with his boot-clad feet heavily on the floor. Consumed by the Vril Power, I couldn’t focus, but absent-mindedly noticed, that the floor under Sergeant William’s conductible rack was strewn with unlit dark lenses. I then absent-mindedly noticed, that the same was true about the floor under Bill’s station and Brad’s. Brad! A ghostly shimmer in bronze and gold surrounded him, as it did surround us others, and his skin tone changed into a tan of the same hue as the shimmer, enhancing his mucle definition. He was growing taller — and that at a visible rate. His abs protruded with deep valleys between them, in a way never seen on another man, and his iliac furrow was second to none. His chest had always been impressive, but now it consisted of powerful, hard and well-defined slabs, which pulsated under the combined hypertrophic effect of the Zythronic Field, the Vril Power and the three formulas in our bloodstreams. ”Lyet us now see, which effect, if any, the completyon of Procedyure 59 will have on the specimens. The addyition of nano-technology will have removed the drawbacks from the old version”, an unknown voice said in an Eastern European accent. The Texan answered: ”Better let Procedure 59 go in tandem with Project Atlas. We don’t know how a one-sided treatment would affect the sensitive balance between the two biochemical formulas. And it is better to let the nano-formula work together with the DNA-alteration.” ”Very well”, a comparatively young voice said. ”Warming up both radiation-emittors.” The machine had become a chorus now. Four different contraptions worked in symphony, for the common purpose of transforming me and my brothers into something more than human. The dark optical lenses in the floor, which I had wondered about in a never finished thought, now lit up in an increasingly purple light, and, meanwhile, a blue light, of the same colour as a tanning bed’s, rained down on us from the ceiling, increasing its intensity. The chamber was filled by a blinding multi-coloured light, bathing us all in incomprehensible power. I was no longer conscious about my whereabouts, I just had a very intense and peasurable feeling of expansion. I felt weightless and heavy, as the Earth itself. I was giving myself to this programme. Whatever doubts I could have had in the past were leaving me. I was rid of hesitation. I was now unable to feel fear. The safety for my Squad was my first concern. The security of my country and my Lord Protector was my ultimate concern. I was ready to perform my duty, to protect my brothers in arms, to defend my country against all domestic and foreign enemies — especially domestic. I felt how all inhibations were removed. I was ready to harm or kill an opponent, if necessary, and I would never question a given order. Insubordination is a disgrace. Insubordination is not an option. In… In… What was that word again? I am an obedient individual unit of this Squad, programmed for duty and obedience. Yeah. A real patriot. Serving the greatest leader we ever had. Serving the greatest country on Earth. We have never had it so good. Defend. Yeah. Protect. Defend and protect. Oh, yes! Feeling of expansion. Weightless and heavy. Inhibations removed. So horny. Wanted to snog Brad, my Sergeant. ”What does the readings say?” ”They are all approaching 7 feet, Sir, but their weight-curves behaves according to their individual constitutions and conditions. The mesomorph now weighs 484 lbs. The circumference of his chest is now 90 inches, and his waist 45 inches. His arms 39 inches and his quads 48 inches. As for the others…” I wasn’t able to hear my own meaasurements. The intensity of the power currents were too much, and I was lost in the feeling of unfathomable growth. ”Awaiting further instructions.” ”Keep everything at the present levels, for now.” ”Gentlemen, as you can see we have succeeded: Four separate enhancement projects, that once caused extraordinary results, while still separate, have today been succesfully combined, in order to reach an even higher level of perfection.” ”I very much doubt, that we can proceed any further, by manually controlling the processes from here. Do you think it is time, to test the helmet?” ”You know what I think. Why risk to spoil a succesful experiment with a not enough tested brainwave-coordinator?” ”I say: Let us give the brainwave-helmet a try. At this moment the specimens alone knows how much they could endure, and the fine-tuning is better left to someone, who experience the procedure himself.” ”I am still against it. It is too early.” ”Let’s vote then.” ”Five against two. It is decided then. One of them have to pick the helmet up, and use it.” ”Which one?” ”Does it matter? Pick anyone.” ”I vould vote for ze mesomorph. Look how good he has reaced to the treatment!” ”Oh it doesn’t matter. The mesomorph then.” ”Sergeant Smith? Sergeant Smith, do you hear me?” I could hear the deep voice of my friend Brad. His voice was deeper now. ”Sir, yes Sir!” ”Do you see a helmet on the floor in the growth chamber? A high-tech helmet, belonging to the equipment?” ”Oh. Yes. Aaahrrrgh. Y-yes, I see it.” ”Do you feel all right?” ”Sir? All right? I feel more than… Oh! Uhmmmm… Fuck, yes! Sorry, Sir. Yes, I feel more than all right.” ”Good to hear. Do you think, that you could pick the helmet up, and wear it?” ”Is that an order, Sir?” ”Yes. Pick it up, and wear it. You will be able to control and co-ordinate the processes that affect you and your three mates of this sub-unit. Use your discernment, and improve yourself and your team-mates as much as you deem possible and desirable.” ”Sir! The order will be executed! Improve according to possibility and desireability!” The power flickered for a moment. Then it increased in a much more subtle and seamless way than before. Something else guided the processes, than before — something able to understand the power and the growth intimately. And that something was my friend Brad, my Sergeant. Williams, Bill and myself had all surrendered to what Brad deemed possible to achieve and desireable to achive, and we were clay in the hands of a potter, molten iron at the will of a caster, heated iron before the hammer of an all-powerful smith eager to forge the perfect weapon. The hair on my forearms bristled, and it felt like a sensual, immaterial fluid, both cold and hot at the same time, ran from the backside of my head down on my entire body. I felt how the beams, rays and power currents merged into something unknown, and I felt how an even more fierce and irresistible wave of Vril Power erupted within me, and I was consumed by its ecstatic embrace. Brad stood at his station, his trousers bursting at the seams, revealing calves bigger than rugby balls (but still growing), tree trunk hamstrings and striated quads. Black leather lay in fragments on the floor under him, but what was left of his trousers formed tight, black and glossy shorts around his lower waist, glutes and groin. The golden-bronze hue of his upper body and naked legs contrasted with the shiny black of his shorts and boots. He was a living embodiment of masculinity beyond all restrictions and limitations, and I knew, that the same was true about myself and the other two. The field around him intensified ever more at the will, and at the urge to grow, of the Sergeant we all wanted to serve and obey, who was my best friend. ”The Zythronic Field is approaching 90%!” ”Shut it down! Levels this high are unaccounted for. We are now in unknown territory.” ”I vant to know ze upper limits of zis programme. Vait anozer minute!” ”90% and rising. Vril Power at 85% and increasing!” ”92.5% and rising. Vril Power at 90%. This is too much!” We shuddered at the impact of the transformation process, but we didn’t want the experiment to be aborted. Not now! ”The generators can’t take it anymore!” The room outside blacked down. The loudspeakers went silent. All available energy was directed to the growth chamber, and Brad’s face was glowing by a lustful and triumphant facial expression. His entire physique was emitting lights. He closed his eyes and moaned, louder and louder. His head arched backwards. ”IMPROVE!”, Brad bellowed. In the next moment, ineffable power currents crackled from his eyes, and hit Williams and Bill, who convulsed and roared under the impact. A similar power current was emitted from Brad’s leather-clad groin and hit mine. I BECAME strength itself. I don’t know what I shouted or which noises I might have emitted. I felt like I could crush rocks and steel with my bare hands, and my back felt like a mountain of brawn. I became dimly aware of movement. With an unfathomable amount of will-power, Brad had let go of his Zythronic rack, and was moving into the middle of the chamber. When he reached the centre of the chamber, I had a short respite to recuperate, and I noticed, that the same was true about Williams and Bill. The lenses, above and below the station Brad had left, went out, which allowed the lenses in the middle of the chamber to intensify. All Vril cannons now turned, so that they pointed in one and the same direction, the cones of light converging in one single point: The centre were Brad stood, eagerly awaiting their brutal impact. And when they hit him, his obscenely engorged muscle mass erupted in further hypertrophy. For a moment, he staggered under the amount of energy, but then recovered his balance, now with a more unwavering and confident stance than ever before. He arched back, lifted his arms and did a double biceps, roaring: ”IMPROVE!” The Vril cannons turned, as they would have a life of their own, back to their original stations, with one exception. The cannons, which had originally been focussed on Brad’s station, were now hitting him in his back. The lenses, at the station Brad had left, were still unlit, and the unused power rushed to the three remaining stations, sending me and the others into heightened anabolic frenzy. ”Yes! More!”, Bill shouted. Sergeant Smith… Brad… approached me. His godlike shape stood for a moment before me, his back bombarded by the Vril cannons (also affecting me, when the Vril Rays continued through him into me) and his brawn sharing the rush of rays bathing us from above and below. He looked me into my eyes, and said: ”I have told you before. I feel proud to grow you. I love to grow you. And now I am able to do it without limits. There is no ’too much’. I want more. I want to be extreme. I want you to be extreme. Join me, Joe. Join me.” Without further ado, he sunk on his knees before me, and slowly began to unbutton the fly of my black leather shorts. One button. Two. Three. Leaving the uppermost one intact behind the belt. He reached out his big paw and released my wildly pulsating rod. I didn’t believe what happened. The next moment, my Sergeant, who was my best friend, had swallowed my rod and placed his hands on my leather-clad glutes. Zythronic Power flowed through me at insane levels, and through me into Brad. Vril cannons, intended to expose two separate stations, now relentlessly irradiated one single station, where I stood, with my powerful legs wide apart, and with an ever growing titanic friend between my legs, robbing me of the last traces of coherence. I couldn’t resist. I let go. And while Brad sucked me off, he transformed myself and himself. ”Oh, Sarge. Oh, Brad. I’m, oh! So beyond all… Oh! What’s happening?” My thews throbbed of strength. My beef became uncrushable. My shoulders and chest must have expanded in a behemothic way, but I was lost in bliss and ecstacy. My mind was lost in unwavering loyalty to my country, my Leader and my Sergeant (who is my friend Brad). And my friend Brad forcefully crammed hitherto unknown levels of power into me. ”Oh. Uhnn. Real ace. So good. So much. So much. So.. Uhnnn. No! NO! IT’S TOO MUCH! I can’t bear it!” A real squaddie obey orders. Sarge has given an order. Improve. There is no ’too much’. Sarge… Brad want me to be extreme. He want me to join him. A real squaddie obey orders. It isn’t something dangerous. Brutally good. Can’t bear it, can’t handle all this! But I will, because a real squaddie obey orders. Even if it kills me, I will die feeling levels of strength no man has experienced before me. And if I survive, I will be a weaponised man. A soldier of a sort the world has never seen before. Together with my brothers. Together with Brad. ”Oh! Oh! Oh, yes! IMPROVE! Want more! Crave strength! MORE! Yes! Increase! Yes! Overwhelm me, Brad! Raw! Pure! Brutal! Nnnn. Overwhelm me! What are you doing to me? What are you making me into? It’s too much! Never too much! Never too much! Increase! Enhance! POWER!” I was Strength. I was Power. I was raw, primitive, brutal Masculinity. I was Virility unbound, free to roam the world. I was a living thunderstorm. I was a powerhouse. I was a living nuclear explosion. I was what Brad wanted me to be. During the final minutes of the growth process, I was lost in mindless ecstasy. Moans, grunts, roars and bellows were heard, accompanied by the terrifying noise of crackling power. Since the entire chamber was connected to Brad’s brainwaves, when he reached orgasm, so did the chamber and all the test-subjects within. - - - Next chapter is here:
  13. Hialmar

    m/m The Security Squad, Part 4

    Last chapter is found here: The Security Squad: Part 4 It was dark. No, it was just what Brad called chiaroscuro. And warm and pleasant. Like I floated in emptiness. With Brad. Friend. Close. But then Brad's face melted and became the face of Bill. "I told you, I would give you hell, Joe". An unfamiliar German voice said: "Hell. Hölle." And then the person who was Brad or Bill catched fire, and he grabbed me and carried me, and I catched fire. And we screamed. I screamed. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. And then I woke up. It was just a nightmare. I felt dizzy. But rather warm and pleasant. Where? And then I remembered the chaotic memory fragments: Sergeant Williams carrying me into the room with the IVs. Plastic bags containing the dangerous-looking green liquid hang there, ready to flow into the veins of defenceless and unknowing test subjects. But I knew. I had read the files. The potentially deadly consequences. And the strange assertive veiny vigour Brad had exuberated in the gym. How I struggled. A glimpse of a white coat. A sting. Blackness. I looked up in the ceiling. I felt something strange in my arm. The bag with green liquid was just emptying its last content into me. There was no return. It already flowed in my system. I felt warm. Warm and horny. I was no longer just a recruit to the Squad. I was a test subject. One of the test subjects. One of the chosen few. Chosen together with Brad. I didn't want to feel pleased by that, but there was something inside me, that felt pleased with that. I felt like I could lift... lift heavy things. Like rocks. One of the anonymous medics in his late 30s or early 40s checked me. "Let me remove that drip, Private Wilson. You don't need it any longer." It was removed before I was able to answer, and a plaster was fastened over the vein. Veins. "How do you feel?" He checked my blood pressure. "I feel warm." "That happens sometimes. It happened to your friend, Sergeant Smith, too. It isn't something dangerous. Isn't something dangerous. The thought floated through my mind. Wasn't I supposed to be concerned about something? I didn't remember. Something about danger. But the Doctor said, that it isn't something dangerous. Felt good. "I feel good, Doc." "Good to hear that. You are soon going to join your brothers in arms." Brothers in arms. Sounded good. Like a real patriot. Wait. Didn't someone say that before? It felt good. I thought it again: Yeah! LIKE A REAL PATRIOT. I got hard again. It felt good to be a part of the Security Squad. Real men. Real men are not afraid of danger. It isn't something dangerous. The bed had wheels. Doc easily rolled my bed into another chamber. Didn't I know that door? Didn't that look familiar? Laboratory III. Was I supposed to know what that is? There were lots of men in white coats. Many of them were very old and wrinkled. Grey or white hair. Or bald. And big Guards. Yeah. I belonged. Belonged to the same Squad as the big Guards. I wanted to become a big Guard myself one day. Together with Brad. Sleepily I blinked. Sergeant Williams was there. And Brad. Sergeant Smith. Sergeant Smith is Brad. The sergeants were dressed in the same trousers as Bill and I, but unlike us they had uniform shirts. Two strange chairs with technical contrapments stood against a wall, but it was the machine with the chamber, which attracted all the attention. A sort of machine. I reached for a word. I was supposed to know it. A console? And a chamber of glass and steel and some sort of door-thingy. Membrane? And inside the chamber a man. One of my comrades in arms. Private... Private Tannen. Bill. I was supposed to have an opinion about Bill. But he was a brother in arms now. Inside that chamber. Something interesting happened to Bill. He was stripped to the waist. His belly was disappearing. And his cheeks were becoming smaller. Is that normal? He was standing there inside the chamber, between two racks of metal, connected to the chamber. Sparks and bolts were emitted from the rack. And Bill was holding them. So something was conducted into Bill. It isn't something dangerous. His face. Didn't I like his face before? How couldn't I like the face of someone, who was willing to watch my back in combat? Like Brad? Bill looked angelic now. His face in bliss. He moaned something. "Warrior! Yes! Make me into a warrior! I love this feeling!" It sounded nice. It sounded like something I wanted to experience. Why did I feel so sleepy? My friend Brad, who is Sergeant Smith, walked close to me. He spoke to me in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry Joe. I would have prepared you for this. I didn't believe that the stuff would affect me like this. It sounded so good. It sounded like everything I had day-dreams about in the past, but in real life. And then the terrifying accidents happened, and I wanted to cop out, but they had already given me the preparatory treatment. And it IS good. I have never felt like this before, at just the Preparatory Phase. Just imagine what the next Phases could do, if there is no accident. But I thought I could resist it better. I am not sure, what will happen to me in the next phase." "Use the helmet, Brad.", I