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  1. Hialmar

    Muskworld : the Prelude

    PREFACE In memory of Terry Pratchett (1948-2015). May he rest in peace. Muskworld : The Prelude In many respects, Muskworld is just another planet. As every astrophysicist would tell you, each planet is a hemisphere balanced on the back of four elephant-shaped cosmic beings standing on the back of a turtle-shaped cosmic being swimming in the cosmic ocean. The gravitational pull from the turtle keep the hemisphere and its atmosphere in place. There exist amazons on Muskworld, but Muskworld isn't one of those Amazon Planets visited by astronauts from Earth wearing too much tinfoil. In the northern part of Muskworld, there exist blond giant barbarians, whom Lin Carter probably would have described as "sinewy thewed" (the male population nurturing a taste for strange hairdos like man buns, corn rows, unnecessarily complicated fades or just very long manes, the female population usually having unnaturally big breasts and a propensity for an opera career), but Muskworld isn't one of those Barbarian Planets mortal earthlings are teleported to randomly for no particular reason. In the lush tropical forests on Muskworld, the male segment of the population has a tendency to grow large sweaty pecs and turn into thunder gods during adolescence, but Muskworld isn't one of those Nubian Thundergod Planets out there, visited by the French astro-anthropologist Jean-Paul Blaxploitation. There exist scientifically advanced regions on Muskworld, too, and those regions have a surplus of mad scientists, but the inhabitants of these scientifically advanced regions haven't boldly gone where no one has ever gone before – not yet, anyway. Biomedical companies and radiological companies in this part of Muskworld are proud over the employment benefits and the certified unsafe working conditions they offer their employees, with rich opportunities to be exposed to random workplace accidents with muscle growing effects. A considerable amount of the inhabitants of Muskworld decided centuries ago, that they were fed up with all that muscle growth nonsense going on elsewhere on the planet, thank you very much, embarked ships sailing west over the ocean, and founded an average society for average people with a middle class income, pastel coloured suburban houses, pastel coloured cars with tails, church-going housewives, conservative values, hard working bread winners, plucky children and a dog. Being a chemistry teacher at high schools and colleges in this part of Muskworld is a career paved by ingratitude: to perpetually try to prevent smart plucky scrawny boys, usually recently after the 18th birthday of the latter, from experimenting with home grown growth drugs. Likewise, there are rumours about publicly muscle-growth-averse housewives who experiment on their pool boys, football coaches who experiment on their varsity-jacket-wearing team-members, not to mention the armed forces, who have to counteract any future attack from their scientifically superior neighbouring countries by creating super soldiers in secret, despite their public adherence to the Non-Proliferation Doctrine regarding Capability Enhanced Servicepersons (NPDCES). Muskworld is probably worth a story of its own, or two. * * * To be continued.
  2. FallenAway

    David's Day by LORUS

    Once again, with the author's permission, I am reposting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. Fortunately, I saved a copy. Some of the pop culture references may be a little dated, especially for younger readers, but that shouldn't get in the way. There are two parts to the original story and a sequel called David's End of Days. I will post all of those in this thread. Enjoy! David's Day by LORUS Part 1 of 2 7:00 am: The alarm always went off at 7am. David Driscoll, like every morning would awaken to the 1979 disco hit “Born to be Alive”, by Patrick Hernandez. The song was his personal anthem, and he just loved life, although he would have preferred to have been a teen back in the 1970s. He loved that decade, the decade of polyester, which wasn’t always flattering on people, unless of course, they had a body like David Driscoll. He dressed, seventies-style, every day of his life, sometimes mixing and matching the loudest of shirts with the most ludicrous of pants, the wider the bells on the bottoms the better. He was THE biggest bodybuilder in the world, and so young, too. He was so beautiful that he could get away with wearing just about anything, or sometimes very little at all. It depended on the mood he was in at the time. So it was Friday morning, on his 18th birthday and he always performed a little show for himself in front of his bedroom mirror, as Patrick Hernandez belted out his catchy disco hit. Standing totally naked he would assess himself in minute detail, but for no longer than fifteen minutes. There was just so much for him to do and achieve today. “Bam.... best fucking arms ever, but they need more size,” he declared, curling his forearms up to a vertical position on either side of his handsome head, squeezing thick mass into his bis, and gasping in mock-surprise at how the peaks pushed upwards as if they were miniature mountains rising out of the land, a pure herculean feat that would forever go unrivalled. “First thing today... eat a huge, power-packed breakfast, and kiss your mom, in that order, trying to look as though you don’t already know about the Ferrari F430 she bought you for your 18th.” He flexed his rippling, deeply cut abs and sucked them in with expert control, as he fanned his upper body out to the biggest full-lat-spread he’d ever seen, and this was before today’s massive upper body workout, which, he’d planned to make the most productive one of his life so far. He had a plan for today, now that he was old enough to drink and go to bars. There was a new gay bar and nightclub opened in town and he planned to be the center of attention by the onset of evening. “Gotta work these muscle-titties up to their most bulgerific, oh yeah!” His mouth and chin disappeared into a mattress of super-strong, almost obscenely developed pec-cleavage. He flexed the slabs huger – hefting them higher – and causing rippling striations to blast across their corpulent surfaces. Nipples that pointed straight down now stood out perpendicular to the floor, each one pushing out in support of the pushing out happening further down. “Ha ha ha.... no one will ever come close to being as huge as me... yeah... huge in every place where it goddam fuckin’ counts.” Yeah, he was cocky to a fault, but he was entitled to be. He hefted the massive snake of his cock in his hands, shocked in a “not-surprised” kinda way, when it felt longer, thicker, and heavier to him than it had the day before. He always knew that he would grow amazingly on his 18th birthday. How he knew this he couldn’t say... he just, well, knew. “Gotta weigh myself.... must have hit 500lbs by now, aw yeah!” His cock snapped fully erect at the thought of weighing this much. Lately he’d been bodybuilding like crazy, even dropping out of school to devote as much time in each day to bulking up his body to even more massive proportions. Hell, he didn’t need to be academically achieved to sail through life. He already had everything handed to him on a silver