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  1. Scott had been born with a special gift... a gift that laid dormant in his body until activated by the right person. Scott had always had sensitive nipples, and loved having them rubbed. Nipple play got him so hard! However, he didn’t realize that this nipple stimulation (when done correctly) would unleash a power inside him he didn’t know was there. Jacob was aware of Scott’s special gift... Jacob was a Macrophile...he was obsessed with giants and finding those capable of becoming giants. He’d found a few in his past, but none with the potential that he sensed in Scott. Jacob spotted Scott’s energy in a club the night before. He flirted with him and invited Scott back to his place for the night. Scott was looking forward to their evening of passionate sex. One thing lead to another, Scott and Jacob were both naked passionately fucking. Scott had never felt so good in his LIFE! It was like Jacob knew ALL the spots that turned him on! Especially his nipples! Jacob had what seemed like a fixation on Scott’s nipples. Little did Scott know... Jacob was activating Scott’s inner potential. “Oh FUCK!” yelled Scott, “How are you doing that so well??”.... Scott was hard as rock, dripping pre cum from the constant nipple play. Scott was in heaven. The sense of ecstasy started to evolve within him.... he looked down at Jacob’s eyes, they were fierce and determined... like he had some alterior motive in mind. Scott felt his cock pulse and pulse like normal until ..”STRETCH”... one pulse pushed his cock to a new length. Then again “Stetch” the pulsing sensation added a full inch onto his previously 8″ cock! “What are you doing to me!?” Scott exclaimed.... “my cock is... fuck, is it GROWING?”.... Jacob continued working Scott’s nipples ravenously. Scott’s Cock grew from 8 to 9 to 12 inches in a matter of moments. It felt AMAZING. He couldn’t believe his eyes! He then felt a stirring sensation in his feet, his size 13 feet were STRETCHING!! He felt them stretch across the fabric! They must have been size 15′s! Then it hit his calves and thighs.... his leg muscles pulsing and tensing, growing and shaking. The sensation was unstoppable. He felt his lower body grow out of his control... he knew Jason was doing it, but he didn't know how! Scott Moaned “FUUUUCCKKK!!”.... “How are you making me so....” *his sentence was interrupted by a burp, and suddenly his voice deepened about one octave* “BIG???” “Oh God!! Don’t STOP!!!” He bellowed. (Jacob had no intentions to do so! ) Soon Scott’s upper body began taking on its new form. Each muscle expanding and growing... larger, larger... and LARGER. His entire body was sweating from the transformation. His nipples seemed to be enlarging as well, like they’d been pumped or something. They were poking out, they were HUGE! Scott sat up in astonishment. He felt his frame expand... he was getting taller, wider, BIGGER! By the minute!! Jacob was latched onto his erect nipples. *CRASH* The furniture snapped below Scott’s crushing weight!! He laid on the floor, growing, stretching, filling Jacobs apartment! Scott no longer fit on the floor so he sat up in the crouched position, his head smashed into the ceiling ... books falling from shelves, ground shaking all around them. Jacob fell to the floor and looked up at the giant he had unleashed. Scott stopped growing for a moment ... looked down at Jacob, smiled and said “we’re not even close to done!!” Scott lifted Jacobs little body up to his nipples, rubbing Jacobs body all over his erect nipples... Jacob’s cum oozing all over... making his nipple erections wet. Scott had never felt such POWER! The stimulation of Jacobs body on his nipples caused a HUGE surge of growth! The building collapsed around them, Scott towered over the apartment complex. Smashing the building with his giant feet. He held Jacob in his hand... he soon was as tall as the skyscrapers. His body kept growing taller and taller, his nipples filling with more and more fluid. Becoming so huge, they looked like satellite dishes!! Jacob looked up with a smile... “this is what I always dreamed would happen”. Scott growled as his body continued to surge with GROWTH! Veins popping out EVERYWHERE! His cock as long as 2 city buses! His nipples needed to be milked! He squeezed his right pec, a clear cum like fluid oozed out all over the town below. A crowd of onlookers mindlessly licking it up... he kept milking himself, towering over the city! Soaking the onlookers with his milk. They craved it... it sustained them! Those who’d been drinking the milk would soon transform into beats themselves. Jacob begged Scott... “feed me, MASTER! FEEEED MEE!” Scott lifted Jacob up to his chest... Jacob expected to suck Scott’s nipples with his mouth. Instead , Scott turned Jacobs little body around and pushed Jacobs tight ass hole over his erect nipple .... fucking his little hole and pumping him full of milk. His nipple tips were bigger than any cock Jacob had ever taken... Jacob had no idea Scott would be feeding him THAT way! He was pleasantly surprised. Being fucked this way felt incredible.... But it’s not like he had a choice ! Scott was the god who did whatever he wanted. Because Jacob had been injected analy, his growth was almost instant. Moaning “FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK MEEEEEE” as he grew to Scott’s size. The two giants worshiped each other... rolling over city streets and buildings. They were insatiable. They were alpha beasts. They were unstoppable. They’re enormous cocks dripping cum! Their nipples as as big as silos. They were obsessed with each other’s new bodies... The little people on the streets all BEGGING to be fed by their GODS! Jacob and Scott looking down... laughing... .....as if they were going to let anyone get as big as they were.
  2. This is my first story. It's going to have bite sized chapters and very regular updates (most likely daily). This is a m/m superhero romance. The first two chapters are mostly set up, but after that every chapter has plenty of sexy muscle and feats of strength, so please stick with it! Chapter 1 It began as all the best love stories do: with terrorism. The 24th of March 2013 is much like any other day. Hugo Chavez recently died, triggering what would go on to become an economic crisis in Venezuela, the UN security council has just slammed North Korea with harsh new sanctions, Justin Timberlake is topping the charts with ‘Mirrors’, protestors are waving signs outside Parliament, protesting about something, pigeons are shitting, rain is pouring, and I'm on my way to work. The newly opened Shard is difficult to miss. It towers over London’s skyline, jutting into the clouds like the lair of a comic book villain. I make my way inside, flashing my ID as I go. ‘Jake Langley’, it says in large capital letters, along with an employee number and my date of birth. I only show it as a courtesy - the security guards have all memorised my face by now. I sometimes wonder what they think of me. Am I ‘that cute, fresh faced little pastry chef with the dimples’ or do they just see me as a child straight out of college, coasting by on boyish looks, with no clue what he’s doing? I’d like to think it was the former. I’d like to. But I don’t. I wish I was the kind of guy who had the guts to ask. The kind who knows he's good enough, who knows he's not going to be rejected or shut down. But even if I wasn't gay, I will never be that kind of guy. It's not in my nature. I'm not assertive or domineering. I smile, wave, and make pastry. That's my nature. I slip by in this hyper masculine world by being too small for anyone to see as a threat. And for the most part, it works. The kitchens still shine like the day they were installed, which wasn't that long ago. Most kitchens are crowded, starkly lit places where you can barely move an inch without bumping into someone or knocking something over, but not this one. Natural light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, treating us to a view of London that millions of people would kill for. But I'm not here for the views. Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I'm here to do my job. I find my little corner and start preparing for the day’s guests. It's a Sunday, so we're expecting a lot of traffic. There isn’t an overpaid banker in London who doesn’t salivate over the idea of lunch at the Shard. Russian oligarchs, Saudi oil barons, British royalty, Colombian drug lords - we serve them all. I don’t care who they are or what they do. It's none of my business. It sounds like a simple, boring job - making pastry. You’d be surprised at how much there is to it. There’s a reason they have pastry chefs – this is a difficult thing to get right. It's always come easily to me. I find something calming about rolling out a sheet of puff, spreading on the butter, folding it over, and rolling it out again. There's a rhythm to it. My movements soon become mechanical and I can feel myself floating away into a distant world where I'm someone interesting, somewhere interesting, doing something interesting. The kitchen hums around me as the first orders come in. Pans clink, hobs fizzle, water gurgles as it boils. I can barely hear the orders being barked over it all. But I'm not really paying attention. Boom. I can feel a wave of pressure pass through my feet, up to my head, and down again. Everything is shaking; the walls, the floor, the windows. Pots rattle above my head on their hooks. I turn to see the kitchen staff frozen, eyeing one another with pointed glares. I don't think I've ever seen this room so quiet. “What was that?” I hear one of them whisper, his voice carrying clear across the room. No one answers. Was it an earthquake? It couldn’t be. Earthquakes aren’t instantaneous, they're gradual. Then it comes again, much louder. BOOM. I don’t know if it's the ringing in my ears or the shaking beneath my feat, but I'm suddenly hunched over a table, flour covering my hands, gasping for breath. I don't know how long I spend there, trying to comprehend what's going on. It must be a minute or two, at least. My daze is broken as an alarm whirrs into life, high pitched and screaming. Red lights flash. All at once, the shock turns to chaos. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. They're coming faster now, from all over the building. I can feel them in my bones. While others run for the doors, I huddled under my table. What the hell is going on? My eyes drift to the windows, where black smoke is billowing up past our floor, carrying dust and paper. Fuck. I watched 9/11 unfold on live TV and I was here when they locked down London during the 7/7 attacks. It's impossible to ignore the reality of what's going on. This is a terrorist attack. I can see dark shapes floating past outside, just beyond the smoke. Choppers. News choppers. When I had dreamed of appearing on TV, I was thinking more along the lines of Deal or No Deal, not this. Anything but this. I'm now alone in the kitchen. I don't know when that happened. I presume everyone else has fled. My gaze flickers to the open door as I try to decide what to do. Maybe if I run now, I could get out before the building collapses. Or maybe the lower floors are experiencing the worst of it, and I'm best waiting up here while the blaze is brought under control. Is there anything here I could turn into a parachute? No, I scold myself. That’s pointless and stupid. I’d never break through those windows anyway. Turning on my phone, I check the BBC. The first result is a live video of the Shard, burning in a dozen places. The news anchors are speaking but I can’t hear a word of it. I watch the screen in horror as the fire begins to creep outward from the explosion sites. One of them is pretty close to this kitchen. Placing my hands on the ground, I feel warmth. There’s a rumbling sensation. Something is crackling not far from our door. As fast as I can, I slam it shut, backing away with a hiss as the handle burns my skin, leaving it red and blotchy. Now there’s smoke trickling in through the vents and the air is getting hazy. Pulling a wet cloth over my mouth, I run around the kitchen and turn on all the taps and block all the drains. They overflow one by one, spilling out onto the floor until there’s a pool of water an inch deep. This won’t save me, but it might slow the spread. It’s getting seriously hot in here. I clutch my burned hands around the wet cloth, which eases the pain, but nothing can stop the coughing fits. There’s soot clogging my lungs and in my eyes, causing them to water uncontrollably. The air is so thick now that I can barely see from one end of the room to the other. My only sign that the door has buckled is the red tongues of flame licking at the ceiling. At the same time, I’m hit by a wave of heat so overwhelming that my only option is to curl up on the floor and cover my face as I feel the skin of my back start to blister. Then something astonishing happens. Something so unusual that I wonder if I’m hallucinating. There's a silhouette visible through the smoke. A man. He's enormous, and seems completely unphased by the fire caressing every inch of his body. His eyes find me on the floor, and a look of relief flits across his face. I blink, and he’s suddenly leaning over me. How did he move so fast? I open my mouth to ask, but only a ragged cough comes out. Two huge arms gently scoop me up. I press my face into his chest to escape the heat. Somehow even in the middle of a burning skyscraper, his touch makes me feel safe. Protected. Isn’t that strange? I hear the sound of shattering glass, feel a rush of cold air on my neck. The arms wrap more tightly around me. The lurching in my stomach tells me we’re moving, and I try to look around, but one hand on the back of my head keeps me locked to his chest. As the adrenaline fades, my body starts to scream in pain. I’ve never felt such agony. It’s only a matter of time before blackness is creeping into my vision, clouding my mind. And then I’m gone.