murmured. "Helmet? Which helmet? What are you talking about?" "You will control and co-ordinate all processes with the helmet. Not them." He frowned, but we were not able to continue our talk. The scientists were discussing the things they were doing. An aloof British voice talked: "As you have all seen, everything needed in Phase One was to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, and prepare the test subjects with a Preparatory Phase of Zythronic Fields, as our notations from the 40s suggested. By that, their stamina would increase, and with increased stamina, they would better endure the awakening of the Vril Power — or so we have reason to believe. This time, we will have one mesomorph test subject, one endomorph test subject and... I see that the ectormorph test subject is awake. Will you please inject him, Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Jackson, an elderly man, who walked like he had served a long time in the Armed Forces, grabbed something that looked like a pen on a metal table, and walked towards me. "Dont worry Private. It will soon be over." He put the pen towards my belly, and pressed. A brief pain, which soon receded. "The two formulas interacted well in the mesomorph test subject and the endomorph test subject. Will you please remove the endomorph from the chamber, Sergeant Smith?" The scientists turned the knobs of metal and plastic on the console, and pressed some buttons. The humming subsided. Bill looked up with a slightly disappointed expression. Brad helped him out of the chamber. When Bill had left the chamber, he walked to me. I was wary. His eyes were unfocused, but to my surprise he shone up in a smile. ”Wilson? Joe. Didn’t know they were going to give you the treatment, too. We are brothers in arms, then, I suppose. Don’t worry, bro. I might have behaved badly in the past, but if the awesome Sergeant Williams and Sergeant Smith want me to watch your back out on a mission, I will. Otherwise the mission could fail, and this Squad never fails. I love how our ranks are filled with more and more patriots. I love this treatment and my Squad. Welcome aboard, bro.” With his eyes still unfocused he surprised me a with heavy and warm hug. "Sergeant Smith, please help Private Wilson inside the chamber." My friend Brad helped me up from the bed. I still felt dizzy, but also energetic. The membrane felt strange. We pressed against it, and then we were inside the chamber. I noticed something on the floor: a helmet fitting the description I had read somewhere at some point in time. I couldn't remember. "That helmet, Brad. Control and co-ordinate." Brad nodded absent-mindedly, like he didn’t seem to listen to what I said. He helped me stand between two of the metal racks. There were several pairs of metal racks, like several men were able to go through the same thing at the same time. Wait! Were they going to do the same thing to me, as they did to Bill? I had almost no fat at all on my body. Wouldn't this be dangerous? Oh. I forgot. It isn't something dangerous. "Grab these racks, Joe. It will feel nice. It did, when they did this to me. It will give you stamina." "Uhu? Whatever you say, Brad. Sorry, Sergeant Smith." Brad smiled. Then he leaned toward me, and whispered: "I love you, Joe.", and left the chamber. A humming began. I wasn't aware of the changes that began to happen simultaneously in my organism. The green infusion and the small injection began to interact inside me. My DNA was rebuilt, my metabolism was rearranged, my hormone levels changed, but I wasn't aware about any of that. The only thing I was aware of was the power current, that flowed into the rack, and I was the conductor, that closed the circuit and let all that power flow through myself -- changing me, permanently and irrevocably. In that moment, the old Joe began to disappear. Something inside me tried to catch my attention: Something about principles, something about danger, but my dizzy mind let it go, and I lost myself in the overwhelming feeling of the transformative power. I had no idea, for how long I had stood there, when the humming subsided. I heard the loudspeakers transmitting sounds from outside: "Sergeant Smith, will you please remove Private Wilson from Preparatory Phase?" Brad was there. He helped me to the membrane and to the room outside. The two younger scientists rose. One of them took a blood sample from me and checked my blood pressure. The other one put two electrodes to Brad’s temples, and checked a graph — then let Brad look into a gadget which looked it would belong at an optician’s. ”I believe Sergeant Smith is in need of further treatment of your’s, Doctor Pushkin.” An elderly man with an Eastern European accent glanced at Sergeant Williams: ”Sergeant Williams. Will you please strap Sergeant Smith to that chair.” Sergeant Williams obeyed without a word. There was a slight flickering in Brad’s eyes, but he allowed Williams to fasten him to one of the chairs close to the wall. The chair was connected to cables and tubes, and had an uncanny resemblance to an electrical chair, but obviously it wasn’t. ”Sergeant Williams, please pull the switch.” When the switch was pulled, Brad tensed, and if his arms hadn’t been restrained, he would probably had fallen out of the chair. His mouth was open, like he was attempting to let out a scream, but no sound appeared. With a silent whirring sound, an injection needle moved robotically, and buried itself in Brad’s cartoid artery, before removing itself. Brad’s eyes were firmly shut. Likewise whirringly, two small metallic arms with moist electrodes lowered themselves 90 degrees, until they firmly touched Brad’s temples. This time, he was able to scream. A horrible scream echoed in the room, as the last traces of my friend Brad, as I had once knewn him, were erased from his soul, just leaving the Sergeant. The Squad Member. The obedient living weapon. He shaked in the chair for ten or fifteen seconds, and the restraints kept him in his seat, but then the shaking receded. Sweat trickled from his brow. The chemicals within his body must have responded to the treatment, because something else was happening. His neck tightened, and the upper buttons of his uniform shirt were no longer able to resist the pressure. The vein-covered, firm and hemispheric flesh, that was his pecs, forced themselves out of his shirt, and his sleeves were no longer able to resist the pressure from his swelling bicepses. Soon, his shirt laid in tatters on the floor Commanded by the scientists, Sergeant Williams released Brad, who stood up erect, his eyes dead, and awaiting orders. His face didn’t express any emotions. ”Let’s give this a test. Sergeant Smith, please remove Private Wilson’s t-shirt.” ”Sir! Yes, sir!” Without further ado, Sergeant Smith helped me remove my black t-shirt. ”Sergeant Smith, please strap Private Wilson to the chair.” There was nothing I could do. Sergeant Smith forced me to sit in the chair, and by his overwhelming strength he fastened the leather straps around my wrists, forced my leather-clad legs broad apart, and strapped them to the legs of the chair. Sergeant Smith looked quizzically at the scientists, but they shook their heads. ”Not yet. Other things first. You are ready for Phase 2.” - - - "Joe! Join me!” The deep voice of my best friend reached out to me from the growth-chamber. I was half-naked, and surrounded by the grey-haired scientists in white lab coats and the Guards in their intimidating and ultra-masculine uniforms. How did I end up in this terrifying situation? The machines connected to the chamber were humming louder now, and the intensity of the Zythronic Field surrounding Brad must have been much greater, than the preparatory treatment Bill, myself (and probably Sergeant Williams) had gone through. Brad stood at one of the stations, clenching the racks as his life depended on it, stripped to his waist, but still wearing his uniform cargo trousers of black and glossy leather and his heavy boots. He was a living conductor for the heighetened Zythronic Field, and his physique was responding to the treatment. His growth was visible, his bulging torso was covered in sweat, and between the moans and grunts he emitted, he tried to say something: ”Joe! Join me!” ”Zythronic racks working at a level of 45%”, one of the scientists said. ”Increase to 50%”, another answered. ”This is the most stable result we have had, yet.” ”Increasing to 50%. The levels now at 47.5% and increasing… Reaching 50%… Now!” ”Why don’t we save some time, and let the ectomorph specimen go through his conditioning?” ”You are right. Private Tannen, please pull the switch of Private Wilson’s chair.” Bill approached. ”You will become one of us, Joe. There is nothing you can do to stop it.” The effect of of the mind-altering medication must have worn off by then. For a few seconds, I remembered all that had happened: The worry for losing Brad, the atrocious experiments, how I had promised Karen to spy on the Security Squad, in the hope to restore democracy, but it would all be lost, if the Squad succeeded in brainwashing me, as they obviously had done to Sergeant Williams, to Bill and to Brad. Facing the risk of the same death as the burned man, facing the risk of the same death as the giant who was shot, and facing the imminent risk of becoming a mind-controlled machine, I panicked in the chair. But it was too late. The next second, Bill turned the switch on. To be continued. - - - Next chapter is found here:
  14. Hialmar

    The Security Squad, Part 3

    Last chapter is found here: - - - Life in the Squad was harsh, but it had some benefits. Now, I had time to spend at the gym, and I liked it. Some sort of friendship developed between those of us, whom had arrived at about the same time -- with the exception of Bill. When I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw my reflection in high tech army boots, leather cargo trousers and a black army sweater was a surreal experience: That was no longer myself -- not my old self -- but another Joe. I felt slightly ashamed of, that I liked the way I looked in uniform. I was not going to become one of them. It was after an extra-curricular workout, and rather late. I was changing clothes in the locker room close to the gym, and was dressed only in my pants. The door opened. Closed. "I told you, I was going to make your life a hell, Joe." It was Bill. His bulldog face was drenched in sweat and shiny. The black t-shirt with the Squad crest ended an inch or two over the lining of Bill's training shorts, but it seemed like life in the Squad actually was improving his health. "I know how wishy-washy your parents are, Joe. There is no chance in hell, that they voted for The Leader, and I doubt, that you did it either. So what are you doing here? Taking up the training assignment, that could be filled by a real patriot?" Although I was faster than Bill, he was heavier, and he used his weight against me. He grabbed my neck, and pulled me in the direction of the loos. "So I suggest, that you ask for resigning from this, and leave your place for someone who can fill it better." He opened the door to one of the bathroom stalls. Somewhere in the locker room a door opened and closed. "And what do you think you are doing, Private?" It was Brad's voice. Bill let his grip go. "Nothing, Sergeant. Just playing with Private Wilson." "There is no place for that sort of play at this facility, Private. If I ever see you repeating this, you will will be discharged dishonourably. Is that understood?" "Sir! Yes, Sir!" - - - The reprimand from Brad did actually have an effect. Bill would often look sullen, and he obviously didn't like me, but, for the rest of the time, he avoided me, which was an improvement. I hadn't forgotten Karen's suggestion, that I would use my involuntary recruitment to the Security Squad by spying on it. I supposed she was a part of the Rebel Alliance -- as some of my friends jokingly referred to the movement -- but I couldn't for my life understand how she could know about my Top Secret draft. The opportunity came sooner than I had expected. After the the initial months of basic training, there came a time of easier work. I was ordered to clean some areas of the base regularly, and one of these areas seemed to be a sort of medical treatment facility. When I was cleaning the hallway in that facility, the door was open to one of the rooms. I couldn't avoid peeking inside. What I saw was confusing. Neither Sergeant Williams or Brad looked ill. Actually, they looked quite healthy, but they laid reclining on medical bunks, and they had IV connected to the blood vessels in their crooks of their arms. The plastic bags hanging over their bunks contained a green translucent liquid. They were not alone in the room. Two other of the Squad members -- two corporals, I believe -- were connected to similar plastic bags. There were also two men in their 30s or 40s dressed in white lab coats, and I assumed they were civilians. One of them was taking the blood pressure of Sergeant Williams. "The readings are normal. Nothing to worry about this time." The other man took notes. "I look forward to meet the old experts tonight. It will be an honour to meet the persons, the research of whom had made this project possible." "I feel warm. Is that normal?", Brad asked. "It might happen in some subjects. We have not found any correlation between that sensation and the measurable effect. There is no reason for concern, Sergeant Smith." I continued cleaning the hallway further down, and hoped that no-one would notice that I had overheard the conversation. Something appalling happened the following night. Since we knew, that Sergeant Williams nurtured a habit of waking us up at unexpected times of the night, most of us had the habit of going to bed early. I noticed, that I had left my army cap at the medical facility while cleaning, and returned in order to pick it up. Sergeant Williams was very insistent on keeping all our equipment in our lockers, and I would avoid a long rant of his, usually followed by lots of push-ups. When I crossed the yard, I noticed several cars -- civilian as well as military -- which not usually were parked like that. When I walked through the empty hallways as silently as possible, I noticed the open door of an empty office, shedding it's yellow and gloomy light into the hallway. I also noticed a strange light streaming from the outline of a closed door to something designated Laboratory III. At first, I guessed, that a sunbed was used inside Laboratory III, since the light reminded me of tanning salons, but then, the light shifted in other colours: From blue into golden, and from golden into purple, and back to blue in several cycles. I could hear sounds and noises: People discussing, the hum of machines, and then -- the increasing screams of agony from a man in pain. A man with a deep voice and in pain. Screaming. Louder. And with the screams the increasing stench of burning flesh. I catched my army cap, and left the building, hoping that no-one would have noticed me. Suspicious and curious, I hid in the darkness outside, waiting for someone leaving the building. It took a while. Two dark silhouettes carried a bier. A vague outline of a huge man under a blanket could be guessed, rather than seen, in the dark, and, when the wind blew from their direction, the ugly reek of burned flesh could be sensed. The bier was placed in a car, which drove away. On the steps to the medical facility the glow of a cigarette lit up the dark, and then the scent of pipe smoke. Two white lab coats stood close to the two smokers. Seven voices. Two young. "We are very honoured by your presence here tonight, Herr Doktor Professor. It is an honour to meet you. And also you, Doctor. And all of you three." "Schtop zat Plappermaul. Ve are not here to exchange pleasantries, but to bring science forvard. And zis experiment hasn't brought science forvard. Ve just repeated a mistake identified and countered already in 1944", an elderly voice with a central European, probably German, accent answered. "That stench is familiar to you, Helmut, isn't it?", another elderly voice with a Brooklyn dialect commented sarcastically. "Hafen't ve discussed zat matter enough, by now, Dr. Goldstein?" An American voice with a distinct Texan drawl interrupted them: "Goddamit. You have been sounding like an old married couple for seventy years, by now. If I and Vlad are willing to work together, despite our long careers trying to defeat each other, why don't you? It's not like I would have dreamed of researching in the same Lab as a former Commie. Lots of Doctor Paperclipses and The Brooklyn Phycisists worked together back in your days. It was before my time." "Doctor Paperclip? Isn't that too kind to you, Helmut? Why don't we all call you Doctor Strangelove, instead?" A British voice suitable for cutting glass interrupted. "May I bring to everyone's attention, gentlemen, that Herr Doktor Professor Hafenreffer isn't exactly correct in his assessment. We did not reproduce exactly the same mistake as in 1944. By combining all these four experiments into one, we are bringing unforeseen parameters into the equation, which were unknown at the time each experiment was performed separately. The present state of research bring us advantages our precursors didn't have." "Precursors?", four voices unintentionally exclaimed in unison. "I am so sorry. Advantages some of us didn't have in the past. I would look upon this event as a minor setback." "A minor setback?", the Brooklyn dialect interrupted. "A soldier just died in there, fried by Doctor Strangelove's non-empirical spook-ray." "Oh please, Aaron. Zere is no evidence, zat it vas ze Vril Power, zat caused ze unfortunate condition of ze test subject. It could haf been Vlad's or Mr. Jackson's chemicals zat interfered, not to mention ze unproven combination with ze Zythronic field, vhich Her Majesty's government has provided us viv." After a short pause, he added: "Ve are all very zankful for Prime Minister April's co-operation." "Nowadays, we need every trading partner we can get.", the British voice commented dryly. "Unfortunate condition? Haven't you learned anything, since 1945, Helmut?" "Oh, here we go again", the Texan sighed. "In your clothes, I vouldn't claim any moral superiority, Aaron. Vat happened to ze American marines you and Mr. Jackson tested in ze 1980s, ven you vere afraid