platter, given that he came from one of the world’s wealthiest families. His parents were divorced, his father based in South America where he spent most of his time adventuring in the rain forest in search of ancient relics (yawn). His mother was a complete socialite, given to throwing gala parties at the drop of a hat. Today David would inherit a trust fund amounting to fifty million dollars, so what did he need school for? He had looks, muscles, vast wealth, and from today onwards... complete and utter independence. One thing he vowed not to have by the end of the day and night was his virginity. He stood on the scale in his personal bathroom whilst his manservant, Carmichael, stood in attendance. “I’ll take it the Sir is pleased by the number on the readout,” said Carmichael, in the fakest British brogue you will ever hear. But he was good-looking and although in his forties, looked a good ten years younger. David often thought about fucking him, but he knew that Carmichael was straight, and he respected that. “Damn, only 496,” David angrily snapped, stomping his foot in Hulk-like fashion, flattening the expensive scale beneath. As well as being monstrously muscular, the teen was immensely strong. “I will clean that up immediately and have a replacement scale within the hour, Sir,” Carmichael droned, as if disinterested. “Damn, I wanted to be 500 on my birthday. But I know I can grow so much today. I can feel it in my blood, Carmichael. By the way, does my cock look bigger to you?” Completely unashamed of his nakedness – in fact he loved to be naked as often as circumstances allowed – David squeezed his cock so hard that the mushroom head swelled to the size of a man’s fist. “Longer than my forearm, Sir. The Sir must be very proud to sport such a magnificent member,” Carmichael replied, tonelessly. “Yeah, and it’s going to see plenty of action this evening. But I need to bulk up to my hugest ever. Tonight has to be special, Carmichael. I need to be goddam fucking HUUUGE,” David roared, and flexed out a most-muscular that caused every bulb of muscle on his upper body to tautly explode with size and definition. “Ha ha ha... is that a little spot of precum I see staining the front of your pants, Carmichael?” David was becoming playful now, and so very lusty. “Yes, Sir, but I’m thinking about making love to Missus Carmichael later this evening, so please do not think that my sudden... ahem... display is in any way directed at you,” the servant politely stated. “Damn.... seven-fifteen. I need to get food into me before my cardio. Wow, it’s a sunny morning. Think I’ll go for a shirtless run, get these pec-melons of mine bouncing like crazy. Damn but they weigh a ton. Feels like they’re gonna drop off under their own weight at any second. Fuckin’ bones me.” David needed to fuck badly. He’d never done it with anyone before, respecting his mother’s wishes not to lose his virginity whilst living in the same mansion as her. Besides, bodybuilding left David with very little time for socializing, let alone pursuing a relationship. Since quitting high school a full year before graduation, he’d put the extra time to very good use, bulking up from 335 lbs. at just seventeen, to almost 500 in less than a year. But it was never enough for him. He had to be huger. “Need to be HUGE! Not HUGE enough. This bodybuilder is gonna get MASSIVE beyond belief!” He continued to flex the huge muscles across his mighty six-foot-eight frame. He felt as though he was done with growing in height, but if he happened to gain another couple of inches before his bones were done with growing, he figured he could live with it. Besides, as far as his bones were concerned, he still wanted his shoulders to widen and his rib cage to expand even further. The better the foundation, the bigger the muscles he could pack on to it. Carmichael laid out his clothing for that morning, a tan-colored pair of low-rise, butt-n-crotch-hugging running shorts that barely covered the top of his dark pubes or the top of his butt-crack. The curved cleft between his bubbled glutes was deep and dark, with just a small puff of hair poking out. Any sweat running down the deep channel of his back formed by the immense sheets of convoluted muscle on either side would collect in that tuft, two scents mixing to form his ultra-musk. He liked to build up this musk, and with tonight being an adventure of unprecedented proportions, David vowed to enter the nightclub reeking of musk, manly and over-comely, altogether dripping with seduction. David pulled on the shorts, taking great effort to do so, but being careful not to pop the button-fly as he struggled to pack his meat inside. He never wore a jockstrap or any kind of underwear under his shorts when running. He also never wore the same pair twice. Once done with the shorts, Carmichael, his devoted manservant, would (with the aid of a gas mask) package them up and sell them on eBay, but not before cooking them in a sauna for a few days, to get them really pungent. A pair of David Driscoll’s unwashed running shorts would usually go for upwards of $3000.00 lately, not that he needed the money, but it was fun to watching the furious bidding that took place on eBay for the much-coveted shorts. “Ha ha ha... the best thing is though, that my shorts get muskier the bigger I get. Better watch out, Carmichael, I may soon be sooooo musky, so manly-flavored, that even you won’t be able to resist me.” That was another of David’s plans, to seduce and fuck as many straight guys as possible. He was going to fuck the world....aw yeah! “Remind me to stock up on clothes-pins, Sir,” Carmichael responded, his droll tone dripping with the driest sarcasm. He helped his master on with his running shoes. That was the downside of being enormously muscled; putting on shoes was damn-near impossible when you had so much titanic muscle clogging up the space between your neck and your shins. But David wasn’t immobile, far from it. He was getting stronger and fitter as he got bigger, but any problems he had with dressing only served to make him even more proud about his burgeoning body. He was nearly ready, but for one more thing: Glisten Mist, the spray-on moisturizing oil and anti-burn factor, developed by one of his father’s many companies. The mist would coat his muscles evenly, buffing them up to a glistening shine whilst helping to lock in moisture and protect his beautiful, tanned skin from UV damage. “How do I look,” asked David, knowing full and well how amazing he looked. He posed some more in his mirror, aghast at how the mist-sheen brought out the beauty, mammoth size, and sheer mind-blowing magnificence of his bulging body. He flexed an arm, hooking it down before him, and a melon-sized ball-bicep morphed into being. “Gonna get these beauties twice as big today,” he vowed, with a manly snigger. “Um, the Sir might want to become less “excited” before going downstairs to greet his mother,” said Carmichael, drawing David’s attention to the huge cock-bulge in the front of his shorts. The visible button-fly strained and groaned in defiance of the pressure put against it, and the waistband, already ridiculously low and challenging the nudity regulations of California, was pushed out further from his ab-wall so that more of his pubic bush poked upwards. Already musk was forming there, the smell of the scent enough by itself to get David really horny. “Shit, I’ll have to cum first, Carmichael. Damn, I won’t even make it to the bathroom.” Frantically, furiously, David undid his shorts and expanded his cock to its complete length of twenty-something inches. It thickened considerably, the mushroom-head seeming to grow even further, his ball-sack bulging up like the throat-sac of a horny bullfrog. Fortunately, Carmichael always carried a fold-up umbrella in his inside pocket, in case of emergencies such as this. He just about got the umbrella up, using it as a shield before him, in time to not get showered. 