  3. This chapter is quite long. I started it and kinda found myself back in the zone. It's quite a hot chapter, with lots of muscles, buttons straining, flexing, and humiliation. Enjoy, and comment if you can. Comments really drive me to write more. I'd also welcome any suggestions you may have that will improve my skills as a muscle-growth writer. Parts 1-4 HERE Part 5 HERE Part Six: Waiter Serviced Half an hour passed since they’d ordered from the menus, and by this time Brett’s stomach could be heard growling from every corner of the capacious restaurant. Raj continued to ‘enjoy’ the date, but in actual fact it was the wine that dulled his inhibitions and ability to be mad at his boyfriend for not only showing up late, but making himself the centre of attention, when, really, he should have only had eyes for Raj and not his own reflection. Brett insisted the Maitre d’ bring him a free-standing full-length mirror so he could admire and flex his muscles during dinner. The manager could only comply to the muscle-god’s demands, and went to organise one to be fetched from the hotel across the road. Brett couldn’t help being the cocky self-centered egotist that he was. He grew restless from hunger and actually accepted offerings from the plates of the other guests, who were so taken by him, that they’d do anything to get to talk to him and have him acknowledge their existence. “Service is terrible here. I’m going to buy this place outright, sack all of the staff, fuck the man-holes out of them, then hire better, more efficient staff, who I’ll then fuck and have worship every inch of my god-bod. Then I’ll hire back the old staff and make them beg to worship my muscles; of course, I’ll deny them the privilege. They can just look but not touch, heh heh.” Brett tended to speak with a thunderously determined and cocky tone, so showing affection and tenderness to Raj came across as a little strained. The wine made Raj easy-going and compliant. The hangover, later, might tip these particular scales somewhat unevenly. “So I have to share you with the rest of the world’s male population?” Raj half-giggled out the inquiry. At which point the two bodybuilders who’d kept him entertained during his first hour at The Pulled Plum, came to the table bearing gifts. “Thank you for making us your bodybuilder bitches at the gym, the other day,” the first one said, offering a half-eaten plate of paella to the muscle-god. His hard-on tented out his chinos, and there was even a precum stain to show for it. His muscled partner also sported a trouser tent, and he had a plate of linguini to help sate the massive bodybuilder. Seated on the raised table area, Brett looked like a judgmental giant looming over them, as if to pass judgment on their misdeeds and smite them with thunderbolts. Instead he smiled, flexed a massive bicep, before accepting the food from the subordinates. “There’s more huge bicep flexes where that came from, you guys. But only if I feel like it. My muscles flexing will make me come shitloads, and I’m not spraying all and sundry with my incredible spunk and tit-milk to make them huge whenever they request it. I call the fucking shots when it comes to muscle-growth,” said Brett, the underlying growl in his throat sounding somewhat threatening. Then he said: “Now start whacking off right here so I can wash down this tasty paella with your spunk. I have a feeling there’s not enough protein in the grub.” The bodybuilders were only too happy to oblige. While this went on, a somewhat more sober-than-before Raj got up to use the restroom. Whilst alone and out of sight he made a call to his boss. “Ah, I was wondering when you’d call, Raj. I’ve been analysing your latest batch of notes you sent me. It makes for interesting reading.” Dr. Weiss sounded tired on the phone. It wasn’t that late, but Raj apologised for disturbing him. “Think nothing of it, lad. We’re never really off the clock, you and I. What is your opinion of Hillard’s behavioural changes?” “You’re… asking for… my opinion?” Raj couldn’t believe his ears. It was almost flattering. “Of course, I expect you to one day step into my shoes, Raj. I value you as an assistant, and as a person of good grace and virtue. So, do you think the serum has amplified Hillard’s emotional output as well as his ability to grow his body to insanely muscular proportions?” “I would say yes, Doctor. If he was arrogant and self-obsessed before the experiment, he really believes he is the centre of the universe now. He fears nothing and no one, and exploits others in horrendously demeaning ways. But people are too obsessed with him to care. I’m also obsessed with him, and can’t fault his behaviour in any way. I want him all to myself, and yet I seem okay with sharing him with the world. I can’t imagine what the future holds, if I’ll still have a place in his life. He brought me roses, although he was an hour late. This kind of stuff doesn’t resonate with him. But I’m no romantic relationship expert. I’m pretty new to all of this.” A short pause to take things in. Then: “Yes, well once we iron out the kinks in the formula and correct the anomalies, you and I can then partake of the serum and make ourselves huge. For me this will cure my muscle-wasting condition, and, well, I’ll make you huge just to say thanks for all of your help with everything.” “I don’t know what to say, Doctor Weiss. I don’t deserve an employer like you,” said Raj, almost filling up with less than manly tears. He was such a softie, which annoyed him a lot of the time. “We need to curb Hillard’s ability to produce that ‘milk’ from his pec breasts. Combined with his semen and testosterone, it’s turned into an unpredictable growth agent which can temporarily transform others into massive muscle-men. What you sent me last night from your phone — the incident between Hillard and that muscled lad he took in — totally chilling. But even more disturbing is that one of my scouts who I sent out combing the city for Hillard’s emissions found a sample in a park that is of particular concern.” Weiss paused to allow Raj to process his words. “What about it?” “You said that when Hillard ejaculated from his balcony he screamed that he was a god, yes?” “It’s all in my notes, yes,” Raj confirmed, worriedly. He didn’t like where this was going. “Yes well, according to your observations he produced many liters of semen at that point, far more than you observed during later experiences with him. I think at that moment in time, he temporarily became ‘immortal’ if you will. It’s only a theory, but if someone in that park ingested his fluid in such a concentration, then he may have the ability to grow his muscles permanently. Later, when the Declan boy outgrew him in the penthouse, the effects were temporary. He returned to his regular bodybuilder size. I’ll need a fresh sample of Hillard’s semen from you so I can run a comparison analysis with the sample found in the park. We may have another muscle-god out there who possesses no limits whatsoever to how big he can grow.” Weiss went quiet on his end. “I’ll get that for you as soon as I can, Doctor. I’d better get back to Brett, although, with the way things are going on our date, I doubt he’ll even realise I was gone,” said Raj. He was almost completely sober again. He’d have to have more wine, maybe another couple of glasses before calling it quits. Back at their table: The bodybuilder man-bitches had returned to their table, depleted of jizz and