of Vlad's comrades? And vhy vas your governmental research grants vivdrawn?" An embarrassed silence ensued, but I had heard enough, and I had to avoid to be catched while listening. I silently returned to our barracks. - - - I couldn't concentrate the next day. They were experimenting on human beings. I had to tell Karen, but how? I had no leave scheduled for several weeks. And if they had pumped Brad full of that green liquid, his life could be in danger. And Sergeant Williams, too. I couldn't be sure about Brad. I felt so bad: We had known each other for years. He had helped me. He was my friend. The weird chewing gum event suggested, that he wasn't entirely on the government's side, but exactly where did he stand? Would he report me, if I confessed about Karen and the 'Rebel Alliance'. I couldn't avoid smiling quickly. It sounded so silly. Then I became serious again. I had to protect Brad. They were not going to murder my best friend. What should I do? What was their plan? What was the purpose of the experiments? My thoughts run in loops. I couldn't concentrate the next day. I avoided the medical facility the next day. Cleaning the same floor in two consecutive days when the entire base was that vast, would be a suspect behaviour. In the middle of the night, I woke up by gunfire and roars. I wasn't the only one of us new recruits who awoke, but when we had dressed and ran out in the yard, some of the big Guards ordered us to return to our barracks. They tried to block our view, but I could see eight men struggling to carry a bier on which laid a giant. A giant! I don't exaggerate. A dead giant was carried away. There was gunsmoke and blood in the air. - - - The next day was full of physical exercises, and I had no time to investigate about the appalling experiments that took place at the base. Usually, I would briefly meet Brad several times a day, on our ways to different buildings, but that day, I didn't see him at all. What if he had become ill by the experiments? I saw him in the gym after supper. He looked different. He looked slightly bigger than before, if that was possible. He was curling a barbell with unusually heavy weights. I froze in the doorway. He wore a black tank top with the crest of the Security Squad, and it was almost bursting at the seams. His shoulders protruded, and veins I had never seen before crawled over his chest, biceps, forearms and legs. I got hard. My best friend. Big. Veins. Protective. Again, I wasn't sure about my feelings. I wanted to be like Brad, didn't I? Well, yes. And I liked him as a friend? Of course. Was I feeling something more? I admired him. Big. Friendly. Admirable. Like being impressed by another man. Impressed. By his strength. And -- ehrr -- size. And assertive presence. And... and veins. Veins. VEINS! I wanted to warn him, but how could I do that, without telling what I had overheard? I didn't know the answer to that question. I left the gym, and hoped, that he hadn't noticed me. - - - Bill was missing from exercise the next day. I was scheduled to clean a few buildings again in the evening, including the medical facility. Something was happening in Laboratory III, and the door to the room with the IV equipment was locked. I was lucky. The badly illuminated office was left unlocked. I had cleaning gloves on my hands. No fingerprints. I began to peek into the folders on the shelves. Old yellow papers, which smelled of old paper dust. Some from the 1940s. It had been kept secret, but both Germany and the British Empire had raced to be the first country with super-soldiers. In reality! Weird. It was like one of Brad's favourite films. The Nazis had exposed some of their soldiers with a classified power called Vril -- God knows where they had found that strange power. I was into computers and egineering, but I knew enough natural science to know, that there was no empirical base for such a power. But here it was: A detailed description about awakening the Vril Power in soldiers, and then expose them to it. Wait. Awaken... and expose? The first experiments had gone horribly wrong. Soldiers without Vril sensitivity had burst into flames. I felt sick. So they tried to ... awaken... Vril sensitivity. What the heck? And a series of British experiment at about the same time. At something called Torchwood Instute, not far from... let's see... Bletchley Park. Zythronic Beams? Never heard of. That is... not before a few nights ago. Zythronic Beams? It was some sort of science-fiction gobbledygook. And then I saw the black and white photographs. That sort of physique was impossible back then. Both the Germans and the British looked like super-heavyweight bodybuilders from the third millennium, with the difference, that their muscles looked like they were adapted to perform real and heavy work. And engage in combat. They were very impressive. That is, those who survived. The death rates on both sides were high, before the scientists achieved what they hoped for. And a thick stack of papers in Cyrillic script, dated to the late 1950s and early 1960s. I didn't read Russian. More recent papers. An American experiment which ran in 1969-1974, and was revived in 1981, but aborted after some terrible accident in 1985. More photographs. American marines. Very sun tanned. And muscular. Wasn't that oil too much? Oh, yes, it was the 1980s, so it must have been normal for the time. Strange dead eyes. Like their minds were shut off. And sketches of machines. Improved ones, based on the four old ones from different decades and places. A helmet connected to the main centre, intended to control and co-ordinate all the processes. Control and co-ordinate? I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Who have we here? Reading classified documents, Private Wilson?" It was the voice of Sergeant Williams. Sergeant Williams stood there, intimidating as ever. "No harm done, Wilson. You would be briefed sooner or later, but I suppose it is time to begin your treatment." "T-treatment?" I suddenly felt very, very afraid. "Our research team want to compare the effect on different body types. Your perfectly ectomorph build would give a good impression how the treatment will work on soldiers of your constitution. We have mainly worked with mesomorphs in the past, which cause the results to be askew. I had hoped to introduce you to the test programme a day, or so, in advance, but let's face the music. Prepare yourself to become big, Private." - - - Part four is here:
  15. muscledrain

    dominance I Can Change

    This is a short one shot from me. If you want to view the story with images, simply go here: Warning: This story contains dominance (master/slave) themes as well as muscle growth, revenge, bullying/bullied, piss play, dick shrink/growth and brainwashing themes. "I Can Change" by muscledrain My name is Sammy Reardon and I know I can change. This is my story. I know I can change because I've been part of a study. You see, I'm almost 40 but I don't look like I've aged quite that much since college. I'm a genetic rarity. I've been told by many people that I have "hit the lottery" in the looks department. I don't really feel that way, though. I get carded all the time. It's not a great feeling. I know, I shouldn't complain. But it has led to some incredibly interesting developments. I contacted a geneticist through a few contacts. I've got a corporate job and have done well for myself. Better off than most of my friends from college. I worked very hard to get where I am. Anyway, I wound up getting together with a geneticist because my doctor mentioned a study being done, and said it could be very lucrative. He explained his friend was looking for candidates that could give samples that could lead to genetic breakthroughs and the compensation could be extreme if they found what they were looking for. All this is hush hush. Secret deals are being made in a few instances of people who have genetic variations that are extremely rare that can be potentially duplicated. You won't hear about it on the news. I was told to keep a low profile on it. I met with some doctors. They had records of my medical history. They took samples. I was paid for my time and a short time after that they really wanted to talk to me. They said I had compounds in my cells which they could not account for. I was assigned with a doctor whose name was Harvey, and we began to talk about the potential. The company was interested in my cellular biology because my cell health was a little bit different, the telomeres didn't degrade as fast and Harvey began testing me with huge compensation. I mean, the company paid me four times my salary. They asked me to quit my job and offered me enough money to retire off of. Among the things they thought they could do was to use my cells to react to chemicals which other humans didn't react to. One of the things Harvey told me was they had been doing studies for years, in secret, on how to increase the size of male genitalia. He said that no other human showed signs of being able to react to the chemical they had designed, which had worked on rats, and they explained there was very little chance of potentially harmful side effects. I signed off right away. I should mention that Harvey and I were both gay and we finally admitted there was an attraction but in order for him to keep his job he couldn't admit this to the company and we decided to keep a lid on it for the time being, until he was either off the project or they finished with testing their theories. He was also incredibly excited to watch me change. It was like one of those daily affirmations guys listen to. "I can change. I can do better". I told myself there were no limits. We talked about this and over the next few weeks, I felt more and more confident as my dick grew in size. I was never really ashamed of myself for it, but I was only 4 inches long. Not the greatest length. I always wished I could be the size of the tops I often found myself paired with. I tried to fill my time with busy work, projects of my own with writing books I'd always wanted to, and watching TV and movies. Caught up with old friends. Harvey came over and sucked my dick when he could, and we would make out. He got more and more excited. He was really shocked by the results... This is me now and I can hardly believe it. Jesus I'm so huge now. It takes my breath away. My dick is so sensitive and I cum probably five times was I used to. The orgasms just go on and on. It's fucking heaven. The company is thrilled with the results and they are hoping that by analyzing my DNA they can break the codes that will allow them to give big dicks to any client that pops a pill. Wouldn't THAT be something? Forget Viagra. try the new Gargantua pill, sure to make your man a fat dicked giant in the sack! I would love to write the ads for that but I doubt it would amuse the higher ups in the company...they are pretty humorless here. As the company began to implement designs for their next experiments, I talked more with Harvey about my past. I had been bullied horribly as a child and was just beginning to confront those feelings. It may seem silly to you, but having a big dick now reminded me of being in the locker room and the trauma of being mocked mercilessly by Evan Mason, my old high school and junior high school bully, still held me back. I mean, I'd gotten over it enough to have a career, but it haunted me emotionally. We talked about it, and Harvey convinced me to maybe reach out to him. It was a mistake. Evan was no saint back then and he was even worse now. He owned his own mechanic's shop and made a living off of swindling people as much as possible. He was just as quick to prove he was the alpha male in charge and I didn't remind him of who I was when I met him. I had drove a hundred miles just to pretend there was something wrong with my car (there wasn't) and he of course "found a problem". I saw him push his employees around by constantly mocking them. I could tell it was tense around the place and with jobs so scarce a lot of these guys just hated their boss, hated having to be there. It was not a great feeling to see that some bullies genuinely succeed in life, in spite of all the bullshit the media tells you. Arrogance, money, entitlement, and most of all an aggressive attitude are rewarded in this world with more money and more success. Don't be fooled by all the anti bully hype. It's all well and good while kids are in class but in the boardroom or in a mechanic shop or wherever, bullies still exist and they can thrive if they know how to get away with it. It's about finding just the write way of doing it so you can continue to get away with it. An offhanded remark here or there. Oh, I'm just kidding with you. Don't be so sensitive. He said these words as he joked about his employees having small dicks. I left with a smile on my face. I hacked into his computer that night. It wasn't hard for me. I hack people for fun. That's my territory. Harvey said he was impressed. I looked at Evan and his perfect big dick. The asshole. The bastard! I mean, to be fair he wasn't as big as I was now but that hardly made me feel right. I was filled with the desire for revenge. I was so upset Harvey promised me he would do everything in his power to make things right. I tried to reach out to him on Facebook, thinking maybe he could be given a chance for redemption but his only reply was "queers get what they deserve, you were a little faggot...what else do you expect being a fag haha?" Indeed, Evan Mason. Indeed.What else DID I expect? The next experimental trials made my knees weak when I heard. I thought they would go in this direction but now it as a set deal. Stronger lung capacity. Stronger heart. They were going to increase the efficiency of my organs and their cell health. And when those trials were done, months later, they went after my body's various muscles. They said that they had to work from the inside, and they were able to somehow determine that those cells were healthy with x-rays, having me run on a treadmill, and all the samples of my fluids. Essentially I now had organs that would last me a hundred years. They said I could take up smoking and my lungs would heal instantly. They actually asked me to sign a waiver and offered me a ton of cash to start smoking cigars. Something which I took an unexpected liking to. Their data concluded no harm was attaching to my lungs. They were overjoyed and worked diligently to reverse engineer my cells for designer pills for future clients. The big day came when they said they wanted me to start bodybuilding. They were going to go after my skeletal structure, and muscle groups. This was going to take several years and if their calculations were correct, they could turn me into one of the most powerfully built men on the planet. Just imagine that, I thought. Me. Little Sammy Reardon who used to get tossed into the trash bins by Evan fucking Mason, who got scores of kids to mock me and not include me, to make me into a pariah for his pleasure. During all the months they were developing new pills, Harvey found a way to crack the code. He didn't tell the company, but he told me that he was able to pretty much create and design drugs that could tell cells what instructions he wished to carry out. This had never been done before. He took the results of my big dick testing and was able to create another result in rats through his brilliance. He made rats with much, much smaller dicks. Microdicks. After six months of the new Growth Pill, I shot up in height. I went from an unassuming 5'7" to 6'2" which thrilled me. I was thrilled I had to buy new clothing every month. I was thrilled I could walk down the street and stare down at most other men. I was starting to feel on top of the world...and that is when the real shit kicked in. I started packing muscle. All the fat drained away one week. In one week. I started growing and growing. I can't even describe to you the emotion and fucking elation that came with my orgasms now. I fucked Harv every chance we got and he ate up all my cum like it was candy. Finally, my plan was ready. I joined a gym. I shaved my head. I looked completely different. I had gained something like 30 pounds, which left me at 6'2" and 180 lbs, which was fairly lean. I joined 24 Hour fitness because you can go to any of their gyms...including the one Evan Mason. I casually looked at his water bottle and remembered it. The next few days I waited for the opportunity to see him again and finally saw him. I worked out nearby him and when his back was turned I switched the bottles and walked off. I watched him out of the corner of my eye drink the whole thing. The next step in my plan was a work of such genius on the part of Harvey I don't even know where to begin. He not only concocted a formula which would shrink someone's dick over time, he made a second chemical that would make a person do whatever you told them to. I could see he was looking a little strange. He looked confused. I walked over to him and gave him his first order. "Follow me outside. Don't say a word. We're going to my car." He followed me without a word. Holy fuck the research Harv must have done. We are talking twenty years of studying all known drugs and then creating something that affected the control center of the brain without any other functions being affected. I told Evan to buckle up. I told him to drink more of the Dickshrink juice and then some more Control Juice, as I dubbed them. We went to his place. I'd done my research in advance. He had a girlfriend. "Break up with your girlfriend. Tell her you are having a secret affair and you are only going to take a few things with you, only one suitcase of clothing, and then leave. And when I give you commands in the future, answer me with 'Yes, sir'." "Yes, sir," Evan said dully. I heard some shouting and screaming and a woman throwing things around. Evan came out calmly, in the same dull stupor. He moved in with me in my apartment and I couldn't be more thrilled. I told Evan who I was. I told him that the chemical he had ingested made it impossible for him to break the commands of the person talking to him. Among his new orders: * He was never to take orders from anyone but me. I was his new Master. He was my slave. * He was to stop working out. * He was to concentrate on cleaning my place and being my maid, and going on errands when I told him to. * He was