7:32 am: David came and came.... then came some more. His milking went on for six minutes, bringing the time to 7:32 am, and he still had to leave his bedroom. “Aww...fucking horny. Huge bodybuilding mega-stud that I am... cum everywhere.” He coated every surface of everything in the room, and soon Carmichael’s umbrella was coated in thick, opaque splashes of viscid cream. He finished by licking off as much of the cum from his mirror, which completely covered it. When he could once again see his awesome reflection, he crabbed into a most-muscular, growling with such intensity that the mirror shattered right in front of him. “Fuck yeah!” When he arrived downstairs, Consuela the cook had his breakfast ready. David wolfed down twelve chicken fillets, four bowls of oatmeal, a pound of lean ground beef, and washed it down with three quarts of gainer shake (his own special recipe prepped to max for ultimate results in growth and conditioning). It was more food in one sitting than what three super-heavyweight pro bodybuilders would be able to get through. David was banned from competing for the simple reason that posing in front of a crowd got him so boned, he would come out in a massive erection every time. Fuck it: he knew he was the best. Besides, he would win every time, thus ruining the competition for everyone else. It was a lot of food to take in before a run. But David’s metabolism was truly exceptional. It was as though he had a nuclear reactor for a stomach. As soon as food entered his system it was broken down far more rapidly than a mundane human body could do. And he could eat anything he liked, too, once he had the sensible breakfast out of the way. Lunch would be pizza at the gym. His family owned most of the gyms in America, so his rules were different than those for everyone else. He was allowed to send out for 8 massive pizzas to help him through his workouts, and only David was allowed to train shirtless. His body was an example to everyone else working out at the gym... they would never match its perfection. His mother hardly noticed him as she glided into the massive kitchen, struggling with one of her earrings, her outfit the latest Versace two-piece, her makeup and hair done to perfection courtesy of her live-in stylists. “I’m jetting off to Milan, sweetie. Kiss kiss. Happy birthday. The keys to your present are on the countertop. Love you lots, daaaarling.” And that was it. Monique (real name Maud) barely had time for her extraordinary son, these days, not since hooking up with the wealthy Italian oil magnate, Rubio Andretticalzoni. “Huh, so much for my surprise party later on,” said David, a little despondently. But he’d mostly been raised by the servants since he was little, his parents far too important and jet-setter-ish to spare much time for their only son and heir. Even when he started to gain absurdly huge amounts of muscle, his parents hardly noticed. But David didn’t care. He only cared about himself and his body. He was too rich to have strong family ties beyond what his blood entitled him to in the way of inheritance. 7:51 am: He left on his run, charging through the mega-rich suburb, passing other rich-folk, musicians, movie-stars etc. He nodded a good morning to Vin Diesel who was out walking his poodle, the little toy-dog’s curly fur tinted pink in places. “It’s my girlfriend’s pooch,” the star of the Riddick movies explained, somewhat shakily, to the hulking Adonis that passed him, his eyes rapt on the seething bounce of David’s weighty pecs as he jogged. “Sure it is, Vin. Sure it is,” said David, winking. He blew a kiss at Lenny Kravitz who was out collecting mail from his mailbox. Kravitz gave him the finger but asked him where he got his pants from. “House of Trione, and you’d have a problem filling them out, hot stuff,” David blurted out as he quickly put distance between himself and the musician. He turned the head of every person he passed, the rich and the famous, although not one of them could ever match David’s size and beauty. Movie Director Louis Leterrier who, like many directors, had property in Santa Barbara, had seen David before, and was always trying to grab his attention. Sometimes David liked to tease him a little. “The offer still stands, David. The studio will pay you twenty million dollars to play the Hulk in HULK 3. The CGI hulks just haven’t been working out,” said Leterrier as he tended to his rose bushes. “Hmm,” said David, considering the offer. He’d seen both Hulk movies. And the Hulks looked terribly unrealistic, although there were significant visual improvements made to the Hulk in the second film. But twenty million dollars was now mere pocket change to David. “Of course, to use you as a live-action Hulk, I’d need you to bulk up by another three hundred pounds before we start shooting in mid-2011,” the director added. “I could easily get that big, Louis, but location shooting away from my base of operations could be problematic. It would eat into my training schedule far too much. But you might be able to change my mind, say, for forty million dollars plus merchandising rights for use of my likeness.” Smug and over-confident, his body glinting blindingly in the Californian sunshine, David flexed a most muscular, pushing all his weight and power into it. Several car alarms went off suddenly. Leterrier almost tripped over his tongue when he saw the muscles standing out so much. “Forget forty million, David. Your asking price is too high. Looks like it’s CGI for HULK 3, so.” Obviously the world wasn’t ready for a teenage Hulk. The director sighed and went back to pruning his roses. David continued jogging. 