completely in awe of Brett. The smell of jizz hung heavily in the air, masking somewhat the various aromas wafting from the kitchen and from plates of delicious food carried unwaveringly by skinny waiters scurrying to and fro as they carried out their labours. Raj’s pasta was waiting for him when he returned to his seat. Across the table, the massive muscle beast had been served a dozen pizzas stacked up like pancakes before him. He was dabbing spunk from his lips with a napkin as Raj re-seated himself. “Sorry about that, hon. After the bodybuilder man-bitches spunked into my mouth, everyone else in the restaurant wanted to do the same,” Brett explained. Raj’s eyes floated cursorily around the dining room. Sure enough the rest of the guests were leaning back in their chairs, either patting their bellies with satisfaction, or pushing their junk back into their pants. “You sucked them all off while I was in the bathroom? I was only gone five minutes.” “That’s all it took, baby. So much jizz inside me now. I can only imagine what it’ll do when I incorporate it into my other miraculous fluids. But now let us eat.” Brett began to tear into the pizza stack. Raj forked up his pasta carefully and with gracious finesse. He happily partook of more wine. “How can you eat so fast with those juggernaut pecs in the way?” Raj added some parmesan and chilli flakes to his meal. “Yeah, my pulsating pectorals can be a little intrusive. But I’ll manage,” said Brett, wolfing through the first pizza like it was bite-sized. “You’ll get cheese and sauce all over your shirt, Brett,” Raj pointed out. “Well now, here’s the thing. House of Trione clothes are made to the highest standard. Fortunato designs for bodybuilders, the bigger the better. He knows that us big-chested guys may have trouble with food debris landing on our upper chests and not our plates. So he made the fabric resistant to staining. Anything that goes on it, can easily be dabbed off.” And as if to illustrate his point, Brett had a clumsy moment. Some cheese and sauce broke off the piece of pizza he chewed noisily, and splashed onto his white shirt, just at the spot where his upper left pec striated off from the lower part. Both portions of pectoral muscle were separated by a deep trench that seemed etched into the shirt itself. It was as though his muscles were pulling the shirt inwards through their striations, making it tighter and tighter with every flex. “Oops. Clumsy me. I guess I’ll have to take it off now, and eat completely shirtless. That way, any food I drop onto my enormous pecs will have to get licked off by my boyfriend.” “No don’t. You’ll have all the diners jizzing themselves again, not to mention the waiters and kitchen staff. No wonder our food was late,” Raj protested. “Ah, but watch this,” said Brett, and then with an authoritative bark: “Someone bring me some fucking club soda….pronto!!!” Several diners shot over to his table, each carrying a glass of soda water. He chose the first one to the table, a cute hipster guy with a manscaped beard and bun in his hair. He wasn’t buff, but toned and fit-looking. He’d make a pretty decent bodybuilder if he lifted weights. “Pour some of that on my shirt stain, cute stuff,” Brett ordered. The hipster didn’t need to be told twice. A wet patch appeared, which began to dilute the pizza stain. Brett then took a napkin in hand and tried to bring it close enough to his upper pec to dab off the stain. But his pec collided with his bicep and both flexed hugely, leaving no room whatsoever for Brett to get the napkin to where it needed to be. “Aw fuck… I’m so huge I can’t even touch my own pecs. Look at the fucking size of me.” Hipster guy groaned with arousal when he witnessed Brett’s upper body muscles bulging beyond belief. Raj decided to step in. “Here, let me do it.” He came over to Brett’s side of the table and took over napkin duty. Sure enough the stain came off easily, leaving clean, crisp whiteness in a shirt that was getting tighter and tighter as the evening advanced. The gaps between the buttons widened as Brett’s chest pumped larger than before. The buttons held, but for how long could they take the strain? “Say Raj, want to see more wet patches appear on my shirt… like… around the nipple areas?” Brett formed a cocky but mischievous grin. Raj’s erection sprung rigid inside his pants. Wine was once again making him heady. He was under Brett’s spell again. He thanked hipster guy by planting a kiss on his face enough to bring the bloke to complete orgasm. Then Brett ripped his hipster trousers off and sucked the spunk right out of his hipster shorts. Depleted but no less worn of ego, the hipster picked up his tattered trousers, rolled them into a ball, and sheepishly returned to his table. “I’m concentrating growth solely to my nips, Raj. Watch them bulge and sodden my shirt with muscle-milk.” Brett looked proudly down at himself and concentrated. It took little metamorphic effort to grow his nipples to enormous, but still very masculine, extremes. “That’s so… hot, Brett. You’re amazing,” gasped Raj, who was now fiddling with his flies beneath the table. Brett made straining noises through his nose and throat; it was so manly of him to do so. This helped his nips to grow and bulge and issue their elixir. Sure enough, dark, wet circles began to absorb into the shirt material. Brett flexed his neck and traps simply by grinning cheesily, but smiling alone was enough to blow up every muscle he had above the pectoral plateau which was now about to be claimed by its own personal bodybuilder’s rising sea level. The milk issue seeped further, expanding to completely drench the front of the shirt. Some of the milk squirted out from between the gaps in the shirt buttons. “I can make a fucking tsunami of tit-milk if I want. Fuck... this is amazing to be so powerful,” he laughed, throwing his head back to issue a guttural laugh that would make a drunk Klingon sound prepubescent. The other diners licked their lips hungrily as the scent of the sexual fluid from the biggest muscle-tits they’d ever seen reached their nostrils. The shirt clung more tightly to Brett’s body as it became wetter and wetter. Raj was so horny, but the wine in his system was helping to keep his boner from reaching ‘full mast’. “Brett, come on… there’s plenty of time for this sort of thing later. Tonight is supposed to be about you and me; especially you making it up to me for last night,” remonstrated Raj. He didn’t really mind what Brett got up to; it was all in the interest of science, after all. Brett stopped issuing tit-milk. His shirt now looked like wet tissue paper next to his beautiful skin. He thought about it for a moment. Then: “Yeah, you’re right. I’m such a pretentious prick at times. Let me go to the restroom to clean up. I won’t be long.” He rose from the chair, looking like a massive iceberg, and gazed smugly around the dining room. “This is for all you bitches and muscle-bitch wannabes… to remember me while I go clean up!” That said he fanned out his upper body into a come-inducing massive spread of lats, arms, and chest. He heaved out mass like never before, groaning and grunting and yelling as if expletives alone were enough to coax yet more massive growth from his already enormous muscle-bod. “I’m FUCKING H U U U U G E!