to be naked at all times. * He was to beg forgiveness once a day for bullying me for six years of my life. He was to grovel and beg, to be more specific. * He was not fully homosexual, and would beg me to suck my dick and be fucked on a daily basis. I started him right off the bat with dildos so I could have a nice boy hole to fuck. It was great stuffing his mouth with a gag while I worked on his hole for hours. It was great to use him as a human footstool when I wanted to watch TV and it was satisfying to see him beg for my forgiveness daily. I told him I wanted to give him the ability to talk to me as he wanted, to awaken. He immediately begged me to stop. He said he would rather die than be gay. I told him he should have thought about that before I reached out to him. Now he was just a faggot slave for life, and I was his Master. I told him to shut the fuck up and go back to being my dumb slave who didn't open his mouth for any reason other than to do my bidding. "Oh and we are gonna do things with you, buddy boy. We are gonna start with that nice thick dick of yours. I think that has to go. Oh no, don't worry, I'm not going to chop it off. I'm not into trannies. No, I want humiliation. I think you'll enjoy what's coming. Your dick is going to get smaller and smaller. Yes, it is! Yes, we can do that, I can see it in your eyes, you think I must be joking. But I have power to fucking make you my bitch just with vocal commands, you think I can't take your big dick away as well?" I forced him to unrobe every day when he got back home from doing all my errands. His dick shrunk every day just a little bit until he had just the tiniest nub. "Hey, Nubby!" This was my new name for him. He was no longer allowed to think of himself as "Evan Mason". He was Nubby and nothing else. Nubby the house slave. I fingered his tiny little prick. "Looks like someone has an itty bitty problem." I scoffed. "Get down on your knees, faggot and worship me." He did, because he had no choice. "Now I want to talk to the real Evan for a little while. You may talk freely, Evan." Evan panted. He had just finished sucking off my dick, with its ample juices, some of which hung off his mouth. He winced and cried. He brought his hand to his mouth as if he couldn't believe what was on it and then looked at my cum in horror. "Please, Sammy. I'm sorry," he cried. "I only have a tiny dick now. You took my fucking dick away from me. Please! Please, I'm begging you! Please give it back! Please man. I'll do anything! Please!" His tears graced my floor. "Lick my piss off the floor, faggot." I began to pee on the floor. "That's an order. You have no choice. Do it." Crying, he did so sometimes I ordered him to drink from my dick, which he did so with gusto. "Yeah, drink that piss, homo! Swallow all of it!" He wanted to shout but couldn't. He was so horrified. "Yeah, drink that piss. Alright, I'm done...lick the rest off the floor. Do you ever wanna see your dick back to normal? Tell me how you feel, Evan." "I feel degraded. I feel awful. Please don't make me your slave anymore. I'm SO SORRY! So sorry. I...please dude, please..." He begged in front of me, groveling on the floor like a true slave, bowing as he had been for several months, conditioned to serve and be utterly subservient. "Kiss my feet, bitch." Evan did so lovingly. Carefully. He kissed my feet like he was in love with them. "Now get up." "Okay." I smacked him across the face. He immediately got on his knees and bowed. "I'm sorry! What did I do?" he cried. "You didn't say my title." "Master! Okay, Master! Sir, I'm sorry, please forgive this slave." "Oh, Nubby." He cried as I said his name. "I order you to go back to being my slave and not speaking as Evan anymore. I just want my slave back. Now go get me a beer, faggot." I patted his face patronizingly. "Yes, Master." As the months grew, I got bigger and bigger. Harvey worshiped me every week I grew and I started to wear more revealing clothing much more often. I remembered how it felt in junior high when I had to hide my body because I didn't want anyone to see how rail thin I was and how now I had this...commanding alpha presence everywhere I went. I was also thrilled that the excess hormones and physiology made me look more mature, more my age. They gave me a pill for more facial hair growth and I had to shave every day now, which thrilled the shit out of me. My biceps and chest outgrew clothes. I stopped seeing old friends because no one would believe it was me. I looked at the progression of my photos and stats and got hard just thinking about how I was now 6'8". I fucked the shit out of Harvey, who eventually came out as my boyfriend and we got married shortly thereafter. I got some tattoos and the guys at the shop marveled over my body and made jokes about how I was one of the biggest guys they'd ever seen. They called me "My Giant" and I now towered over most men. The weight I gained was unbelievable. I weighed close to 350 lbs by the end of the year. I went by Big Sam if anyone used my name at all. I was the perfect example of manhood. Harvey's six foot and looks like a kid next to me.They were still trying to crack the codes that Harvey already had. We talked about it, about the potential for any man to become like a god. He said that it was actually more like 1 in 10 that would respond to treatment. I had thought of a world where only a tenth of men were able to rise like gods above their smaller counterparts and wondered what the world would look like some day. I gave him the go ahead to patent it. Negotiations between him and the company lasted for several weeks but they offered him a solid billion for the deal. He accepted, even though it would probably change the face of society and make fifty times that. "Hey fag, it's time for you to get fucked. Present your hole, stupid." I say, my voice as deep as Vin Diesel's, and even more commanding. It makes him quiver. "Yesth, sir." He speaks in a lisp now, as I've programmed Nubby to. "Right away, Master," We have a fairly abnormal life, and Harvey has no desire to reach the gigantic proportions that I have. I strut around and give orders to him and my slave bitch Nubby and it feels like this is how life is supposed to be, even though I vividly remember being bullied for years, remember being underneath someone's heel, remember begging to be loved and understood. I tried to be Evan's friend but he wouldn't have it. He wanted a whipping boy. Now his life revolves around my comfort and making sure all my needs are attended to, and I don't really having a fucking problem with that. Would you? Well I don't fucking care. I'm completely in charge here and I don't need anyone's fucking approval. I run a mansion with my own personal gym and pushing Nubby around is one of my favorite things to do. "Hey dumbass. You done with my boots yet?" "Almostht, Master." "Get the fuck up here. Let me see how little you've gotten. Oh yeah, you got real small with that new pill we gave ya. You look like a kid in comparison to me. You look like you're in high school again, mmmm." I helped myself to his delicious little mouth and it turned me on to feel his slave collar with my hand. I kissed him deeply and then crossed my arms as he awaited my orders. I backhanded him across the face once, for effect. He was thrown to the floor, and got up again, looking admonished. It's not something I do often. I just like him to know how much I've changed. **** Harvey's Log Day 435 My husband continues to be Alpha with all designed personality details with flying colors. He implements protocol exactly as I designed him. He is proof that the Dominance pill works and the army will of course receive all research accordingly. So far, he does not suspect that chemical influence has affected his own behavior but of course this is in turn with the company's wishes. It has been determined to be an ineffective battle agent as soldiers need to work in tandem with each other, but the Subservience pill may be used to great effect in future battle scenarios. I did meet recently with one of the higher five star army generals and they think that a little Alpha pill would be good when raising deserving men to command. The studies still continue in the various army camps where trials are ongoing. I am very satisfied having always dreamed of a perfect alpha male who will both love me and be in charge of the relationship and have no complaints. Sam is happy and has the body of a god...what more could I possibly ask for in a marriage? End log
  16. cropsey23

    dominance Colin's Determination, Part 12

    The house was a wreck when we got inside. The communal bathrooms hadn't been updated in years, and the kitchen was barely functioning. As the team moved in to stake out their rooms, Colin and I retreated to the study. "Colin, this place is a disaster. Are you sure it's a good idea to move in here?" He put a hand on my shoulder, and I was immediately reassured. “I’m going to call Marcus’s father for help now.” Dan Cunitz was one of the most successful real estate developers in the state. He was also an alumnus of the school’s football team, and had been very generous to the school over the years. He had both the means and the resources to help rebuild the house. “Dan, we are going to need a complete rebuild of the bathrooms and kitchen, for starters. You WILL send over all the plumbing materials we need.” There was a pause as Dan spoke, then Colin replied: “No, not next week. Tomorrow. You will send the materials tomorrow.” I flinched a bit just overhearing Colin’s direct tone: Dan Cunitz had a well-deserved reputation as an aggressive, hard-nosed negotiator. I wasn’t sure this approach would work well with him. “You want to see what I can do with the team?” Colin said. With that, he barked at Jackson and me: “SHIRTS OFF!” Without hesitation, we obliged. I looked at Jackson and was impressed with his build. His shoulders seemed impossibly wide, with cannonball delts, a thick chest of armor, and a ripped 8-pack of abs. His biceps were huge and peaked, even while he was relaxed. He put his hands on his narrow hips and just casually flexed it all. Then he looked over and acknowledged me for the first time that day. With a blank look on his face, he put his huge hand on my neck and gave it a firm squeeze. He even reached over and slapped my hard midsection a few times, and said, “Colin did nice work on you, bro.” Even I was surprised at how my abs withstood his playful, but strong slaps. With that, Colin held up the phone, took some photos of us and sent them to Dan. I could only overhear pieces of Colin’s side of the conversation: “I can train Marcus…. In four weeks, he’ll be as big as my brother, in the photo…. at least that big, yes…. then eight weeks…. yes… 275lbs…. I know you are familiar with Jackson’s athletic record… Marcus has the potential to pass him. I know how to motivate that kind of growth, yes… but we’ll see how training goes, Marcus may not even be suited for baseball in a few months.” Did Colin just promise to have Marcus as big as me in four weeks? Bigger than Jackson in eight weeks? I knew better than to doubt him. And he had Mr. Cunitz eating out of the palm of his hand, which was probably the most impressive feat of all. There was another pause, and then I saw a knowing smile come across Colin’s face. “You can have it delivered today? That’s even better Danny-boy.” He was calling one of the most powerful men in the state Danny-boy. Even the university president addressed him as Mr. Cunitz. “Send over some staff to do the installation as well. Oh, and you’ll also have 600lbs of grass-fed beef shipped to the house each week. We need to eat well.” And in a deeper, much more authoritative tone, Colin concluded the call, while looking directly at a shirtless Jackson: “Let me know when you want to visit, I’m certain you will be pleased with the results.” Colin seemed to have an inside track on how to motivate Mr. Cunitz. Mr. Cunitz agreed to all of Colin’s demands. After the call, Colin summoned the entire team to the weight room, which was in an addition to the main house. The 6,000 square foot facility was stripped of most equipment, save for a 14-foot long pull-up rig, which was bolted to the concrete wall. “Good news. Marcus’s father has agreed to pay for the renovation of the house, which will start this afternoon. And, he will have the weight room fully functioning in a couple of days. But first we have to take down this rig.” “Colin, this rig is in perfectly good shape. It’s perfect for pull-ups, squats, and so much more. Why would you take it down?” I asked. “Jackson, show him.” Colin said. Jackson sauntered over to the rig, where the pull-up bar was eight feet off the ground. Staring right at Colin, he just reached his massive arms up and gripped the bar, with his feet planted firmly on the ground. “A pull up bar is no good if your feet can reach the ground,” Colin said, matter-of-factly. “Well not all of us have Jackson’s height, or wing span for that matter,” I interjected. “Not yet,” Colin said, with chilling confidence. “Take the rig down Jackson.” With his arms still extended overhead, Jackson tightened up all of his muscles and started to pull. At first, I thought the rig wouldn’t yield without more assistance, but Colin calmly coached Jackson: “Tighten up your core Jackson,” he said quietly. And we watched, breathlessly, as each of Jackson’s cobble stone abs activated, one by one, as he inhaled slowly, looking directly at Colin. “Now show me what those lats can do.” Jackson’s lats slowly started to flare out, as he inhaled, to immense proportions – much wider than anyone had ever seen. Colin gently placed a hand on Jackson’s upper back and softly said “That’s it Jackson, activate here now.” He started to exert all of his muscle, and after about a minute of silence, the rig started to creak. There was a loud groan coming from the concrete wall, as the iron bar started to yield to Jackson’s raw power. Jackson’s biceps, triceps and forearms were flexed up as well, showing his truly colossal muscle. The room was completely quiet except for the groaning of the rig, which steadily increased. I looked at the team, and everyone was riveted to this display of undisputed strength, most especially James, the power hitter. The cinderblock walls started to loosen, imperceptibly at first, but they slowly started to crumble. Then Colin said “NOW JACKSON, LATS!” and the whole rig separated from the concrete wall. Cinderblocks tumbled down onto the floor as each of the 16 wall fasteners popped off, sounding like gunfire, one by one. All that was left were the floor anchors. Jackson stood triumphantly under the crumpled rig, a stunning sight of 275lbs of raw muscle. His arms hung at his sides, pushed out by his still immensely flared back. His massive chest heaved slowly, as his breath started to return to normal. Jackson was about to deal with the floor anchors when James stepped forward and addressed Colin: “Let me take out the floor anchors. I want you to see what I’m capable of.” “You know the rule, James. Shirt off, and get to work.” Next to Jackson, James looked diminutive. But when he pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, he revealed a solid, dense build of 195lbs of power hitter muscle, and legs like a thoroughbred racehorse. James had a beefier build, and his neck and trap muscles were remarkable. He moved to the thick vertical bar that anchored the rig to the floor and gripped it. He got into a quarter squat, inhaled slowly and started to exert upward pull on the bar. At first, it seemed like an impossible task, since it was difficult for anyone to get leverage in that position. But after a few seconds, with James glutes completely fired up, the bar started to come up out of the cement floor. The bar continued to groan with resistance, but finally gave up. With one last immense rumble, the concrete floor started to crack, and then opened up and released the anchor, yielding to James’s coiled muscle. A glistening James smiled at Colin, knowing he had redeemed his stature on the team. The entire team was riveted to these two feats of inhuman strength. Colin’s training program was underway. The next two weeks were a complete blur. Marcus and I were sharing a room, and our schedule seemed to revolve around his workouts. When we weren't at the gym, we were planning his next sessions, or his diet. His earlier animosity towards me seemed to dissipate, and he had a newfound respect for me. His progress at the gym was impressive - slow, steady, deliberate. For a guy who barely weighed 145lbs, he was benching his body weight in no time. He seemed a bit apprehensive anytime we mentioned his father’s sponsorship of the team, but I was able to keep him focused on his regimen. Brendan and Jeremy had taken over the supervision of the overall team, and it was paying off. Their collective body weight had increased a remarkable 15% in the first few weeks. Brendan now tipped the scales at 210lbs, up from 180, and he had all but abandoned his dream of becoming a pro wide receiver. "Just too damn big for that," he said with a huge smile on his face. Jeremy was now up to 240lbs himself, easily one of the biggest guys in the house. He had all but tossed out his wardrobe, since he inexplicably grew taller. At 6 5, he walked around in tight shorts and whatever tank tops he could find. He spent his days happily coaching, eating and lifting. Jackson spent all of his time with Colin. For a guy we all remembered as a typical alpha-male athlete, his attitude had changed dramatically. He was entirely subjugated to Colin now: following him around 24/7, almost mindless in his devotion. Everywhere that Colin went, we were sure to see Jackson two steps behind him, and he would either be shirtless, in just shorts, training shoes and a backwards baseball cap, when he wasn't wearing a custom-made 150lb weight vest. Any verbal interaction we tried to have with Jackson was met with a blank look, since he now only communicated through Colin. After two weeks of intense training, he stood at 6 7, and weighed in at 325lbs of ripped muscle: the biggest and strongest athlete in the history of the university. And although he lost any ability to think for himself, his GPA had soared from a paltry 2.7 to a perfect 4.0. Then Colin got a call from Mr. Cunitz, who said he was coming to visit and wanted an update on his “investment.”