8.25 am: He decided to not turn back for home, but continued jogging, leaving the ‘burbs altogether and heading for downtown. He stopped plenty of traffic as he jogged, his muscles, especially his enormous pec slabs, caused guys passing to pop erections (whether they were straight or not) and grown women to start fingering themselves in the street. A cop car flashed its lights as a warning to him, but by the time David passed the vehicle, a quick flex and lick of his bicep was enough to overwhelm the two cops and they started to undo each other’s flies. David had an astounding and exceptional effect on people. It seemed that any laws that existed to keep mundane society in check simply didn’t apply to David. “Fuck, I’m gonna jog shirtless to the gym every day from now on,” he vowed, reckoning it would give him an extra thirty minutes to work on the weights if he didn’t have to go home first and shower, obviously driving to the gym after that. That meant that he could lift longer and get huger because of it. It made sense. “Grrrr, why didn’t I think of that sooner? I could be hundreds of pounds heavier by now.” He got to the gym, leaving in his wake a trail of orgasming Santa Barbarians. He stopped to catch his breath, which only took seconds. His body was glistening beneath a coat of shining, liquid beads, and his slutty shorts were sodden with his musky sweat. In fact, he entered the gym that morning and immediately Alan behind the desk, himself a huge bodybuilding hunk of 24, caught a sniff of David’s reek and instantly shot a messy load in his own shorts. “Unnnngh.... you’re so fuckin’ hot, Driscoll. Unnngh, how about you and I get jiggy in the showers later,” Alan moaned, now stroking his not-inconsiderable cock, caring little if his employers caught him on camera. Not to worry, David would fix everything, considering his family owned the gym. “I might take you up on that offer, sexy. Better start re-filling those nuts of yours. ‘Cos your cum is all mine. But for now, I gotta fucking lift. Gotta get so fucking, incredibly fucking HUUUUUGE!!!!!” He flexed his enormous biceps, screaming to get his blood flowing so that his muscles could bulge even larger. Alan immediately shot another massive load, blowing a huge stream of thick cum into the air. It splashed all over David’s biceps and he quickly licked each of them clean of every drop. 8:51 am: To hell with warming up. Jogging at 496 lbs. – his body saturated with massive muscle-flesh – was a warm-up enough by itself. Today he was concentrating on chest, arms, delts, and shoulders. Yeah, he could work all those groups by 5pm, his cut-off point. He needed to have his upper body looking immense before hitting the town later. It wasn’t even 9am and already there was a small crowd forming around David as he took his position on his favorite bench. It was chest first, aw fuck, he had to get it up past one hundred and eight inches. The other bodybuilders present, every one of them totally into themselves and their training, unless in the presence of David, began to egg him on, chanting in unison so that he could break through the pain threshold and break his personal bests. This morning he was benching 1100 lbs. on the bar, the bar itself bending dangerously from the massive weight. He cranked out a staggering thirty reps at this weight. Arteries begat new veins and veins begat a myriad of new capillaries as his circulatory system transformed to cope with the increase in his mass and the punishment he gave it. His body erupted with newfound bulges and vascularity as he managed a further twenty reps before returning the bar to its resting position. He didn’t need help doing it either. He sat up on the bench and bunched his pec muscles together. Even sweatier than he was when he arrived, he playfully raised his arms up high to expose the thick, twin bushes of his dark armpits, spraying every guy present with his sopping-wet perfume. “Aww David, you dirty cunt,” one of them cried, a tall muscle-hunk named Barry Watts, his sudden erection shredding his shorts at the front. The entire retinue of David-worshippers, straight, gay, and bi, began to go at themselves or else go at each other; such was the effect of being around the supercharged eighteen-year-old. “ I’ve come of age now, guys, so you’d better all watch out. I’m going to get huger than this.... way fuckin’ huger, and by the end of the day, you all will be walking home with smoke cummin’ outta yer butts. David has arrived, and David will CUMMMMM!!!!” The air-conditioning failed, causing the temperature to shoot up in the gym. David’s musk got stronger still, his once tan-colored shorts now dyed a dark brown from saturated moisture. His musk dripped down his legs and coated so many surfaces. Cockily he commanded some of his worshippers to load up the bar with another 100 lbs. The bar sagged even further on either end, but still held. He settled back beneath it and took the strain. “Unnnnngh!!!!” He was slow to start pumping reps, but as he commanded more strength from his ever-developing muscles, the bar soon began to feel lighter and lighter. Within twenty seconds David was pumping the 1200 lb. bar with ease. The fact it was getting lighter and easier to lift as he progressed, made him mad.... very mad! “48... 49... 54... 60... 68... 71... 150... 399...680...1397....,” the congregation chanted. David couldn’t stop pressing the bar. He was locked into the activity, doing away with sets altogether. There was now just constant pumping, ceaseless repetition, whilst around him, grown men in various degrees of muscular development continued to get off to the massive muscle-god named David. 10:00 am: Finally, after an hour, somewhere around his 2000th rep at 1200 lbs., David returned the bar to its rests, boned by the fact it was hot from friction, each overloaded end drooping like melting ice cream. He sat up, his musk now billowing around him. He looked around. Up to fifty gym-goers were locked in a ceaseless orgy around him. He got so very horny looking at them writhing in a seemingly endless rippling ocean of muscle and male beauty. He looked down at his pecs and was amazed to see that they were twice as huge as before. “Aw fuck... look at me. So huuuge. But not huge enough, not by a long shot.” He flexed his massive pecs, delighting at how much heavier they felt, the cuts deeper, the cleft between each pec-melon now richly dark and leaking his scent as abundantly as his boned cock dripped cupsful of precum at a time. So much moisture was leaving him, at an astonishing rate. He was thirsty, but not for water. He needed to test a theory. He’d had a dream once where he was milking other bodybuilders of their juices, drinking them in, leaving them dehydrated and unconscious. Strangely Carmichael was there, just for a second, but winking at him, as if he knew something that David didn’t. And in the dream, having drunk the bodybuilders of their nut-nectar, David bulked up far huger and huger. Could this be the secret to his exceptional muscle growth? The men at his feet were totally in his power, now. He started with Barry Watts, tearing every shred of clothing from him as he easily lifted him up with both hands. Barry was about two-eighty, bulking in his off-season, but he felt totally weightless to the monster that David’s muscles had made of him. “Mmmm, nice little pecker you have there, Baz,” David remarked, before closing his lips around Barry’s porn-worthy ten-incher. He sucked him for exactly nine seconds before the groaning, enraptured Barry blew another load and a blast of hot, salty crème gushed down David’s throat. David swallowed hard, savoring every drop. He drank Barry to the last, then pushed him aside and started on another, Guy Colette, whose balls were the size of tennis balls. David got him off and sucked him dry. He did this to every boned bodybuilder in his retinue. David grew. Aw fuck, he grew and grew.... like fucking never before. 