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!” He exploded with size and power. His neck strained thickly and burst the bowtie from around it. It shot off somewhere, followed by a button. There was sound of something hard striking a wine glass. Another sound was the bowtie splashing into a bowl of consommé. The second button down on the shirt front popped off like a bullet. More chest was revealed. Veins popped out all over his body, clearly visible through the wet mesh shirt. “Look at the size of me. Look at my muscles. Get out your cocks and start pulling them off at the sight of this MAN GOD!!!!” Moans and groans reverberated throughout the dining room. All cooking halted in the kitchen as the staff rushed out to get a better look at Brett Hillard. “Don’t grow too much, Brett. I don’t want to look like a little kid dancing next to you in the nite-club afterward,” warned Raj. He’d gone through a whole bottle of wine. He sent an incomprehensible text to Dr. Weiss, who returned it with a simple “???” “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll explode out of the shirt later on. Gotta clean up now though,” Brett resolved, and with a massive boner of his own projecting out of his painted-on pants, he muscle-waddled to the restroom and had to both stoop and turn sideways to get through the door. He loved squeezing through doorways. It gave him an idea for later, especially if that asshole ex-Marine Chase Carmody was doing security at the door of the nite-club called “Fiesta”, the most exclusive gay nite-club in town. In the restroom: Brett became lost to more muscle posing as he caught sight of himself in the mirror array spanning a hand-washing area formed of gorgeous oyster-blue marble sinks with faux gold fittings. “Huh, I’ve more expensive shit in my penthouse bathroom. I’m so fucking rich and powerful. What a huge muscular smug bastard I am,” he scoffed, praising and loving everything about himself. He resisted the urge to hulk on another 500 lbs of incredible muscle, although it was hard to resist the urge to grow. He did a side chest pose, followed by a most muscular, captivated completely by his reflection in the mirror. Well, if he couldn’t gain mass, he could at least become inhumanly vascular. The shirt was soaking wet from tit-milk, so it was virtually translucent. He hulked and he hulked and the biggest, hardest, thickest network of serum-enriched, blood-gorged veins exploded out of his upper body. Ropes and pipes erupted out of his neck, chest, forearms. Big bicep veins — each as thick as bicycle tubes — pushed out of his cannonball arms. The gaps between the remaining buttons of his shirt stretched to near-bursting point. “HUGE. SO FUCKING HUGE. I GOTTA GET BIGGER. I GOTTA GET SO FUCKING HUGE!!!” Just when it seemed Brett would throw all caution to the wind and grow so huge he could smash the entire bathroom to rubble, the sound of a toilet flushing gave him pause. “Huh? It seems I’m not alone in here. Someone is being a pervy little voyeur while the muscle-god gets off to his bodybuilder’s mega-bod.” Brett went to the stalls and one at a time wrenched the doors off their hinges, tossing them aside. First two were empty. But the third: “Well, if it isn’t the lanky waiter that took too long bringing food to his god.” Brett eyed him with mock disgust, as he was feeling lusty but playful. He loved to play with people, not only to feel better about his ever-improving self, but also to humiliate and put them in their rightful places,which in his case was always beneath him. “Puh-please… don’t hurt me, Mr. Hillard,” the waiter said shakily. “Hummpff! What’s your name, beanpole?” “Er… Fred, sir.” “Fred what?” “Gaylord, sir.” “Fred Gaylord? Fred fucking Gay-LORD? What kind of a fucking name is that? I’d shoot my fucking parents dead if they branded me with a fuckin’ stupid name like that.” “Er… they’re both deceased… suh-sir!” Fred couldn’t make eye contact with the muscle-god, especially then they bored into the biggest, most delicious pectorals he’d ever seen, ones that could burst out of their owner’s shirt at any moment. “Yeah, well that name sucks. I am the only GAY LORD you will answer to. This restaurant is shit. The service is shit, and the food needs a ton of jizz on it to be even semi-palatable. And shouldn’t the staff be using their own bathroom and not the one for customers?” “Erm… the staff one is on the blink, sir. Maitre d’ said we could use this one for emergencies,” stammered Fred. “Hmm… I suppose I’ll allow it. But you have to make it up to me for the lousy service me and my boyfriend got here tonight.” Brett tried to fold his massive arms across his even more massive chest; an impossible task. Looking frightened out of his wits, Fred kept silent, afraid to say another word. Whatever Brett Hillard wanted him to do, he would have no choice but to do it. “I need to clean my shirt, see? It’ sodden with the gorgeous, tasty muscle milk I can make come out of my nipples. See how they poke out of my shirt like it’s fuckin’ painted onto my muscles?” Fred nodded gingerly. His entire body — all 140 lbs of it — quaked in trepidation. This being could kill him with just one finger if he wanted to. “Yeah, going to Fiesta later with my fella, so I don’t feel like going home to change. Also, I’m so fuckin’ strong that if I try to unbutton this shirt — not that I can even reach the top buttons because of the size of my pectoral beef slabs — I’m afraid it might disintegrate on me. You’re going to have to undress me. Freshen up my pants, too. I’m in commando mode, this evening. No undies. You’re gonna cower before a massive, naked behemoth of godly muscle, Fred. And pleasing me might reap a little reward for you.” Fred reticently obliged. He had a tendency to shoot his mouth off when overly nervous, so now was not the time to say anything that might cause Brett Hillard to crush him down to the size of a marble. “Come out of the stall and remove my shirt, Fred,” Brett commanded. Fred complied instantly. “Are you gay, Fred?” “Erm… nuh-no, sir. I duh-don’t thuh-think I’m anything, to be honest,” the waiter stammered. He was tall and thin, so there was only three or four inches of height difference between them, however their contrasting weights and sizes was a completely different matter. “So you’ve never had a sexual experience with a guy or a chick?” “Nuh-no, sir.” “Call me Brett. No need to be scared of me, Fred.” Brett softened a little. He was enjoying himself. “Thank you, Brett,” said Fred, tentatively unbuttoning the third and fourth buttons of the shirt which now missed the top two. The next button was the only one now supporting the massive racks of muscle within. They looked huge and heavy. “Before you undo the next button, Fred, I’ll allow you to cup the under-swell of my pecs. Feel their weight, and I assure you, they are fucking heavy bastards. Go on, dig your hands into the dark crescent moons formed by my pecs’ shadows,” Brett instructed. His breathing had become slow but guttural, each exhalation peppered with