  17. Before I go to the train, I post a short story. Muscle Growth in Plato’s Republic I see that you are awake. Hush. There is no reason to yell. You will only damage your ability to listen, if you yell that loudly inside your chamber, considering its lack of furniture, its lack of cloth and the fact that the walls consist of metal. Who I am, is not your business, but I am permitted to reassure you, that I speak on behalf of The Leadership. I speak to you through these loud-speakers. That mirror is actually a window. I watch you through it. Hello to you. There is no reason rant like that. What would you prefer? The old systems were apalling. One of them categorised persons after their pigmentation, and put some persons in ovens. Another one robbed persons working in agricultural production of their homes and working tools, boasted over alleged equality, while their leadership lived in an opulence that the productive classes were denied. A third one was ruled by the rich one percent. A fourth was ruled by skillful demagogues. Almost all of the old systems put too much executive power in only one person’s hand – a system waiting for to be abused. Seriously, do you really want to have any of these systems back? Ah. You are returning to more immediate questions? The reason for not remembering, is that you were anaesthetized during sleep. Your whereabouts… Let me return to that shortly. You can’t accuse The Leadership of that. Come now. Really? You ought to be well aware, that The Leadership lives in considerably more ascetic conditions than the Productive Classes. Moderation is a virtue. The Productive Classes are given the sort of housing they desire, the food they desire, credits to buy clothes of their own choice from the 156 different licenced brands, and unlimited access to all TV and film. They are given exactly what they want. How many of their forebears actually used their so-called suffrage before The Great Reform? Freezing? Yes, of course you are freezing. You are stark naked and strapped to a metal bench with a plastic cushion. Anyone would freeze under those conditions. Don’t interrupt me. Your new buzzcut suits you, by the way. But, as I said before, The Leadership lives in considerably more ascetic conditions than the Productive Classes. Equity! Prudence! Bravery! Moderation! The Productive Classes are allowed to have appetites. The Leadership are not. Or like that eastern writer, of whom our Founding Parents were so fond, put it: The Leadership shall show benevolence to the subjects, and put public duty before self-interest, while The Defenders and The Productive Classes shall show due respect to The Leadership. Is it too much to ask? We who belong to The Leadership do not own any private property, are not allowed to chose which clothes to wear, and our food is carefully calculated to be healthy, but not exactly tasty. I know the difference. As so many else of us, I grew up in The Productive Classes, just like you, but my achievements at the diagnostic tests in school brought me to the attention of The Supervisor, and I was transferred to a B-class for evaluation, and, when the evaluation turned out Code Green, to an A-class for further education. Do you know, that we have to study mathematics until age 30? We are not allowed to watch TV or films, since entertainment is distracting from duty. There are benefits and drawbacks with every position in society, but it is constructed in order to make all of us happy, regardless if you belong to The Leadership, The Defenders or The Productive Classes. Different personality types find happiness in different sorts of lifestyles. Nowadays I like the serene, uncluttered surroundings in The Leadership quarters, and find the over-decorated homes of The Productive Classes slightly tacky. My parents regard the lifestyle I have to lead is too stern and joyless, but the thing is: We find happiness in different sorts of things. Why is it important to wear a shirt with a particular embrodiery on one side of the chest and not another one? You are right. I talk too much about myself. I haven’t got rid of some Plebby traits enough. I have to consult my shrink tomorrow. Let’s talk about you instead: Transferred from C-class to B-class at a very early age, but was returned to C-class at age 14 when puberty distracted you. Performed well in social studies before age 14, but began to behave in rebellious fashion from that age on. Good results in PE. Produce less than average at your office employment. Your registered attendance at institutions for physical exercise is higher than average. Shows ability to sacrifice time and unhealthy food, for the higher goal of fitness. Your social life is mapped and evaluated to have a high exchange of known dissidents. Warmer now? Good. I thought it was just a matter of time, before you would feel better in your metallic surroundings. Of course we have to make use of surveillance of everyone’s life! Otherwise the terrorists will win. And we will have The Defenders patrol the streets, in order to ensure public safety and security. Personally, I admire the Defenders: These tall, powerful men in uniform, who serve to protect all of us. I definitely lack what it takes to become one of them. Wrong personality type. Not understand why anyone would join The Defenders? As I said before, our pursuit is to assure that everyone in society will be happy. The Productive Classes wish to consume commodities, even if that mean that they will not enjoy suffrage. The Leadership enjoy unlimited information, the opportunity to use of our minds, and responsibilities in government, even if that mean we have to refuse property and close relations. The Defenders… Have you noticed… Oh. Sorry. Do you feel well? That spasm looked uncomfortable. No? You are fine? Good. You must have noticed how badly performing children are demoted to The Productive Classes if they are evaluated Code Red in school. And you must have noticed how children from The Productive Classes are transferred to A-classes if they are evaluated Code Green in school. Our Founding Parents was adamant, that we were not supposed to become a caste society. Meritocracy and mechanisms, to ensure movement from one state of life to another, were the foundations on which this Republic was built. But have you ever noticed anyone to be recruited to The Defenders in school? Or have you ever met a child of Defender parents? My questions are rhetorical of course, this fine art, which Cicero was an expert of. The problem with the police and the armed forces in the old systems in the bygone world, was that they sometimes attracted the wrong sort of people. Someone, who would be prone to abuse his power, would be unsuitable as a Defender, but in the old systems the position as a Defender attracted that sort of people. There existed dutiful and idealistic persons too, of course, but, despite that some of them sincerely wished to serve and protect, there was a risk with the old system. I don’t know if you remember the ancient state called Turkey, for instance. Several times its army toppled the democratically elected government. Similar things happened in a state called Burma, but I don’t know if you read about that in C-class history lessons. Even in C-class you must have read about the atrocities committed by Gestapo and Stasi? Oh my! That looks uncomfortable. Is there anything I can do? No? Good? Feels so good? That sounds fine and dandy. Nothing to worry about, then? What is happening to you? Actually, I was just on my way to explain that. That muscle tone suits you, by the way. Oh, yes! The Defenders, then. The conundrum for every state, is to be sure that persons guarding the state and the general public against enemies without and within, don’t abuse their power. A state like ours, for instance, could risk to be toppled by The Defenders, and turned into a military dictatorship, and we can’t have that, can we? The solution our Founding Parents choose, was to ensure that The Defenders don’t have offspring, and actually is the least free of our inhabitants. That doesn’t mean that Defenders are not happy. As I said before: There are benefits and drawbacks with every position in society, but it is constructed in order to make all of us happy, regardless if you belong to The Leadership, The Defenders or The Productive Classes. Different personality types find happiness in different sorts of lifestyles. And I now come to the question: How would you find happiness? Your outspoken views about The Leadership are misguided, and easily corrected by the mind-control program that is running in your brain just now. Your wariness of power-abuse, on the other hand, is a useful virtue in a society like ours. It ought to be encouraged, especially in a Defender. Not a Defender? Oh come now. At this stage you must understand what’s going on. Defenders are not born. They are made. I read your psychological profile. You like to be re-programmed. Thinking of it: I don’t any longer have to read your psychological profile to see that you like the re-programming. Some gymboys work out in order to compensate for something, but I notice that that reason don’t apply to you. Shouting abuse despite this high frequency of brainwave re-programming? That means that you have a strong will. Good. That’s another virtue of a Defender. The warm feeling, which drives the cool temperature away in your chamber, is caused by the injection you received while asleep. Based on your height, weight, age, and the time which has lapsed since the injection was administered, I would make an educated guess, that it is still intensifying in effect. If you enjoy this feeling, I can bring you pleasure by informing you, that the enhancement of your body tissues and physique has just began. When this process has reached its goal you have become a Defender. That’s the spirit! It seems like some inhibitions are removed? Yes, you are right. These biceps are indeed ’fucking big’. And yes, these abdominal muscles are very hard, but don’t you think that overuse of the word ’fucking’ is emptying it of its rhetoric impact? Yes! Give in to it! You know that you like re-programming! Ooops. Not all of the recruits shout that much. So. So. Just breathe. It breaks you in order to rebuild you into a stronger being. Yes, just like that. That sounds confident. Yes, I agree, these vein-covered quads and thighs are, as you put it, ’awesome’. I’m literally full in awe over the muscle mass you are achieving, and it seems like you are, too. I know, by experience, that it is best to inform you, that the process will now enter the next phase. Yes, that’s right. This is just the beginning. No, there will be more. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, you don’t have to ask for it. I will ’bring it on’. You can trust me in that regard. You start and wrench unusually much. Are you okey? Never felt better? Good. I hoped that you would accept the process at last. Proud to be a Defender? Good. Yes, I hear that you think it’s good, too. Too good to be true? But it is true. Wait for phase three. Yes, there are further phases. Can’t take any more? I’m sorry, but the procedure must go on, when it has started. Safety protocol demand that we finish this. Oh, look at those lats! And your traps and shoulders! You respond unusually well to the treatment. Yes, you are unusually big, already. I can’t imagine how you will look when this is finished. I don’t need any encouragement. I’m already looking at you. And what a sight you are! That’s my cocky lad! If that is a good expression at your age. Damn. I am beginning to sound unusually emotional. I must see my shrink tomorrow. If I can’t compose myself, I might be demoted to the Productive Classes. If I'm willing to pay that price for watching your humungousness? I… I… I don’t know. Oh, aren’t you a miracle? Those hard pillows of a chest… Becoming like basket balls now. Yes, I would moan too, if that happened to me. Initiating Phase three. I thought, that you just said, that you can’t take any more? Give you all? Yes. Everything in due time. More? Yes, you will have more. I adjust the controls here manually, to quicken the process somewhat. We can’t hurry too much outside the ordinary parameters. No one knows what would happen to your organism then. ’Beef?’ That’s a word for it. ’Powerhouse’. Yes, that’s another one. Oh, my! You broke your restraints. They were for your own safety, you know. A lot of subjects shake so violently, that they risk to harm themselves. Yes, I’m looking at you. Oh. Yes. Definitively as volleyballs. And these football shoulders! You are not supposed to do that. Hot? Well, ehrm… We in The Leadership are not supposed to think about such things. Initiating Phase Four. No. I can’t. Oh. I’m not supposed to… I’m here to guide you through the process, not watch you in another capacity… Oh! Oh, uh! No! I can’t… Don’t tease me like that. Goddammit, I’m a doctor, not a … And those veins! Covering your legs and your chest… I don’t believe my eyes! A behemoth of raw untamed power! And the monumental calves of yours, protruding, bulgingly, still pulsating… The hypertrophic powerfield surrounding you… stimulating you… No! No! I said, don’t tease me! I don’t… You insanely ultra-masculine brute, you don’t understand, I can’t… Oh! Uh! Join you? No, I can’t… No, I can’t, oh… So this is how the sluice works? What am I doing here? I’m not supposed to… I return out of this sluice. It’s too dangerous. I’m not evaluated… I’m not scheduled… I don’t fit the personality test… Uhn. Enter. YES! TOGETHER WITH YOU! BECOMING A DEFENDER! THE POWER! THE ALL-CONSUMING POWER! TOO MUCH… I… OH! YES! UHN! UHN! COMPUTER: INTENSIFY PROCESS Process intensified, and increasing
  18. In chapter three, I take a closer look at one of the former minor characters. As usual, I hope that you will tolerate my unintentional linguistic errors. Chapter One is here:–-chapter-one/ Chapter Two is here:–-chapter-two/ DISCLAIMER This story do contain an element of internalised homophobia, at least in the beginning. If you are offended by this, please read no further. Project Defender - Chapter 3 He always wanted to be huge. But he wasn’t. Kowalski had grown up in a small municipality just outside Warsaw. He had been bullied in primary school, but when he entered secondary school he joined a gym, and although his results were modest, his newfound muscles kept the bullies away. His parents – especially his mother – were devout Catholics, and he joined them, when they attended Mass on Sundays. He felt like having two minds when it came to physical exercise. On the one hand, it felt amazing in the end of each training session, when his body released all those relaxing substances, and blood pumped into all his newly trained muscles, causing him to feel hard in a very good way. On the other hand, he felt uncomfortable that he often became horny after workout. He had tried to mention it to his vicar during confession once, but Father Wójcik had reacted in horror: ’You are having dirty thoughts, young man. Do you hear: Dirty! The only normal thing to feel aroused by is your future wife. I hope you will find a suitable girl sometime during Technikum. Now avoid to think dirty thoughts again. I absolve you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ He hadn’t dared to mention the topic again. During his studies at Technikum, he had to go by bus to Warsaw each day, and he joined a bigger and more well-equipped gym inside Warsaw. He must have been eighteen when he found out that one of the adult guys at the gym was a British Jesuit, teaching in the capacity of Guest Professor in astrophysics at the university for a time. Father O’Kelly seemed to enjoy exercise himself, although he mainly used the treadmill and the step-up-machine, so Kowalski dared to take up his embarrassing worries. O’Kelly laughed somewhat, and had a much more relaxed view on Kowalski’s perceived problem: ’Listen, son. Now and then in the history of the Church, a few people have – mistakenly – believed that the human body is something bad. It isn’t. Evil is only able to harm things. Evil is not able to create and nurture life. Some saints were wrong about some issues, and a few of them were anorectics or neurotics. We do good if we try to do the same sort of good deeds those saints achieved, but we ought not to follow their mistaken personal opinions or quirks. The human body is an amazing thing: Our brain and our hands cooperate in a way that made engineering and art possible. The human body functions the way God intended – perhaps not perfectly, since we have a free will, but the basic processes are there, because it is for the best. St. Paul writes that the human body is a temple for the Holy Spirit. That isn’t something bad or evil, is it? Men like you try to make their temple as fitting and embellished as possible, and there is nothing wrong with that, at least if you don’t become obsessive about it, and forget the needs of persons around you. Excessive vanity would make the life complicated for you, but in the right amount it is just confidence, and confidence is good to have. Human sexuality is a strong feeling, that sometimes blur peoples judgment. Those consequences of a blurred judgment are sometimes evil, but not sexuality itself. God created it. I would advice you to exercise more, not less, since exercise helps to diminish exaggerated arousal, but I would also advice you to thank God for your ability to feel good. In the future you will probably find a cute girl. If sex had been something intrinsically bad, matrimony wouldn’t have been regarded a sacrament, would it?’ After his discussion with Father O’Kelly, Kowalski felt much better. He continued to work out at the gym, and achieved a lean and very hard physique, but he wasn’t able to become big and burly the way professional bodybuilders looked. During Technikum, some of the girls had found the combination of his short stature, ripped physique and cream coloured downy hair irresistible, and he had snogged a number of young women, but nothing serious. Since his early childhood, his favourite saint was St. Michael the archangel. The church his mother attended had several smaller adjacent altars, and his favourite one was dedicated to St. Michael. A broad shouldered statue of St. Michael was there, his enormous wings outstretched protectively, and his big chest decked with chainmail, a sword in his muscular arm, trampling the devil underfoot. It was an icon of masculine heroism, and Kowalski wanted to be a hero. To protect people, and defend them. When he graduated from Technikum, he first applied to the fire brigade, but his application was rejected since he didn’t fulfill the regulated minimum height. He then applied to the Armed Forces of the Republic of Poland, and was accepted. He scored very high on endurance tests, and he managed to lift heavier backpacks than men his own size usually did. He was very good at diving. He was extremely good at parachute jumps, but one part of his test results differed significantly from the rest: He scored low when it came to the ability to lift really heavy equipment, and he felt frustrated over this. Now and then, he shyly asked himself if he possibly could be gay. The Church’s position on the issue was clear, and that made him uncomfortable: He liked attending Mass now and then, and he appreciated to slip into an almost empty cathedral in the middle of the afternoon, experiencing the soothing silence and stillness. The Army officially maintained a non-discriminatory policy when it came to sexual orientation, and had always did, but the personal opinions among some of the senior officers and some of the other squaddies was another thing. As far as he knew, no-one had suspected anything. He knew that he often became horny when he read magazines about bodybuilding or watched action films with muscular heroes, but he wasn’t sure if that was a desire for the men themselves, or if it was rather a lust for becoming just as huge and ripped as them, excelling in masculinity. Gays are not masculine, are they? When TV news reported about Gay Pride parades in Warsaw, he didn’t feel anything for the men who walked by on the television screen: Trannies trying to look like women. Soft and wimpy men with rainbow pennants, some of them with glitter on their faces. They looked happy. He wished them luck with their everyday lives, but he didn’t feel attracted to them in any way. They seemed uninteresting. He had nothing in common to them. So he couldn’t be gay, could he? He had nothing against gays, as long as they didn’t hit on him. The Army became like a second home for him. He liked being challenged to achieve feats beyond his former limits. A couple of years went by. Then the Space Attack occurred. His family was evacuated from the Warsaw area to the countryside. He was sent to the Pan-European Military Research Facility, since he had been deemed suitable for experimentation. He had felt excited when he became aware of the purpose of The Program. De Vries had been a pain in the ass, but most of the international guys had been pleasant enough to work with. Among the scientists he felt most comfortable with the Norwegian one they called ’Viking Guy’, who had been friendly and polite. Coach was so well-trained, that he made Kowalski feel small in comparison, and there was something with the tiny Englishman, Smith, that made Kowalski feel awkward. He didn’t know what. He missed Soares. They had met the first day at the Facility, in the gym, and found a common bond in how much they liked workout and their disappointment with being hardgainers. Soares had a good sense of humour. Under cheering sounds from the other squaddies, they had sometimes wrestled at the living quarters, pitting each other’s strengths against each other. They had shared stories about their home countries and their worries for their families. Soares was also Catholic, so Kowalski had given him his St. Michael pendant as a gift of brotherhood. Soares had a good heart and kind eyes the colour of hazel nuts. And now he was comatose, because of an experiment gone wrong. Kowalski had sat beside Soares sick bed at Infirmary every evening since the accident happened. He felt angry at the scientists, but he also felt a bad conscience for his anger, since Viking Guy had told him that they worked on a treatment. He couldn’t sleep. He clothed himself, and tied his boots. The Infirmary lay in darkness, with the exception of a single lamp at the desk. To his surprise, neither Johansson’s nor Soares’ bed were there. After the initial surprise, he found Fischer, the night working nurse, tied to a chair. ’The recruits! They wheeled the patients away to the Lab.’ As soon he had freed Fischer from the chair, Kowalski jogged to the Lab, walking silently in suspicions the last distance. He peeked carefully into the Lab. Jones was there: He was a funny one, with a good sense of humour, at least when Kowalski could manage to understand his dialect. And Varga! Varga had behaved as an elder brother to Kowalski and Soares. Why had they of all persons disobeyed orders? If they actually had disobeyed orders. Weren’t they programmed to behave as perfect soldiers now? And who was the tall and muscular uniformed man typing at a screen? No! It couldn’t be… Doctor Smith? It’s impossible! He was so tiny, bespectacled and plump yesterday. This is like magic. He’s even bigger than Varga. And Boffin! And Viking Guy! And… O saint Mary in heaven: Coach was humongous now! What were they doing? Kowalski noticed the movable sickbeds. Empty. And the Chambers were activated. It dawned to him that Soares and Johansson were inside the Chambers, so it seemed that they tried to cure them from their comatose states. Cautiously, he stepped inside the lab. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED][AND RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] Cpl. Soares Weight: 56 kilo grammes Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Height: 168 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Chest: 91 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Waist: 70 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Arm: 34 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Thighs: 56 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] ’Brain activity detected and intensifying.’ ’Pulse, breathing and temperature stable.’ Soares had grown inside the chamber. Muscles bulged and protruded from him. He was far from the size of the men in the Lab, but it was obvious that he was still growing in the golden shimmer. ’Kowalski? What are you doing here?’ Viking Guy had noticed his presence. The other large men looked in his direction. He felt uncomfortable. ’I was worried for Soares. Why did you tie Fischer?’ ’Did you tie Fischer, Jones? Why?’ ’Ah dinna thought mooch abuht ed. Ah wanted ’im to be outovva way. The Program kicked in.’ ’But why in the world would Fischer want to hinder us from curing the patients? Although it is in the middle of the night? Which is – ahem – unconventional.’ A short and confused discussion took place, but the safety for the patients soon redirected the focus of all present to the Chambers and the persons therein. Fischer peeked inside the room, but, although some of the men probably noticed him with their enhanced military senses, they all focused on the patients. Since Fischer didn’t have any patients to guard any longer, he sat down on a stool. ’Good to have you here, Kowalski.’, Doctor Green said. ’I know that you have sat beside Soares’ bed several nights. He knows you well. You are friends. He would listen to you.’ ’Yes?’, Kowalski asked. ’There is no damage to his brain. Whatever may have damaged himself before is perfectly healed by Morphogenetic Fields by now. I suspect that a psychological factor would help him to awake, under the condition that he remain in the Field during awakening. Human contact. You were scheduled for The Procedure the day after tomorrow, I believe. Would it disappoint you very much, if we rescheduled your treatment till tonight, instead?’ ’You mean. To become like you? Now?’ ’I understand that it comes of a sudden, but I really think that Soares would benefit from you talking to him, while you both go through The Program together.’ It came so suddenly. Kowalski felt confused. ’He is very close to awakening, but something delays it, and I believe there is a human factor to this. Your voice and your presence would hopefully lead him back to consciousness, but since that would expose you to The Program, you need to go through it all, with nano-inhalation, nutrition-IV and everything.’ Although it was buzz cut, Kowalski felt the hair on the back of his skull raise. He felt a pleasant shiver at his back. A lump emerged in his throat, and his mouth became dry. He silently observed the absurdly titanic men in the Lab – even the scientists looked like imaginary super-soldiers by now. He watched the growing Soares and Johansson in the Chambers. He should join their ranks tonight already. Everything felt unreal, like it was one of his silly teenage fantasies coming true. Absentmindedly, he answered: ’Yes. Of course I accept a reschedule. I want to help Soares. And it is – ehrm – actually quite exciting.’ He blushed somewhat, and untied his boots. The T-shirt fell on the bench. The trousers as well. Socks. Pants. It still felt unreal when Green applied the IV and the neuro-helmet. ’May I have a glass of water before I enter?’ Varga handed over a large plastic mug filled with drinking water. Kowalski devoured it. Green tied the breathing mask over Kowalski’s face. ’There is a microphone in the mask. If you feel strange, you may tell us. Most of the guys who have went through this Process have felt very well. Thank you for helping us to awaken Soares, and good luck inside.’ [CONNECTING] [ACCESSING DATA] [AWAITING SPECIMEN] Cpl. Kowalski Weight: 57 kilo grammes Height: 169 centimetres Chest: 91 centimetres Waist: 69 centimetres Arm: [AWAITING DATA] Thighs: [AWAITING DATA] CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING PREPARATORY PROTOCOL] [CONCOMITANTLY TO] [PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][MULTI-THREADING] When the inner sluice opened, his entire body was struck by a violent wave. It caused all his bodily consciousness to tingle and buzz, in a way that was impossible to describe. He stepped inside the chamber, and the feeling became more intense. For a while it shut out all his other impressions. He tumbled into an intense vision of golden flashes and flares, in which his physical body ceased to exist. In its place he consisted entirely by raw, primordial power. Buzzing. Crackling. Emitting bolts. Devouring bolts. A voice which was not his own was saying something inside his mind. He didn’t actually hear it, since it was in his mind. He couldn’t hear clearly: It was not audible. It was more like a thought – an implanted thought. The intensity of the implanted thought increased: Do you accept The Program? He was rather strong minded. He couldn’t be forced to accept. Do you accept The Program? But it was because of The Program he was here. This reminded him of something a drill officer had said during basic training: ’I will break you down, in order to rebuild you!’. This was something similar. Do you accept The Program? Far, far away, he was vaguely aware that his physical body was involuntarily mumbling and grunting random words, but he didn’t pay attention to it: He was deeply immersed in his inner experience of integration into The Program. Do you accept The Program? He would become like the unbelievably huge titans outside the chamber. He shivered unintentionally in delight. Do you accept the Program? And he was here to help Soares. But what would happen if he tried to refuse The Program? You will accept The Program Fear arose. His instincts told him, that, if he accepted, he would no longer be entirely the same. From a certain point, he would no longer be himself. The instincts of fear became stronger. You will accept The Program You will accept The Program Damn it! It was his duty to endure this process, in order to help mankind. It was his duty to become… Becoming Defender Yes. To defend his fellow men against the invasion, and to defend his brothers-in-arms in danger. Becoming Protector Yes. To protect the weak and innocent… You will accept The Program Yes. To become a part of the same Program as the other optimised lads. United. Together as the first generation space marines. United… in… the… same… Program. You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will ac ’SIR! YES, SIR!’ CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING NEURO-REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] [CONCOMITANTLY TO] [PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][MULTI-THREADING] A small part of him knew, that the experience he re-lived wasn’t his own, but borrowed from someone else, like the one just before, and the one just before, but it felt so real, and it felt so much a part of his own experience… It was like he had been through this for years, by now: Years of painstaking exercise to perfect his ability to… …triumph in close combat… …swiftly and effectively handle weapons of innumerable types… …make tactical decisions… …defuse explosives… …hack into computer technology… It went on and on. He re-lived the lives of countless experts in their fields, and all were implanted and coalesced in him. Becoming consummate individual unit His confidence exploded and went off the scale. Nothing would ever make him feel awkward or uncomfortable any longer. Neuro-Reprogramming Protocol aim achieved Neuro-Reprogramming Protocol accomplished Closing according to Program Running: Physical Reprogramming Protocol [undivided] … [both specimen] [according to same matrix] Enhancing He was awake. He was present in a cylinder with another man. O, yes! The Chamber. The Process. Soares. His friend Soares. It felt good to be close to Soares. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][iNTENSIFYING] The fluid around him was crackling with power discharges, and it caused his entire body to tingle in an incredible way. The power was crackling around Soares too, and he had grown amazingly big and well-defined, still pulsating of growth. Now, the same power surged through Kowalski, making him grunt with uncontrollable pleasure. An ugly sound of bones breaking and reforging was transmitted through the fluid. Kowalski was dimly aware of pain, and for a while his consciousness drifted away into darkness. When he awoke, he felt different and elongated in a strange way. The power emissions buzzed: in the fluid, on the surface of his skin, and through the essence of his entire body. He concentrated, and managed to speak. ’Soares. Wake up. It’s me, Kowalski. Please, Soares.’ And Soares opened his eyes. ’Kowalski? Oh. It feels… Mmmm.’ ’You are awake!’ ’So they continued to… Mmmm. …physical phase anyhow? Oh, this is good… Uh!’ Soares shivered in delight. He contracted his arms and tensed his abs. His dick awoke. Soares shivered again, and closed his eyelids again. His grunts revealed that he hadn’t drifted back to unconsciousness. Kowalski was so relieved that Soares had awakened, that he let his dogged determination go. His awareness tumbled into the flashing, buzzing, bubbling experience of bodily change, of transformation. The irresistible power surge… The Field… The radiation… He felt himself pack on meat in an incredible speed. His back broadened, became more massive, and his shoulders too, filling out, full, round, meaty powerful globes of human flesh. There was nothing he could do to stop it, but why would he want to do that? He was programmed to do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of himself and of The Program. To enhance himself. To augment himself. And Soares. His legs felt like they were able to support incredible amounts, tree trunks widening, pillars of uncrushable steel, voluptuously huge calves. It was like pump, but intensified, and instead of just feeling like they grew, his muscles actually became larger, harder, more defined. His traps and pecs contracted in a deliriously delightful way, while they swelled up into uncrushable ridges and mounds, and he revelled in the feeling of his hyper-charged biceps and triceps, and of the vein covered steel cords, which once had been his forearms. His abs and iliac furrow burnt intensely while they became more and more well-defined, but the feeling gradually changed into the same buzzing and brimming feeling of power which filled the rest of his body. His firm gluteus had filled out into diamond hard orbs. [ACCESSING] [sPECIMEN DATA] Cpl. Kowalski Weight: 220 kilo grammes [AND INCREASING] Height: 215 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Chest: 228 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Waist: 114 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Arm: 100 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Thighs: 120 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Cpl. Soares Weight: 220 kilo grammes [AND INCREASING] Height: 215 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Chest: 228 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Waist: 114 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Arm: 100 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Thighs: 120 centimetres [AND INCREASING] [iNTENSIFYING] [according to same matrix] He didn’t become what he had ever dreamed of: He became something beyond the limits of his wildest imagination, and he diverted himself in the mindless roar of anabolic ecstasy. When he closed his eyes he heard the rushing sound of his pulse and of his blood stream transporting growth enhancing substances to every fibre of his pleasantly convulsing body. He grew in a way beyond what he could comprehend. He was a living battery, charged with the power current from a high voltage line. The power of vitality itself filled him limitlessly. Nuclear bombs exploded inside his body and inside his mind. The ineffable powerblaze stormed in every atom. He brimmed of unlimited and unconquerable might. Suddenly, he could feel Soares' hand on his left pec. It felt good. Soares’ hand had grown in size, but so had Kowalski’s pecs. Soares’ grip had increased, and a man of softer build would have been crushed by this, but Kowalski was no ordinary man. His pec resisted steel-hard the squeeze of Soares'. It felt good. Actually, it did feel amazing, since the empowering current of force, which made him grow, now streamed through him with redoubled intensity. It was like the power current streamed through him twice, and he could hear from Soares’ roar that the effect worked in both directions. He grabbed Soares’ incredible pulsating shoulders with both of his hands. His touch gave Soares a start, and for a couple of seconds Soares upper body went rigid. Then he relaxed – as far as the convulsing and pulsating state his muscles found themselves in could be called relaxed. Soares let his right hand move to Kowalski’s left bum, and the left hand soon followed. The hypertrophic power current now streamed through them again, again and again, in a heightened state of intensity. The Chamber bubbled of liquid. Thunderbolts of morphogenetic power struck their inner cores. The breathing masks hindered them from kissing each other, but both opened their eyes. Staring deeply into each others eyes, Kowalski’s ice blue eyes into Soares’ hazelnut brown ones, they could see how the heightened energy state began to affect their tissue. Golden power sparks arose in Soares’ eyes, and Kowalski could feel a strange, but pleasant, buzz arise in his own eyes. Then their eyes became interconnected to each other by two sparkling power currents of golden fire. Something happened at their groins, and the pulsating steel rods between their legs suddenly became interconnected by a similar crackling power current. Their muscular fibres became more and more unyielding. Their bodies became ever more covered in uncrushable brawn. They shook in pleasure. When Kowalski thought it couldn’t become better, more pleasurable, more ecstatic, the feeling intensified further. They both became monstrously titanic behemoths of ultra-masculine perfection. They roared. They raged. They bellowed, and hugged each other in steel hard embraces, but when the transformation process of The Program reached its climactic optimum, they both fell into velvet black unconsciousness. When Kowalski awoke, he found himself lying in a hospital bed at the Infirmary. Soares was lying in another one, and, since he was reading an e-book, any suspicions about a relapse into coma were dispelled. Two weeks ago, they had been the smallest of the recruits at the Facility. Now they both looked enormous. The story continues in
  19. belabarbell

    growth Peter (2 parts)