10:33am: His perfume radiated outwards into the street, causing passers-by old enough to react to it to stop what they were doing and pile into the gym en masse. Some people had never seen the inside of a gym in their lives, but David’s reek was intoxicating and addictive. Soon a huge throng of people from all walks of life had gathered around him on the weight room floor as he underwent a most remarkable transformation. Considering he’d only intended to train some of his muscles on this day, he was completely boned to discover that sucking off the other bodybuilders had caused all his muscles to grow. His traps gorged on free space, pushing upwards and outwards, shortening the distance between his shoulders and neck. Veins, thickly throbbing, erupted across the triangular wedges, sticking out ferociously whilst the cords and pipes of his neck bulged and thickened, which sent further chemical power spreading to other muscle groups. His deltoids swelled larger, deeper, and thicker than... oh fuck... thicker than his goddam pecs had been just minutes before. A dozen inches or more was added to the colossal spread of his shoulders, providing the most perfect framework from which his now beach-ball balloons for pecs hung weightily, the under-swell of each pec-belly deep, round, so very thick and capable of casting a shadow under each hemisphere, dark enough to hide his top two cantaloupe-sized abs from view. His nips pointed down once more but grew intensely into cigar-butt-sized domes, each one ultra-sensitive and inviting of many a hungry, eager set of lips. His arms thickened massively, thicker and wider than the entire torsos of some of the skinny dudes his reek had drawn in from the street. One brave guy stepped forwards, stripping himself naked as he went, urged by, of all people, his girlfriend who was herself so turned on by the spectacle of the ever-developing mega-expanding young bodybuilder. He stood beside the giant so that everyone else could compare his width to that of David’s augmenting upper arms. “Hot dude, your arms are as thick as all of me,” the skinny fucker declared. “Oh really?” With a wink to his audience and the smuggest of smirks, David curled his forearm towards him, smiling out of the corner of his mouth, and immediately his biceps DOUBLED in circumference. The ball was gigantic, easily eighty inches or more, hopefully more, David hoped... a lot more. “Guess you’re going to have to start working out, stickman. You’re just half as thick as one of my arms now. Tsk tsk tsk,” said David, teasingly showing off, now, and loving every moment of it. Hearing this made stickman start to cum. David lifted him up with one hand and caught every drop of his spunk, draining him to the point of dehydration. In contrast to the swelling of his incredible upper torso, David’s waist seemed to tighten and become denser. It went in by an inch, giving him the most incredible difference in the ratio of size between his shoulders and waist. The ratio was easily 4:1 in favor of his shoulders. He also grew two inches taller, and his bones cracked and shifted in order to adjust to the extra muscle mass. David sucked off dozens of men, whilst their wives or girlfriends saw to their own “needs” watching David make fags out of their partners. One guy sauntered up to David and began to inhale David’s dripping, steaming musk. The gigantic muscle-teen lifted him up, sucked him dry, and added him to the pile of dehydrated stickmen gathering at his feet. He grew and grew and grew, sucking off any guy overpowered enough by his reek enough to throw themselves at him. He sucked on bodybuilder after bodybuilder as they began arriving from other gyms. He drank of the city police force, construction workers, in short, every gay man who was overpowered by David’s reek and just HAD to get to the gym. This went on until lunchtime, when traffic became deadlocked and complete sexual anarchy ran riot across the Santa Barbara coast. Finally, David could grow no more. 1:04 pm: Though his belly should have been glutted on man’s creamy ambrosia, David was ravenous. He looked down at the sleeping multitude of Californian folk: some naked, others half-in, half-out of uniforms, everything from police officers, dentists, paramedics, and even the odd man of the cloth (who would really have to question their faith after this). He smirked smugly at the sight of an Asian pizza delivery guy hogging the shredded remains of David’s slut-shorts, rubbing their reek all over his bare torso, intending to coat all of his parts with a stench he would never want to ever wash off. “Hey dude, where’s your van? I’m starving for pizza,” the now almost seven-footer bellowed anxiously. He could barely see much of the pizza boy who writhed on the floor amidst so much soil and reek, for his pecs were now monstrously huge and jutted out from him by more than four feet. His lats were so massive that they forced his elbows outward so that David could barely lower his arms. But with a little effort he could still get his hands around his lithe but solid hips. He flared a lat spread and any space between his bent arms and his waist was filled with lat muscles. He walked back a couple of meters to get a better look at the Asian cutie, his legs, beyond elephantine girth, rippling and flexing with the slightest of movement. His muscle-thighs were now so big that there was no room for his cock and balls to hang downward and in between. Pushed outward, they made his profile look even more dynamic. And... fuck... but his cock was thicker and longer than ever, longer than the distance from the top of his thigh to his knees. It slapped loudly against his thighs as he walked, and the feeling sent ripples of further arousal around his body. The Asian barely acknowledged him, caught up in the throes of his own masturbatory lust, but managed to point in the direction of his truck. The monster bodybuilder stepped over many sleeping folk, all of them sated to the last, and ventured out of the gym in search of the pizza wagon. He found it and got to its delicious cargo easily enough, ripping the rear door right off the vehicle and tossing it aside with hardly any effort. Just as he was about to get his handsome chops around the first pepperoni and cheese delight, a not-unattractive man, clad in a designer suit, hurried across the street towards the behemoth. “Stop right there, big fella. That’s a corporate order. I was watching for the van from the lobby of my building. That pizza is for the Board of Directors.” The guy looked pissed off but somewhat bemused by David’s size. “What’s the name of the company, pipsqueak?” David didn’t look away from his gorging. Fuck, but that was mighty good pizza. “Brody, Brody, and Marshall. Best law firm in Calif – heeey!!!” The thirty-ish-looking exec took exception to David reaching down to snatch his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, which he then used to dial a familiar number. “Carmichael it’s David... yeah, training is going swell.... I’m fuckin’ huge. Listen, do me a favor and buy Brody, Brody, and Marshall... that’s right, the law firm on Main St. Across from the gym, exactly. Great. Oh, and one more thing...” Another question to the stupefied exec: “What’s your name, dude?” “Er... em... Alistair Marshall, junior vice-president. My father is treasurer and Ch––” But before he could finish: “And see to it that Alistair Marshall is promoted to Chairman of the Board, with a $500,000 bonus. Great. See you later.” David closed the phone and politely popped it back inside Alistair Marshall’s inside pocket. He patted him cheekily on the head before returning to his eating. It was David’s birthday, after all, and he was feeling generous. 