manly gravel. He breathed musky breath into Fred’s face as the supplicant waiter carefully cupped each pectoral belly. He’d never felt a bodybuilder’s chest before. They felt surprisingly soft, but each one had to weigh as much as a half sack of potatoes. “Notice the hugeness of my nipples, where my muscle milk comes from; the very milk that saturates my shirt. It’s as wet as the precum soiling your tighty whities, am I right?” Brett was so erect, now. The buttons of his flies groaned as his junk meat swelled and demanded release. Fred could only groan and whimper at this point. The giant pecs felt so good and so large in hands that seemed child-sized because of Brett’s huge dimensions. “You didn’t answer me, Fred. Is your underwear soiled with precum because you’re so turned on by my huge pecs and how they feel?” Brett grew more forceful, talking more slowly, and with more gravel. He grew increasingly more beautiful and dominant before the skinny waiter. “Yuh-yes, Brett,” Fred whimpered, knowing that an orgasm wasn’t far away. “I’m going to bounce my pecs, now, Fred. This will make them feel even heavier to you. My nips will grow larger. They point down, y’see, because my pecs are so hugely developed. You’re skinny, an adult who probably didn’t go through puberty right, and so now you’re a man, you don’t have any sexual proclivities. Would I be correct in my assumption?” Brett began to bounce his pecs, first the left one, drawing it up slowly, then letting it down, before doing the same with the right one. Each pec when drawn upward caused the striations to deepen and separate further. His upper pecs bulged obscenely because the lower pec bellies encroached on their space. The control he executed over his chest muscles bordered on the surreal. “Your tighty whities must be soaked through by now, Fred. Undo the next button on my shirt,” Brett instructed. Fred didn’t hesitate. He simply touched the button with a finger and the pressure of the pecs above did the rest. The front of the shirt billowed outward, revealing veins, striations, and glistening muscle-flesh that could only ever improve, should its master command it. “Now unfasten the rest of the buttons so that my abs are on show.” Brett fanned out his lats by raising up his arms so that his elbows pointed outward. Fred went to do his bidding. “Wait… are you… crying?” Brett noticed moisture had begun to well up in the corners of Fred’s eyes. This was enough to cause one of them to roll down a gaunt cheek. “Hey… don’t cry, little Fred. I’m only playing with you. You’ve nothing to worry about. I think this experience is overwhelming for you. I get that a lot.” And to show that he meant what he said, Brett gently wiped away Fred’s tear with his thumb. “There, you’re a man again, Fred. I won’t tell anyone you cried like a sissy all because I asked you to take off my shirt. Most guys would jump at the chance to do that. You should consider yourself amongst the privileged few. Actually ‘few’ isn’t quite accurate. No man can resist me.” “You’re very beautiful, Brett,” said Fred in a low tone. Seeing the muscle-god become a little gentler bolstered a modicum of confidence from the waiter. At least he could talk, now, without stammering. “Yeah, I am. Help me the rest of the way with the shirt. Then take off my pants.” Fred did as he was told. He removed the shirt and Brett took it and placed it into one of the sinks. He put a little hand soap onto it and then pushed the button to release warm water. Fred sank to his knees and went to undo the waistband button of Brett’s pants. Brett gently but firmly stopped his hand from doing so and instead guided it up to his ten-pack of abdominal bricks. “Feel my stomach, Fred. Your fucking asshole manager would have me sit in a fat man’s chair; from a fucking freak show, no less. Do I look fat to you? Is there a fucking ounce of fat covering my abdominal wall?” “Your abs are harder than the marble that make those sinks, Brett,” Fred agreed. He was no longer frightened of Brett. In fact, Brett Hillard’s form of humiliation was actually very arousing, to both of them. “Yeah, when I totally own this place, your Maitre d’ will be so out of a job, he’ll only ever be able to get work selling hot dogs on street corners.” Brett allowed Fred to run his fingers in and out of the hills and valleys formed of his incredibly developed and separated ab muscles. “I really need this job, Brett. If this restaurant goes under....” “Shhhh,” said Brett, pressing a finger to Fred’s lips. “After tonight you’ll be running this place, and I’ll give you four times your salary. Now shut up and roll down my pants.” ‘Rolling down’ was a fitting way to express the removal of lower garments from a massively huge bodybuilder. The fabric clung to his sequoia thighs like a second skin, and his crotch was so wet from precum that the pants had become saturated and slick with the stuff. When Fred got the pants far enough down, an ‘elephant’s trunk’ popped out at half-mast, curving slightly downward, more than a foot in length, and thicker than the fleshlight Fred kept under his bed. “What do you think of my muscle-dick, Fred? Do you think you’d be able to take all of it? It’s as big as a baseball bat, easily. Maybe bigger.” Brett kicked his pants off the rest of the way, losing his shoes and socks somewhere in the process. The muscle behemoth now stood over his skinny servant, with every inch of his body revealed. He flexed hugely, his muscles almost bursting from his skin. He was drunk with power and immense strength. Precum oozed from his dick slit like xenomorph spittle. Fred immediately dropped to his knees and began lapping it up like a starved puppy. “I taste so good, don’t I Fred. Maybe they should put me on the menu. The queues to get into this place would stretch across four or five blocks at least.” “So good, yes,” admitted the now ravenous Fred. “Hmm, I’d better get back to my boyfriend before he grows suspicious. I’m trying to be faithful to him, but I’m just so huge and gorgeous. There’s plenty of me to go around, right?” Brett raised his arms and blasted his biceps into monstrous relief. Muscles bulged out of muscles; double peaks that were eruptions of power on either side of his head. “Lick my biceps clean, and then lick my chest clean of tit-milk. Then you can suck me off. You didn’t answer me when I asked whether or not you can take every inch of my dick. It’s so big. You’d be screaming for mercy with me inside you. Do you want that? Or just to suck me off?” “I want it to split me in half,” implored Fred, his stomach now growing full from Brett’s precum. Brett thought about it a little. He really didn’t have the time. But then: “You lean over the sink with my shirt in it and scrub it clean. Then put it under the hand dryer. While you’re doing that, I’ll let your tight virgin ass take a couple of inches of my muscle dick. Maybe a little more. But clean my biceps and chest first, Fred.” Fred didn’t have to be told twice. He guzzled a sticky, sweaty glaze from each of Bretts huge biceps, and all the while he did, Brett found new ways and positions to flex them to their fullest. “Pull your dick off while you cleanse my pectorals, Fred,” Brett commanded, coolly. Fred managed to keep himself composed as his delicate tongue scoured tit-milk off Brett’s left muscle-tit. But he came in rivulets of steaming spunk half-way through cleaning the other pectoral. “Aw shittttt!” “It’s okay, Fred. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last. You’re weak, but it’s not your fault. I appreciate all you did for me. Finish up by cleaning my shirt and drying it off. I’m entirely grateful for your service.” “No, I need more, Brett!! More!” At which point Fred leaped at Brett, grabbing him around his titanic neck and using it for purchase whilst he enveloped Brett’s tight waist with his string-bean legs. Brett effortlessly ripped the trousers and apron away from Fred and easily positioned his ass over the shaft of his now rock-hard, upwardly pointing muscle dick. It seemed Fred had a kinky side, for he wore a backless jock-style brief beneath his uniform. Good, no more clothing had to be harmed with underwear that had a back-door. Brett’s dick was into him like a laser cutting into butter. Fred cried out, for he was so tight down there. After this encounter, the next bloke to fuck him would do so with plenty of room to spare. Fred panted profusely, squeezing the back of Brett’s neck, but not even making a dent. Brett’s muscle-flesh was warm and throbbing with life and so much raw energy, but it was also inviolable and unyielding. “Sssssss, so good… so much hurting,” Fred screamed. This goaded Brett to fuck him further. He slid another two inches of super-schlong into Fred’s hole, scoring him through, but taking his virginity like no other man ever could. Fred repeatedly kissed Brett’s pecs throughout his deflowering, but then Brett allowed their lips to meet. It was surprisingly pleasant for both. “Never let this end…puh-pleeeese,” Fred rasped, in complete throes of agony balanced perfectly by ecstasy. He was being fucked by a muscle-god, the most beautiful man in all creation. It would be selfish of him to think that he could have Brett Hillard all to himself until the end of his days. What about that poor fellow out in the dining area, his boyfriend? Did such a concept of monogamous pairing-up even register with someone like Brett? Fred came again; this time the orgasm was more powerful, but his emission was minor. Brett could have fucked him harder, inserting more of his muscle-dick, and although Fred wanted it, it would only have landed him in the emergency room… or worse… the morgue. Besides, the night wasn’t getting any younger. And Brett wanted to go dancing with Raj, and do all kinds of muscle-related things that would consistently keep him in an egotistical spotlight. “Okay, off you come,” said Brett, easily removing Fred from the first four inches of his baseball bat schlong. The head of the penis came out with a ‘pop’ sound. It was almost amusing. “Now wash and dry my shirt, Maitre d’ Gaylord. I think my ‘hubby’s’ getting suspicious.” Fred would be sore in the morning, probably unable to even get out of bed. But at least he’d have four times his current salary, as new manager of The Pulled Plum. And he got to experience Brett Hillard up close and personal. Memories of this night would keep him in wank material for the rest of his life. He decided there and then to name his fleshlight ‘Brett’. Some minutes later Brett, now back in his muscle-clothes, waddled back to his table to find Raj passed out from too much wine. “Ah shit, wake up you party pooper. You’re no fun falling asleep on me. We’re going dancing at Fiesta. Come on!” Brett whacked the table once with a mighty fist, causing one of the legs to buckle. Raj woke with a start. “Wha —? Demons in the Punjab? Where? Wait… huh? Oh, still at dinner.” Raj gazed confusedly about him, as his senses gradually came back in sync with his surroundings. A massively beautiful bodybuilder hulked before him, looking powerful and radiating size and dominance to all around him. “Did ya miss me, honey?” Brett flirtatiously bounced his pecs, just because he could. “How long wuz I out?” “Not long. I’m all cleaned up from the restroom. They have some really interesting waiter service here. Come on… I want to own Fiesta and mess with that fucker Carmody if he’s on the door. You’re gonna love what I do next,” said Brett. And when it seemed Raj couldn’t get up from the chair under his own steam, Brett scooped him up as if he weighed nothing at all and slung him over one shoulder. Bringing his arm up to hold Raj in place caused the underarm seam of his shirt to split away from the torso panel. The shirt hadn’t long to live. On the way out Brett stuffed a credit card into the stupefied Maitre d’s’ mouth, a somewhat gormless expression permanently etched into the gnarly little man’s face. “Pin number’s ‘2378’, you puny wretch. Knock yourself out.” That said, Brett stomped out of the restaurant with Raj over one shoulder. The night was young. And Brett Hillard owned every moment. Coming Next: Chapter 7 of George and Aaron: A Love Story (the companion to this story)
  4. MUSCLE DADDY a romantic muscle growth story co-written by @Astromuscle, @canon & @raphi0508, with the inspiration of @Marquis Whew, finally I am back I thought when I set my bag down on my dorm bed. Too bad that my old roommate got suspended cause it got out he was taking roids. As I unpacked my belongings, before I had to attend my first class this afternoon, I thought back and remembered how cool it was to live with my old roommate. He was 5ft11 and weighed 200lbs at the beginning of college, though he told me secretly he wanted to grow with the help of steroids and that he had a good source. True to his word he did grow. At the beginning he had the body of a typical high school football jock. Nice bulging 17’’ arms, wide shoulders, pretty solid and ripped legs and a nice bubble butt. And best of all was his big bulge. In those three years everything changed for me. He grew 40lbs of pure muscles in just one year. After three years, he weighed an astounding 270lbs and had developed the body of an Olympia-level bodybuilder. Watching him grow, arms getting bigger and more defined, chest getting puffier. I was horny a lot, and I often jacked off just thinking of him. He was also the reason I discovered I was gay. He became very confident in his body, needless to say. He began strolling around naked in our room, and I got many mental images to help me jack off to. Pumped muscle, huge roid gut, and thankfully the roids didn’t seem to affect his junk, hanging large from his body. The problem with him was that he was as straight as an arrow. Nearly every week he had another girl with him in bed, and word was afterwards every girl couldn’t help but talk about his huge cock. I couldn’t blame them he was huge, at least 10’’ from what I could tell from him strolling around our room, not concerned that I was staring wide eyed., I wish I had gotten the chance to feel the large cock, make it inflate, and cup those large balls in my hand. Maybe the college found out about his steroid abuse because it got to be too obvious. As he left we promised each other we would stay in contact, but life came in