    This is one of my first creations. A short story in two parts. First part: The sign outside read "Help Wanted"; and as Peter was looking for a job to pay his way through school, he rang the doorbell. A buzzer sounded and he walked through a stately marble parlor and into an open reception area. A very handsome secretary greeted him, handed him a clipboard after he'd stated his reason for being there, and bade Peter to the waiting area, to fill out the forms he'd been given. After filling out the forms, Peter returned them to the secretary, who briefly looked them over, and then bade him wait again, for his "screening". After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Peter was called back into a set of corridors that looked much like a Doctor's office, and was placed in one examination room. He was told to take off his shirt and shoes, and to sit on the table. After a short wait, a man in an overcoat, who introduced himself as "Doctor Terry" entered, and looked briefly over a clipboard. "Ah, I see that all the release forms have been signed, so we can begin the screening, to determine whether you can be of use to the firm", he said, raising his eyebrows and hesitating at the word "use". He bade Peter to breathe deeply, and removed a stethoscope from the wall, with which he proceeded to listen to Peter's heartbeat. After nodding appreciatively a few times, Doctor Terry proceeded to scribble something on his pad. He then bade Peter to open his mouth, and say "Ah". Peter did, and he felt a metal rod on his tongue. His "ah" was cut short when he felt a liquid hit his tongue, and he reflexively gagged. The doctor said sympathetically that it was some disinfecting gel that he had forgotten to remove from the rod, and that it was harmless. He bade Peter to swallow it. The liquid had a metallic taste, and was bitter. The doctor removed the metal rod, and then shone a light in each of Peter's eyes. "Very good", said Doctor Terry reassuringly. For some reason, this pleased Peter very much. That Doctor Terry was happy made Peter happy. The light made Peter happy, too. Peter began to feel very sexy. With the light dancing back and forth in front of each eye, Peter began to fumble with his belt buckle. It was a puzzle to him. Everything was a puzzle to him at the present, except the feeling of hotness that overwhelmed him. He felt incompetent. He was also drooling. "Yes, those pants are restricting, aren't they?" said the Doctor, which of course was true" "Shall I help you get them off, Peter?" the Doctor offered. "Yes, please", Peter said indifferently, apparently only focused on the light. The doctor pocketed the light, and quickly retrieved a spiral, and, planting it before Peter and turning on its blue light, proceeded to help Peter out of his pants and underwear. With Peter undressed, the Doctor lead him through a number of induction rituals that tied pleasure to trance in Peter's mind, and also increased the level of trust and devotion to Doctor terry and the firm. Doctor Terry additionally sucked Peter's cock, and proceeded to lubricate his asshole, all the while coaxing him away from orgasm. As the point of no return seemed imminent, Doctor Terry summoned an assistant, who entered the room promptly. The assistant was an enourmously muscular man who wore just a pair of boots and sunglasses, entered the room with his ramrod cock pointing the way, approached the prostrate Peter, and proceeded to enter him, while the latter moaned. No sooner was the assistant to the hilt, did Peter's dick proceed to spurt shot after shot of cum, mostly against his own stomach. The muscular man pulled out with a plop and immediately left the room. Doctor Terry allthewhile was commenting "very good" and scribbling furiously in his notebook. *** Peter awoke with a start. He was in his own bed. The previous day was a blur to him, and he wasn't quite sure when and how he'd gotten back home. In any case, he felt quite horny, and his dick was hard as a rock. He looked down at his dick and saw a note tied on a string around it. He was surprised, and fumbled with the note, which was written in his own handwriting. "Appt. today at 11:30 at RD" it read. As it was close to 10:30, he thought he'd better make his way quickly to the appointment: perhaps he'd get the position! The receptionist smiled a devilish grin as he entered the office, and somewhere he felt he recognized that superlative build, but maybe it'd just been from his visit yesterday. For some reason he couldn't remember leaving the office yesterday, but Peter pushed that thought aside as the receptionist handed him a box and lead him to an examination room. He told Peter to take off his shirt and pants, and to wait on the table again. Peter did so, setting the box on the table beside him. As soon as the Doctor entered, Peter felt immediately relaxed and obedient, and a faint air of sexiness overcame him. The Doctor congratulated Peter and suggested the company could use him, and then said that one of his immunizations was not current, but the Doctor would handle that. "First, though", said the doctor, "I need you to open the box next to you and put on its contents". Peter grabbed the box, and, opening its lid, pulled out a pair of very stylish sneakers. "Without socks?" Peter asked. "Sure, there's a special fluid absorbing coating on the insides of the shoes, no worries", said the doctor. Peter put on the shoes, and, feeling a slight prick on his heels, bent to take them off. Doctor Terry stopped him, saying, "don't worry, they're special custom designs. They'll adjust to your feet." Peter's feeling of sexiness increased, and he stretched out to his full stature, somehow feeling fuller and manlier than ever, and feeling very open and receptive to Doctor terry. "Here, try these on", said the latter, handing Peter a black rimless pair of sunglasses, the aviator kind. Peter put them on, and was immediately greeted by lovely spirals that would occasionally change to pictures of big hulking men, apelike save for their hairlessness. Peter, who never considered himself gay, moved to protest as he saw these images, but each time he moved his feet, he felt the pleasure travelling up from his heels increase. Then the heat began. The doctor was telling him how pleased he was to have Peter on the team, and about his new role at Rainbow Delights, but Peter was barely able to focus his attention. All over his body, he felt extremely hot. It was as though ants were crawling under his skin. He also felt swollen. "I see you're beginning to feel the process" the Doctor smiled at Peter, whose shoulders had begun to noticeably broaden. "Yes, it happens very quickly", the Doctor continued. "We perfected in recent years a special formula, which completely inhibits Myostatin, a hormone which limits muscle growth in humans. Your shoes have been equipped with mini-syringes that inject a small amount of a serum containing this compound, and a number of muscle enhancing drugs we've produced directly into your bloodstream. You see, we here at Rainbow Delights specialize in providing extremely muscular male companions to a growing market." At this point, Peter's lats spread, blossoming like flowers, and his pecs ballooned outward and drooped. "The market is booming so quickly, in fact, that we're in constant need of new recruits. It's a convenient relationship: we offer our boys extraordinary bodies, and they offer their improved and enhanced bodies to our clients for a fee. Since we don't have the time to invest in watching our boys grow over a period of months and months we've actually been able to speed up the process, so that we can give a man a superb build in a matter of hours. No part of the body is spared." As the Doctor said this, Peter's dick began to visibly lengthen and thicken, much beyond its former stature. Peter was unable to speak, in part because of the pleasure coursing through his body, and in part because he wouldn't be able to find the words were the former not the case. He began to mumble something. Doctor Terry cut in: "Yes, Peter. you're well on your way to being an absolute muscle stud, one among many in our team. You like that, don't you, Peter? You want to be a huge man with big muscles, right?" Peter moaned, and nodded. His new and improved body was hard everywhere. His biceps were huge peaks, crowned with impeccable delts, and an impossily thick neck. His legs were cords of muscle, and his stomach a rivetted pool of obliques and abs. "You like working for your team, right Peter?" the Doctor asked. Peter, the big drooling new ape, nodded dumbly. "Peter, your new body makes you incredibly horny, hornier than you've ever been in your life. Thinking about the things you're going to do for the firm with your new body gives you a painfully hard erection." Peter groaned, the exam table straining under his new bulk. His fat new tool, adorned with a shiny helmet head, stretched to his belly button. "Peter, when I count to five, you are going to cum, and you are going to realize it is the best orgasm you've ever experienced, and that all the orgasms to come from your work for the firm will continue to be better and better, and that you were made for this, to work for the team. Is that right?" Peter just moaned, and a spout of precum dripped onto his hard, ripped belly. "One…" "Two…" "Three…" Peter moaned loudly. "Four…" "Five" Peter, the newest addition to Rainbow Delights, erupted in a fountain of cum and muscle. He was going to enjoy his new job… Part 2 (shorter): Peter quickly grew accustomed to his new lifestyle. If he had any reservations before about sleeping with men, they disappeared when he saw his reflection in the mirror, a stunning image of a colossus of a man, with mammoth traps and delts that looked like armour. Fucking a man's love chute for possessing such a cannonball body was a small price to pay. His back was enormous, with wing-like lats that spread farther than he would've thought possible before his job and his transformation began. He turned himself on, and he had plenty of time to do so as his uniform consisted of his boots and shades. As the team members were always driven to clients, they had no need for clothes, and this gave him plenty of time to inspect his and other team members' bodies. As the muscle building serum injected through their heels also kept their obscenely large members constantly erect, they resembled a stable of stallions, and conversations between the guys was usually restricted to "Can I fuck your face with this?" Peter recounted his first John, a voluptuously muscled police officer who had a fetish for muscled guys. Peter had had reservations in the car ride over. He'd never consciously been with a man before, and he didn't know if he could get it up. His conditioning and the serum helped, however, and, by the end of the night, one might be troubled not to ask the reverse question: could his virility find its limitations? The answer seemed an assured "no", and the police officer eventually collapsed on top of Peter, with Peter's python still in his back door. Peter, of course, soon gave up his studies to focus on his fucking for Rainbow Delights, and on improving his body. The latter he did by working out twice a day in a state of the art gym on the campus of RD.. where he soon moved. This latter option was only available to the highest-earning stallions, and Peter's short black hair, burning gray eyes and his dedication to building the most exquisite body on the planet -- in part reinforced through the flurry of images of huge, muscular and big-dicked men that accompanied his every waking moment via the sunglasses -- garnered him a place among the select studs within the firm. Of course, all the stallions were completely hairless, except for on their heads, and most of this was kept short. Each man underwent a laser procedure, in which the follicles were burned out. Peter's procedure was preceded by weeks of continual presentation of images of muscular, smooth men via his shades, and the association of arousal with touching his smooth skin. Peter enjoyed the feeling of jerking himself with one hand on top of his head in front of the mirror, so he could see his bulging biceps and his hairless armpit. All the time he didn't spend eating, sleeping or fucking willing clients, was spent working out his huge muscles. In this particular instance, Peter was just returning from a crushing shoulder workout, when, upon returning to his suite and, after showering and moving to rest a few moments on his huge bed, he saw a tiny silver sliver on the bed, with two antennae protruding in a ramshackle way from it. Looking closer, he saw it was an MP3 player. Doctor Terry often made tapes for his most prized studs, especially as rewards after particularly outstanding client sessions or muscular development in the gym. Peter figured, in his case, it must be both, and he rested on the bed and stuck the plugs in each ear. The next thing Peter knew he was experiencing an earth-shattering orgasm, his prostate buzzing and his cock shooting out volley after volley of cum. He looked down, and thick ropes covered his chest and a puddle had formed in the corrugated patchwork of his abdominals. These grew denser as he continued shooting, every muscle in his body tense and covered in a sheen of sweat. The cum even covered some of the veiny expanse of his thick, brawny bicep. He looked and saw his hands resting at his sides: the Doctor had made him experience this without once touching himself! This realization increased his devotion and submission to the Doctor, and he felt he'd do anything for Doctor terry, especially after he'd given him this amazing body. He looked down at his chest, now covered in sweat and cum, and began massaging the cum into his thick and meaty pecs. His nipples were incredibly sensitive, and he shot one or two more labored volleys as he fondled them, the stimulation sustaining his orgasm a few more moments. Doctor Terry was good to him in that way. He could keep his orgasms going forever, if he wanted, and as long as Peter was obedient to Mr. Terry, he would keep growing bigger and stronger, and he would keep feeling pleasure.
  20. Hello All, So between work this week and just general writer’s block I didn’t get to finishing part 3 of The Forge. So instead I went into the archive and pulled up this old one I had posted in the Continuous Stores section of the old website. Even for a continuous story I felt I never really developed the premise enough, but since it was already started I figured I could expand upon it and clear my brain. I think it actually ended up pretty good imho so I am posting it here. I feel is has a lot of potential for adaptation to all sorts of tastes and fetishes so I leave it here to see where you guys might go with it. It’s basically my twist on the greatest of the great porn clichés, the pizza delivery guy. Hope you enjoy. MW's Pizza: Unexpected Delivery Danny came home after a long day from work and was exhausted. There was nothing particularly bad about it but the office had been working overtime all this week to deal with the new account from a big Fortune 500 company. Now it was the weekend and all Danny wanted to do was get something to eat and then pass out. He looked over at the sink filled with dirty pots and pans, realized that he would have to dig through that mess to cook something and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for that. He really just wanted to exert as little energy as possible and so decided to order in. He’d been meaning to try that new MW’s Pizzeria. Some of the guys at work couldn’t stop talking about it. Especially this one guy Craig. He actually quit about two weeks ago and by the way he used to talk about this place people started to joke he quit just so he could work there. Danny was in the cubical next to him and just the week before Craig quit Danny remembered he ordered a “Beef Lover’s special” every night just before going home. Danny wasn’t exactly the poster boy for healthy eating but just listening to him ordering it every night was hardening his arteries. But if he was ordering it so much Danny thought it had to be good. He pulled out the card for MW’s he picked up off of Craig’s desk while cannibalizing his old office supplies and dialed the number. “MW’s, can I take your order?” said the surprisingly deep voice on the other end. “Uh, yes. I’d like a Beef Lover’s special” “Really” the voice said with emphasis. “And would you like it extra beefy, super beefy, or ultra beefy.” He said with that same emphasis. It actually sounded kind of creepy to Danny. “Uhhh…ultra beefy…I guess?” “What’s the address?” Danny rattled off the information the guy needed. The voice replied in a curious tone “Great! He’ll be over in 30 minutes. Have a good one stud!” and then he hung up. “Wow, that was weird.” Danny said out loud. Besides the creepy way he said everything he also forgot to tell him how much the pizza would be. He didn’t think much of it though. After all, he thought, how much could it actually cost? He went into the living room to watch some TV, passing his weight set with six months worth of dust collecting on it. Work had kept him off his usually steady workout schedule. It had been a good way to counteract some of his bad eating habits and while he was never ripped he managed to fill out a shirt pretty well. But now he had lost some of the mass of his chest and started to fill out the lower part of his shirt more. Combined with his thinning blond hair and the growing wrinkles it depressed Danny. Since turning 30 two years ago he couldn’t help but wonder if he had passed his prime. That, however, was a worry for another night. Right now he just wanted to be fed and get some rest. 30 minutes later on the dot Danny heard the doorbell ring. He opened the door to jaw dropping sight. On the other side was a delivery boy with a face that looked like it was just out of diapers, but the body of a seasoned bodybuilder. His face showed a deep olive complexion, probably Latino, but with striking blue eyes. His hair was dark and wavy and a little long, but not quite shoulder length and a thin goatee He wore a red and white striped button down shirt that looked like it was purposefully one size too small, showing off every curve and bulge of his sculpted body. While not the size of a pro, the definition of his muscles could easily be seen beneath the tight shirt. His black slacks were similarly too small and the teardrops of his thighs and the diamonds of his calves were bulging underneath the fabric, straining it to its full capacity. Even his crotch was packed to its limit. Danny was in awe. It was strange how much this guy affected Danny since he really didn’t go for guys. There were a few “experiments”, but Danny didn’t think those counted. Danny snapped back to awareness as the kid stepped past him and entered the house. Danny had thought this a little too forward of him, but before he could say anything the delivery boy said “So are we going to get started or are you waiting for tomorrow’s mail?” Danny really didn’t like the tone of this kid. He would have told him off, but he just wanted his dinner and some sleep so he let it go. Danny pulled out his wallet, looked at the kid’s name tag then said, “So, Miguel, what do I owe you?” “It starts at $3,000.” he said in deep, even tone. “Funny. Now what does it really cost?” Danny was losing patience with this kid. “What old man, did you think this would be cheap?” Miguel began to yell, “You think a body like this is cheap?” Danny was about lose it with the “old man” comment, but was perplexed by the last thing he said. “What do you mean a body like this?” He threw down his pizza carrier and with lightning speed he grabbed Danny by the wrists and forced his hands on to his solid pecs saying “This one. The one you’re supposed to be paying for.” As he said this, Miguel looked straight into Danny’s eyes and slowly dragged his hands across his torso, flexing every rock hard muscle