1:57 pm: So much growing had worn David out. He decided he could use a nap. He bounded upstairs and evicted Ray the manager from his office, knowing he had a bed in there, a sizeable one, too, which Ray used to bone many a hot chick as was his wont in life. While he slept, he had a dream, but it was the strangest dream he’d ever had in his life. His dad was in it, and so was Patrick Hernandez. Both were sat around a blazing fire in some enclosed village community central to some lush, dense forest. David Driscoll Sr was staring beyond the flames, as if caught in some inner journey that only his mind could experience, whilst Patrick Hernandez feverishly scribbled down lyrics into a pad, his sequel to “Born to be Alive” probably. “Dad, what the hell is going on? Where are we?” There was little to glean from the dreamscape except from the immediacy of the surroundings: the campfire blazing high and brightly, the flames crackling and popping as resin from the burning wood was exposed to them. Beyond that the surrounding environment seemed to be smudged out of focus in the way that dreams can sometimes be to save writers from having to waste an entire paragraph describing it. “I’m afraid, son, that I’m dead. This is the afterlife, based on where I died and how I died,” David’s father lamented as he tossed more wood on the fire. The flames roared up higher, causing shadows to dance skittishly across the sprawling landscape of David’s enormously pumped muscles. “I see you’ve been doing some growing, son... and on your 18th birthday also. Just as I predicted.” David Sr smiled broadly at his son, the son he hardly ever saw, and yet was still proud of. “Whoa, wait a sec... before we get into anything else. You’re telling me that you’re dead?” Now this was a dream that David could really do with waking up from. But there was something about how it was presented to him, and the fact that it felt so much more than a dream, that piqued David’s curiosity. “Yes, it was all part of the bargain I made with, Old Nick here,” said David Sr, and slapped the back of Patrick Hernandez as if they were old buddies. Which, in fact, they were. The Devil looked up from his scribbling and flashed a mouthful of pearly whites at David. They were all pristinely bright, except for one bad one that ruined what would otherwise have been a perfect smile. “You made a deal... with the devil?” David looked horrified and began to back away from the glow of the fire. “Of course, we go way back, him and me. We both got our business degree together. Nick and the males of this family go right back to your great, great, great, great grandfather Efram Driscoll, who began this family corporation, which is now worth twenty million, billion dollars. We practically own two thirds of the free world,” said David senior, proudly. “You mean that Efram made the first deal with the Devil, a tradition that carried down all the way to.... shit... me?” David had never considered himself religious in any way, but if this dream was real, then there was some hot shit going down... shit that was hotter than Hell. Old Nick Hernandez put down his writing pad and began to roll a joint. He was a man of very few words, it seemed. “Yes, our forefathers all wished for great wealth and influence over the masses, and that sustained the family, and shall continue to through future generations, provided you don’t stay gay all your life and beget a son and heir. You need to pass on the tradition, you see. It was the nature of the first deal made by old Efram. By the time it was my turn, I didn’t need anything in the world whatsoever, cos I was set for life. When you were born, and we saw just how scrawny you were, I thought “Jeez, he’s a runt and a half. He’s a weak link in a long line of strong links in our exceptional family chain. I said to Nick that you should be big... really big. And that was meant to come to fruition on your 18th birthday.” “Fuck... that’s deep, Dad. I don’t know what to say. So now Satan has come to collect... your soul, obviously, and drag you down to hell?” Suddenly David felt bad. He hadn’t seen much of his father, growing up, and now he was never going to see him ever again after this dream. Life for David, it seemed, had just hit a fork in the road. “It won’t be like that at all, Davey,” Satan Hernandez said, finally speaking, now that he was puffing away contentedly on his huge spliff. He drew slowly and deeply, before passing the weed to David’s father. “Your Dad and I are old friends. Why, he’s been to hell many, many times. Even got beach-front property there, next to the golf course and spa. Hell is very misunderstood, not like the Hell people imagine thanks to Dante Alighieri, that allegorical ass. Damaged my public image for centuries, he did. Hell’s not a bad place at all. But that’s the rules. Souls are like tax in Hell. Your Dad gets to live there forever, but he has to pay his dues, too.” Silence washed through the dream for what seemed like a long time. Finally, David was the one to break it: “What about me? I have to make a deal, too? But I can’t think of anything. I’m too young to make such a big decision.” He turned to focus squarely on his father: “What am I supposed to do now?” David Driscoll toked on the spliff for a long moment and considered all options. He finally came up with: “You could sacrifice some of your size. Lose, say, 60 percent of it. You’d still be huge, but not like you are now. What are you now, easily 2000 lbs. or more?” “2666,” Satan interjected jovially, liking so much about that number. “But... but... I like being this huge,” David looked down at his magnificent muscles, each one swollen and bulging beyond all extremity. He was ravenous for muscle-growth, but a deal had to be hammered out before this dream came to an end. “Tell you what,” said Satan, taking out a harmonica for no reason. He began to play his rendition of “Devil in a blue dress”. It was a most horrendous version. “I will take off 666 pounds of muscle and convert it into your soul tax. You get to live out your life as before, but your size will be frozen at 2000 lbs. Also, to secure future deals with your bloodline, you have to produce a son and heir. Artificial insemination will suffice, so long as the little tyke is born and has a soul, which he will have, obviously.” More silence ensued. David didn’t know what to think. Finally, though, as the flames began to shrink and die, casting the immediate area into a spreading dimness, he reluctantly agreed to get smaller. “Great, kid. You won’t regret it,” said Satan, pulling out a contract which David had to sign in blood. The deal was done. David would be the first of the Driscolls since before Efram to avoid spending eternity in hell. He said goodbye to his father and shook hands with Satan, before... ... he awakened with a start and saw that he was in Ray’s fuck bed. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? He quickly got out of bed, only to find Carmichael standing over him, a clean set of clothes draped over his forearms. “I trust everything is now clear with the Sir?” Carmichael had never smiled in all the years he’d served the Driscoll family. Now, for the first time, he smiled broadly, displaying a mouthful of pearly whites, their perfection marred solely by a single bad tooth... the very same one as... “It’s you. That dream was real. What the hell?” “What the Hell indeed, Sir. You should get dressed. It’s after 5pm. You were asleep for most of the afternoon.” Carmichael began to lay out the master’s clothes for the evening. “Wait, how small am I?” David raced downstairs to the weight room to check himself over. The place was deserted, unusual for this time of day... all evidence of the calamity his growing had resulted in had been washed clean. Everything was mundane and without any reverberation of events. “Hmmm, I’m still pretty fuckin’ huge,” he exclaimed, gawping at the hyper-muscularity that occupied almost inch of his hulking bod. He’d come out of this deal better than he expected. He was four times as huge as he had been at 7:00 am that morning. He flexed a humongous, freaky double biceps pose, and his arm cannons did a 21-gun salute to his hugeness. He flared his lats, and they became engorged on blood, hulking out his mass to insane levels. He bounced the heaviest pecs in all creation, whilst flexing his mammoth quads, one after the other. He became lost to his pec-bouncing and almost passed out when he felt so much manly pec-meat heaving up and down on his chest. His pecs alone must have weighed about two hundred pounds apiece. His measurements were totally off the scale. “I will always be the hugest, strongest monster bodybuilder on Earth,” he exclaimed, somewhat proudly, bunching his torso into a most-muscular pose, leaning all his weight into it to maximize the flexing and the size it generated. “But I can never get bigger than I am now. Not now, not ever.” It was a sobering thought. He returned to Ray’s office to get dressed, his body somehow clean of soil, but with just enough of his musk on him to make the night ahead be the best one of his life so far. The oddly supernatural Carmichael had brought a most splendid outfit for David to wear. And despite that the birthday boy had grown by 400%, somehow the manservant had found an outfit that fit him perfectly. David started by rolling on the pants. He always put on pants like any lesser man puts on a condom, for the material of this clothes always hugged his muscles so tightly. The pants were mustard colored, a spandex and polyester mix that looked like a second skin as it clung to his parts, showing every striation and separation of each massive muscle. His cock and balls were truly enormous, and David had a bit of trouble squeezing his junk-load into the crotch of the pants. But he finally did it, the doing up of each visible button of the five-button fly a miniature triumph. The pants had very wide bell-bottoms, but even the bells clung to his huge calves at their widest points. Being of an early seventies design, the exposed button-fly wasn’t the only feature that nodded back to the retro-fashion era; the front square pockets of the pants were square-cut and dark brown in color, the same as the pockets on the back. And his bubble butt looked so beautiful and shapely in the pants, his crack sucking in the central seam and drenching it in musk. Next he put on the most stretchy, clingiest disco-style button-front shirt he’d ever worn. The material was semi-transparent, save for the pattern on the material, which was comprised of so many crescent moons and shooting star motifs. The flyaway collar was high and broad, settling well over his massive traps, but, like the pants, David had trouble doing up some of the buttons, specifically the ones behind which the most bulging pair of pecs ever built sat squarely on the widest chest ever sported by a man. He decided to leave a few buttons open to show off the fine brown hair speckling his pec-mounds. He finished off the ensemble with a gold chain around his bull’s neck, sporting a medallion in the shape of a tiny bodybuilder frozen in a perpetual full-lat spread. Similarly, the buckle of his belt showed a bodybuilder flexing a double biceps. Carmichael brought stylists into the gym to cut and style the hunky David’s hair into a sexy seventies look. They lightened it to a coppery blonde and cut it tight at the back but left a long, flowing fringe framed on either side by manly sideburns which didn’t overpower his looks. Finally, when he was fully dressed, he stepped back to admire himself. “Pure 1973,” he remarked, posing and flexing for all he was worth, testing the strength of the shirt, especially the buttons, in case they started to ping. They held, although some threads snapped in the shirt’s arms when David flexed his biceps. “How do I look from the back, Carmichael?” “Stunning, Sir. The width of your shoulders compared to the absurdly small taper of your waist spans far wider in the relaxed position than even the biggest superheavyweight is capable of when pulling a rear lat-spread. Your back is a “W” up top, but a lower-case “v” at its bottom, diminished still further by the massive and globular swell of your rectal area, making the button-flap pockets of the pants sit way more horizontally than vertically.” Carmichael was good at describing stuff. David could easily picture how his pants looked from behind. He flexed his glutes to their fullest, causing the buttons on the pockets to strain as their endurance was tested. David turned to the side, to take in his incredible profile. He noticed that the ball-shaped form of his biceps and triceps had stretched the shirt sleeves to near-bursting point... and... oh god... his upper arms were thicker than his waist, thicker by loads. The huge bulge in the front of his button-flies was extremely prominent, and so David played around with his meat, adjusting it inside the pants so that the bulge stuck out as far as it would go, whilst still flaccid. The distance between the apex of his crotch bulge, and the farthest point of his bubble butt at its most flexed, was a mind-blowing four feet. But that was easily dwarfed by the distance between his nipples when his pecs were most flexed and the middle of his back. He was so big, his muscles primed and pumped, traps, delts, bis, tris, pecs, abs, serratus, glutes, quads, hamstrings, and calves... maxed out and bulging beyond belief. “I guess I will have to get used to being stuck like this, never to grow ever again. But I’m certain of one thing... this shirt will be shredded before the night is out.” It was David’s holiest vow to himself on his 18th birthday. “Come, Sir, the car is waiting. I have you booked in for dinner at the Fangucci Bistro for 7pm sharp. You’re at Elizabeth Hurley’s table. I... er... arranged for her to come down with a twenty-four-hour strain of sweaty-cheese-minge syndrome. You know how hard it is to get a table there.” Carmichael, the devil that he was, was such a cool guy to know. “Do I have a dinner date for the evening, too?” David was starting to get horny again. He would love to get to know the son of Consuela the cook, the hunky Manuel who took over at weekends from the regular gardener to the Driscoll Palatial Estate. He saw him in his mind, now, stripped down to his jeans, his Mexican body toasted a healthy brown in the afternoon sun, cooling down under the hose he used to water the plants, his manly flesh modest but evident in the visible cuts between his work-hardened muscles. “You’re getting boned, Sir. Might I remind you to be careful regarding the pinging of buttons? And your dinner date is Manuel, the son of the cook, if you must know.” Carmichael had a devilish glint in his eye now. Had he read David’s mind? End of Part 1