my way and I had to earn money during summer. Now the new and hopefully last college year has started, but I am sure I will find some time to meet him again soon. I wonder if he continued to grow in the meantime. I drifted away from the things I had to do and got a boner. I hope that I will have enough time before my new roommate arrives, to get off, because hiding my 8.5’’ boner is not easy. Maybe my new roommate is a small dweeb, then my hard on would probably go down fast enough he wouldn’t see it. Suddenly some knocks on the door made me jump up surprised. Even more so I was shocked as my new roommate walked in. Fortuna was generous with me, because he was the most massive guy I had ever seen. He had to turn sideways to get through the doorway. In front of me stood the most impressive and beautiful man I saw in my life until now. The large man squared himself to me after having entered, effectively cutting off my view of the door. Each arm was carrying suitcases that were making his forearms bulge, each muscle standing out, held in place by a net of veins crossing each other and drawing my eyes up his arms, huge biceps and triceps thickened around his arm, a muscle hoody hid the rest of the body a little although i could see some big pecs heaving out from his chest, the hoodie draping over it, hiding whether he had abs, or a gut. My penis twitched at the thought of ripping off the shirt to find out. After a second sizing me up he dropped his bags with a loud thud and reached out his hand. “Hi, I am Mark. I’m guessing we will be roommates this year. Nice to meet you”. I reached out and we shook hands. Damn he has such a strong grip. His hand was larger than mine, thick muscular fingers didn’t give at all to my pressure, and I could feel weight lifting calluses. I was sure we could become good friends. He let go of my hands and bent over to pick up his bags. My penis jumped again. His back is so wide and that ass looks so hard, where do I stare...I quickly shoved my hand into my pants to shove my penis to somewhere less conspicuous while he had his back turned. I had to move to let him by as he passed I noticed my eyes barely met the top of his shoulders, seeing his large delts pulling the fabric of his hoodie forward and back as he carried the heavy bags. After we both had finally unpacked we sat down and started to talk. Mark told me that he is here because he got a Football scholarship, but he also told me that he really wanted to do bodybuilding instead, like his dad does. He enthusiastically described how big his dad was and how small he was compared to him. He also mentioned that he got the good genes of his dad, and expects to start growing bigger soon. The muscle talk made me pretty horny again, I was very thankful that I was sitting down. During our talk we both found out that we have most of our classes together, even the first one of the new year. We continued talking for a while, until we had a sudden shock because we had nearly missed our first class While I was getting ready Mark suddenly dropped his jogging pants to change into jeans. If I thought my old room mate was big, then Mark was a freak. His quads, calves and bulge were huge. I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping. Mark had been in a rush, but noticed me sitting in awe. He smile confidently at me, turning to give me a better view., “Pretty impressive, huh? You can thank my dad’s good genes for this thing too, though he is much bigger.” Then he gave me a wink, causing me to blush. I used far more willpower than it should have taken to close my mouth. Once he stopped teasing me and got ready, we both left for class. During the year, we got even more connected. We got to be pretty close friends. Unfortunately for me again, he was also straight. I tried not to let on that I was gay, hoping it would make him more comfortable. If he knows I’m gay he might not take off his pants in front of me anymore either, which would be a tragedy. We both started to workout together after Mark mentioned he really needed a spotter at the gym, and so our friendship got closer because of it. I was unsure how good of a spotter I was being, but Mark didn’t seem to mind, and he spotted me in turn. Luckily I was also benefiting from the workouts growing more athletic myself and began sporting some good pecs and my arms were gaining some definition. Throughout the year I also got to see more of Mark. When he had arrived I had only seen those heavy arms of his, and later his privates. In retrospect I had wished I could have noticed his legs at the time, but I had been hyper focused on his manhood. As it turned out I didn’t need to worry, since much like my last roommate, Mark had no boundaries. I got many opportunities to appreciate Mark’s entire body as he would stroll around naked in our room. Is this a jock thing? I don’t walk around in the nude. Maybe I would if I looked like that I guess. His wide back held his arms out away from his body a little, a nice V-taper going down to his ass. I also discovered he did indeed have a flat stomach, abs like bricks holding up the large chest and shoulders with a solid foundation. His ass was muscular and even at rest you could see the muscles through any slight amount of fat he may have housed there. Large, powerful quads came out of his tight waist, bounding up and coming in tight to his knees. Diamond calves pressed hard against his skin behind his shins, more veins becoming apparent as if the skin needed help to contain the muscle. If I thought Mark had even one atom of gay in him I would worship those muscles in every way my brain could come up with, but sadly I had to settle for keeping some tissues near my bed for when he walked into the bathroom for a shower. During our workouts Mark could not stop talking about his dad, and the more often we worked out the more he told me about how big his dad was and how much bigger he wanted to grow. Mark said one day he hoped to get bigger than his dad, but he told me he wasn’t sure if he ever could. This was one of the only times Mark seemed insecure about anything, and I comforted him telling him one day he would surely outgrow his old man. Despite my word the more he talked about his dad, the more curious I got and the more I wanted to meet the man who could supposedly dwarf the muscle man in front of me. Was it really possible that his dad was that much bigger than Mark? Mark was already an alpha jock. Thinking about his dad being even bigger made my cock grow bigger in my pants every time. Luckily I wore tight spandex under my workout clothes at the gym, where Mark gushed the most about his dad the most. It kept my cock and balls in place. Thank god. As the end of the semester came around, Mark suddenly asked me if I would want to join him during spring break. We could continue working together at his house, in his dad’s home gym. I quickly agreed, mind taken up by the idea that I could finally meet his huge dad. “I would love to join you. You need a spotter after all I guess.” He smiled at me and I blushed. God does he realize that I’m gay? ...to be continued...
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