along the way. Danny suddenly realized what they were talking about and blurted out in a stuttering and nervous voice, “Listen, I-I think there has been a misunderstanding here. Uh, w-why don’t we just call this an unfortunate mistake and –“ Miguel suddenly grabbed Danny’s shirt and thrust him against the wall, his feet dangling in the air. “Listen old man, you called and asked for this and one way or another you are going to pay for it!” Miguel’s eyes burned with anger as he held Danny effortlessly in the air. “I don’t have that kind of money!” Danny protested in a voice much higher and terrified than he intended it to be. Miguel lowered Danny just enough to bring him to eye level, then leaned in real close and said “Then you are just going to have to work it off.” Throwing Danny over his hard shoulder with little effort Miguel made his way into the living room, scanning it with his deep brown eyes till they locked on to the weight bench. “Perfect!” he growled. He reached for the bar sitting on the rack. Despite the fact that it still had a solid 145 on it he lifted it off like it was some cheap movie prop. He striped the weights off of the bar and carried Danny back into the hallway. All this time Danny was punching and kicking Miguel but the only person he managed to hurt was himself. Pounding his fists into his back was like trying to beat up a wall of titanium. By the time they got back to the hallway Danny had given up, his hands and feet throbbing with pain. Miguel stopped at the foot of the stairs and lifted Danny off his shoulder. He then pinned him to the banister as he took the bar and stuck it behind the main pole of the banister. Miguel grabbed the bar at both ends and with a strength Danny couldn’t help but watch with awe he began to bend the ends of the steel rod together, wrapping it around Danny and the banister like piece of solid metal rope. Danny would have protested more about being restrained if his mouth hadn’t been hanging open with amazement over Miguel’s strength. Miguel just gave him a cocky smile and said, “Wow! You really are just shocked, aren’t you? And I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” Danny was filled with dread upon hearing those words. Miguel then closed his eyes and began concentrating. For about ten to fifteen seconds nothing happened, confusing Danny. But then the veins started to appear. It was subtle at first, just looking like his heart had started beating a little harder but then new ones began branching from the ones already visible. As Danny watched them expand with blood he then noticed something else expanding. Miguel’s shirt, which was already near the limit, began to audibly groan under the pressure of his growing chest. The gaps between the buttons began to show his tan flesh till the top button popped off and hit Danny on the cheek. The opening revealed an even larger network of veins spreading and branching on his chest. It was if his body was creating conduits to feed the growth of his muscle. Shortly after the first one broke the second button followed. Then a third and a fourth until the entire front of his torso had been exposed, his blood pumping everywhere to supply his ever growing mass. The seams around his arms started to stretch, then tear as his veins began to gorge his biceps to inhuman peaks that were sharp and pointed. He moved into a double bicep pose and exploded out the sleeves like a cocoon. Miguel seemed to grow impatient with his clothes and began rip the rest of his shirt off, freeing his torso from its restriction. His upper body was a sight to behold; especially his ever tightening stomach, growing muscles in his abs and obliques Danny didn’t even know existed before. By this time his pants had already began to split showing off the teardrops in his thighs. Deeming them also too restricting he forced them apart as well showing the redwoods he was growing down there. All Miguel had left now was a pair of light red posers. Danny noticed the veins in his body began to recede some and the growth slow down. He thought the transformation was coming to a close. He was wrong. Just above the top of the posers the purple head of his steel hard cock began to poke out. The veins that had covered his body were now furiously growing thick all over his cock. Even the part covered by the posers were showing visible veins running through out, including his sack. And just like his other muscles, this one began to expand. The head flared up and out, slowly creeping up to the bottom of his pecs until the head was nestled in his cleavage causing them to involuntarily bounce and flex around it. Then it grew wider until it obscured half of his abs on both sides. Finally his balls inflated to the size of grapefruits till the skin of the scrotum hung out the sides of the pouch. With a swift snap he destroyed his last piece of clothing letting his monstrous nuts hang halfway down his thighs. Over by the banister a clanking noise could be heard. It was Danny, shaking uncontrollably. He was unable calm down after Miguel’s amazing display of power. Miguel just gave him an even wider cocky grin and leaned in next to his ear and said, “That wasn’t even the good part either.” The clanking grew louder. He strode over to the pizza carrying case he had dropped on the floor and pulled out what seemed to be a label less bottle of water, except the contents were pink and slightly opaque. With his thick hand he unscrewed the top and walked over to Danny. He grabbed his chin and mouth forcing them open. Danny tried to struggle, but only half-heartedly since he know that it was useless to do so. Miguel then forced the contents down his throat until every last drop was consumed. Danny began to cough and gag after taking down the harsh liquid. “Son of a bitch! What was that for?” Miguel just smiled and said, “So we can get to the good part.” At first Danny didn’t feel anything, except the burning sensation from the acrid drink. Soon though, he began to feel his heartbeat begin to get faster and faster, harder and harder until it felt like his heart could pump all the water from a swimming pool in minutes. Looking down he could see veins pumping underneath his shirt and he could feel his muscles tighten and expand. “What the fuck are you doing to me?!” he yelled. Miguel just looked at Danny with contempt and slapped his massive paw over his mouth to shut him up. “Listen, Old Man! You called me here with no money to pay me, so now you have to get some to pay off your debt. But you’ll never do it with that pathetic body.” “No! I don’t want to be a freak like you! I don’t want… to look like…I don’t want…I don-…I….” Danny’s anger began to dissipate as his mind clouded and began to focus on how the changes he was going through were making him feel. He was acutely aware now of how his body growing more dense and hard. From his skin, through his muscle and down into his bones he could feel them being rebuilt into stronger and more durable versions. The throbbing veins became even more prominent under his shirt, even spreading over his hands, feeding the changes. His former flab had long ago disappeared, replaced with rock hard sinew. As he felt his body become as solid and hard as rock his heartbeat kicked into and even higher gear and that was when the growth began in earnest. Danny feared that expanding into the twisted metal that encircled him would hurt but whatever Miguel had given him had already made his muscle too strong to yield to something like steel. His growing body slowly but surely caused the bar to expand out since it was no longer a match for his power. Soon after Danny’s clothes began to succumb to his growth as well. First the buttons on his shirt popped off one by one to expose his vein covered chest. Then seams around his shoulders gave way to his engorged delts and traps. The bar had been opened up enough for him to stretch out his arms uncoiling it enough so that it fell down to the floor, passing his legs as they stretched apart the seams of his pants. The rest of his clothes succumbed soon after, at this point just exploding into shreds from the rapidly increasing expansion of his muscles. Once everything but his boxer fluttered to the ground and the veins began to recede, all that was left behind was a blond, hairy chested behemoth. But like what happened with Miguel before, all those veins immediately shot to Danny’s cock, causing its rapid hardening and growth as it tore apart the boxers and destroyed the last piece of his clothing. The head stopped halfway up his stomach, not nearly as big as Miguel’s but still much thicker and longer than any normal man’s piece. When the growth finally stopped the feeling clouding his mind began to slightly recede slightly and a small seed of the anger he was feeling began to return. Through the feelings of strength, power, and pleasure, Danny’s rage began to push though. He picked up the mangled weight bar and through the haze began to make his way towards Miguel, intending to hit him with it using his new found strength. Miguel, though, didn’t look worried at all. He just stood there with a cocky grin. When Danny got close he reached back his thick, rippling arm, but before he could take the swing his arm stopped. He just stared at Miguel, taking in his enormous ripped and hairless torso, the patch of fur above the root of his cock the only exception. Every muscle twitched with thick corded muscle, still even bigger than his own. Danny felt his will falter and his arm began to shake. Miguel just walked over and grabbed the bar in one on his hands, squeezing it so the metal deformed like clay. “You don’t want to do that, do you?” Miguel said softly. Danny’s resistance quickly draining he let go of the bar and let Miguel casually throw it to the side. He then put his other hand behind Danny’s head and pulled him close. Their monster cocks pressed up against each other’s bodies and their lips almost touching he whispered, “What do you want to do?” At that moment Danny finally surrendered to the fact that however angry he was before and however straight he thought himself, he only wanted one thing. To please him. He closed the small distance that was left between the two of them and pressed his lips against him, then opening his mouth so he could let his tongue in for the most passionate kiss he has ever received. Caught up in the throes of passion Danny leaped up and wrapped his legs around Miguel’s waist, squeezing their throbbing manhoods even harder together causing untold pleasure for both of them. Miguel, also caught up in the passion, decided to slam Danny up against the wall, but severely underestimated his own strength and plowed straight through it causing them to crash down and roll through the kitchen, demolishing several cabinets along the way. They stopped with Miguel on the floor in front of the fridge and Danny straddling him on top. Danny once again attacked Miguel’s mouth while feeling every bulge and contour of his muscular frame while Miguel returned in kind. After another few minutes of intense making out Danny separated and looked upon his unexpected lover’s giant dick and realized that he had an urge, no, an absolute need to have it up his ass right now. “Fuck me!” he yelled. “Fuck me hard!” Miguel just smiled another arrogant smile and grabbed Danny’s by the hips proceeded to easily lift him up as far as he could until he was hovering right above his massive fuck pole. He lowered him down slowly until his plump head was knocking at his back door and then slowly but steadily plunged Danny down his shaft until he buried it to the base. The whole time going down the shaft he screamed with pleasure and delight, completely unbelieving how right Miguel’s cock felt up his ass. It was like he was made to fit him. For what felt like hours to Danny he proceeded to ride Miguel, going up and down his dick, all the while continuing to kiss and feel each other up the whole time. Finally, with Miguel on the floor and Danny riding him cowboy style they both reached the edge. As their climaxes hit each of them began to spew quarts of jizz. Danny was shooting wildly in the air and in the intensity of the moment grabbed a cast iron skillet that landed next to him in the debris of the kitchen and squeezed it in his left hand so that it crumpled like tin foil. Miguel meanwhile had his hands braced on the fridge and when his orgasm hit he pushed, first denting the front door of the stainless steel appliance and then shoving it thought the wall completely into the dining room, causing even more destruction in there. After basking in the afterglow for a few moments, Danny slid himself off of Miguel and offered him a hand up. Standing in the middle of the ruined kitchen and covered in cum he surveyed the damage. A small part of him felt that he should care that his house was ruined. “I should probably clean this up.” He said. Miguel chimed in, “Do you really care?” Danny thought about it and realized he really didn’t. “No, I guess not.” It was like he had just woken up from a dream and the life he lived before, this house and his job, was just a hazy memory. “Besides, as an employee of MW’s Pizza your shelter is provided by the company now.” “Employee?” “Yeah, how else do you think you are going to work you debt off?” “How long could it take to make up $3000?” Miguel smiled that cocky smile of his again. “Oh, you’ll be working off a lot more than $3000. I mean, between the tip you owe me, the interest you will incur, the expenses you will owe us for your room and board, training, food, uniforms… Well let’s just say you will be working for us for a very, very long time. Any problems with that?” Again Danny felt that feeling again of just having woken from a dream. Looking down at his new magnificent body and remembering the mind blowing sensation of the sex he just had with Miguel he realized that this was a lifestyle he could get used to. “No. It’s no problem at all.” Now it was his turn to smile. “Good. Now shrink yourself down. I can’t fit two people this size in the car.” And with that he began to shrink down to his original size. Still beefy much more in the realm of ‘fitness model’ instead of ‘unholy mass monster’. His cock also began shrink and go soft, going back down to a smaller but still pretty impressive soft 6 inches. “How do I do it?” “Just visualize it and it will happen.” Danny closed his eyes and imagined himself compacting down to a smaller size. He could feel himself recede until he was as big as Miguel. When he opened them again and looked down he saw a still muscular but much more manageable frame with a nice thick coat of blond fur. “Alright.” Miguel said. “Time to get back to HQ and introduce you to the crew.” While Danny was concentrating on shrinking himself he took the opportunity to grab a spare uniform he apparently brought with him in his bag. “Sorry, I only have the one. But I am guessing that you don’t really mind being naked in public now.” “Can’t say that I do.” In fact Danny felt he would really enjoy flaunting himself now. Miguel chuckled “Still, let’s not attract any more attention than we have to. The noise we made was probably bad enough. As you can imagine we aren’t running a strictly legitimate business here so we want to keep as low of a profile as possible, so let’s get into car quickly.” Danny did as he was told despite wanting to feel the cool night air on his naked skin. He wondered what he was going to do while there were driving around with him naked, but saw the car had mirrored windows. Even the MW’s logo inconspicuous on the driver’s side of the door. “Like, I said low profile.” They both hopped into the car and headed off to where ever MW’s was located. Danny began squirming in his seat. Something felt…off. “What’s a matter?” Miguel asked. “I don’t know. I just feel, I don’t know, empty.” He smirked and said “I think I know what will help.” He reached and slid his hand under Danny’s ass and stuck one, then two, then three fingers up his chute, expertly manipulating his prostate. He could feel Miguel grow his fingers thicker and longer in order to fill him up more. Danny moaned deeply. “Oh good! Looks like we got a hairy muscle bottom bitch boy. We needed something like that on the menu. Too bad though. It looks like that big, beautiful cock you grew is kind of a waste.” Miguel continued to finger him until he was on the brink of orgasm. “Grow that cock of yours till it fits in your mouth. Can’t have you blocking my windshield with your spunk.” Danny did as he was asked and willed his cock bigger until he could bend over and stick the head into his mouth. As soon as his lips surrounded it he shot another massive load. His new found skills allowed him to take most of it down, though some of it leaked down his chin. After he was done firing Miguel removed his fingers, used them to scoop up some of the cum that was dribbling down his chin and stuck it into his own mouth to taste. “Mmmmm, bitch boy! That is some tasty cum. And I guess that huge prick of yours is not as much of a waste as I thought.” “Bitch boy, is that what that stuff makes you?” Danny didn’t care. It actually felt right, but he was just asking out of curiosity. “It’s different for everyone.” He said. “That’s what I mean when I say ‘menu’. We started out with a few hypermuscular alpha tops, like yours truly, but as we get more recruits we find that they come with different talents and attributes. The only constant is muscle. Soon we will have something for everyone.” They eventually arrived in an old industrial district. It was mostly abandoned warehouses out there. Sitting at a corner was a small non-descript brick building with a neon sign in the window saying MW’s Pizza. “This is HQ?” Danny said “Remember, low profile. Besides there is a lot more to it than meets the eye.” Miguel parked the car in the small parking lot and they both got out and headed inside through the back door. When Danny stepped in he was surprised to see a familiar face. Though he now had a thickly muscled frame covered in a skin tight MW’s uniform he instantly recognized the full brown beard and clean shaven head of Craig from work. “Danny! My man! Glad you could join the team.” Craig walked over to him and planted a deep, sloppy kiss on him. “So this is where you went to. I take it you were recruited, too.” “Yeah, I kept on ordering ‘pizza’ from them almost every night. When I ran out of money to pay, Miguel and I came to an…arraignment. Been here ever since to pay off my debt.” The two of them continued to play around with each other when Miguel interjected. “Hey Craig, why don’t you take Danny down to the dorms and get him settled.” “Can do.” They continued rub up against and fondle each other as Craig took them down stairs. Soon after a phone rang and Miguel picked it up. “Hello?....Hey Boss!” “Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah the new formula works great. Makes the new guys easier to transition in. Makes their old lives seem like a dream. They hardly question it at all.” “Uh huh. New client?....Really? He ordered that. Just so happens I recruited a new guy a few days ago that would fit that request nicely. I’ll send him right away…….. Okay, talk to later Boss.” And then he hung up.
  21. The Teaser for this story is found here: 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. 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, Albania or Ukraine would have been unable to participate, and Switzerland, the Republic of Ireland 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 2019. 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:–-chapter-two/