  3. Here's another blast from the past written by Lorus for the old forum and saved in my private collection of erotic gems. I'm reposting it here with the author's permission. Mike Hugeman was mentioned in BOOM!, the short story I reposted earlier, so I thought it would be good for readers to know who he is. No one who meets the Hugeman ever forgets him. I certainly haven't. The story has eight episodes followed by a teaser for a sequel. I will post all of them in the same thread. MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE by LORUS Episode 1 The room shook from the force of Ken Preston having the fuck pounded out of his cute bubble-ass. It was his birthday, this day, and he’d used the money he’d gotten from his parents to hire the Hugeman for an afternoon, rather than put it towards his new car. The greatest gay whore in the entire city of Stillbrook didn’t come cheap either, considering he charged five hundred dollars an hour. Not everyone could afford him, but Ken had been building up to this for an entire year of scrimping and saving, deciding that if he was going to lose his virginity, then he was going to do it in style, with the best dick in the world impaling him along its incredible length. “Oh God, this is fucking... ugh... amazing. Don’t...ugh... want it to stop!!!!” Ken was face down on the bed, knees dug into the sheets so that his angelic, heavily lubricated ass pointed upwards. Mike Hugeman, the most super-huge, awesomely massive mega-bodybuilder in the world, rode into the youth with all the experience his craft would ever provide him. He was super-hung, sporting a dick that was a solid eighteen inches long when fully hard. It was thick, too, thicker than a beer can. Given that this was Ken’s first time having sex of any kind, Mike was surprised at just how well he took his meat, imagining the kid probably practiced every day with dildos of ever-increasing dimensions. He loved his work, and was proud of his physical accomplishments, often posing and flexing his enormously pumped muscles during the fucking of his clients. He was versatile, too, and would often grant his customers many of the requests they made of him. Ken was new to this, sure. He would be exhausted afterward, which suited Mike. He had to get to the gym within the hour. It was leg day, and his wheels needed an intense workout. He’d already made the kid shoot his load just by bicep-flexing five minutes after arriving at the dilapidated hotel room. He was used to better surroundings, but reckoned the kid was on a tight budget. Besides, he’d had cockroaches for spectators before, and had fucked in worse places than this. The kid was inexperienced, but his balls were big and round and held a lot of jizz. He would bring him to another incredible orgasm before the hour was up, after which any sex Ken would ever have in his life after this would never match up to the ride he got from the Hugeman. “Take it all in... all of my massive muscle-meat, you little twinkster, yeah fuckin’ moan and scream the Hugeman’s name, ugh yeah!” The bed took as much of a pounding as Ken did, for it groaned under Mike’s huge weight, which was getting close to six hundred pounds, since he’d really thrown himself into his beloved bodybuilding. He loved lifting and he loved fucking. You could say that he lived for these pastimes and nothing else. He was well-known in his native Stillbrook and was totally out about his whoring and his desire to get bigger and stronger. No other gay whore in the city could make the kind of money Mike made, so it could be said that he was the king of his hill, with fuck all in the way of competition. But that was soon to change, along with his life, forever. Meantime, he brought the twinkster to a howling orgasm once again and flared his lats in triumph as his organ, gorged on blood and pumping for all it was worth, penetrated Ken over and over, hurting him in throes of awesome ecstasy from which the eighteen year old hoped he would never recover. Usually, Mike was wider than most doorframes, loving how he had to squeeze sideways just to get in and out of rooms. When he flared his lats it seemed like his body got wider still. Coupled with the rush of his orgasms, his energy levels would peak, and his muscles spring erect and huge. When he flared his lats during ejaculation, he was at his biggest and widest, and the skin across his back groaned in defiance of his increase in size, almost to the point of splitting apart and causing him injury. But it never did. He was strong as an ox... hell... he was strong as a dozen oxen. Ken’s time was almost up. Mike had been pacing himself and could have climaxed long before now. In truth he had a hyperactive sex drive and could easily be ready to orgasm again just two or three minutes after cumming, and his tennis-ball-sized gonads acted rapidly when it came to replenishing their jizz stocks. “Fuck me to death”, pleaded Ken, but Mike would never do that. Despite his ruggedly handsome looks and tough-guy persona, he was pretty much a nice 22-year old Italian American, with only an occasional short fuse, who still found time to visit his Sicilian mama for the best home-cooked pasta in all of Creation. He often joked to his friends that it was his mama’s cooking that was to blame for his enormous muscle-growth. In all honesty, the hunk had no idea why nature had singled him out with such an incredible ability to grow a huge, hulking muscle-bod. He loved getting larger, showing up at get-togethers and causing his friends to gawp in disbelief at how much larger he’d become since they’d last seen him. This got him thinking about the gym, now, and satisfying his other voracious appetites for the good things in life. It was time to blast the twinkster out of it. He gripped the sides of the bed as he gave one final lunge into Ken, his body tensing as it hardened into a seizure of ejaculation. A gushing torrent of creamy spunk erupted from Mike’s eighteen-incher, and he positively adored cumming inside his clients. He didn’t care about disease, for it was impossible to find condoms to fit his gigantic whore’s dick, and his doctor was astounded by the fact that having had unprotected sex with more than four thousand paying clients since he’d started out at just sixteen years of age, that he hadn’t once picked up an STD. He really was a superman in every sense of the word, with a superb immunity to disease that was unprecedented. Ken screamed his loudest as the Hugeman ravaged his hole, pumping a massive load of cum into his body. Even after pulling out of him Mike continued to spurt cum all over his newest client. More and more of the steaming cream soiled Ken and the bed they rode on. Mike then grabbed hold of Ken and firmly turned him around on the bed, so that he was facing up. The look of sheer pleasure on the youth’s face was a sight to behold, and his gaping mouth seemed hungry for Mike’s elixir. He did not disappoint and eagerly shot more and more cum, this time allowing Ken to swallow a great deal of it. “God, it seems I can cum more and more as I get bigger,” Mike bragged and allowed Ken to take his fill. Finally exhausted, Ken slipped into a satisfied slumber, spread-eagled on a grimy bed, and drenched in the Hugeman’s spunk. “My work here is done,” said Mike, and muscle-strutted into the ensuite bathroom to take a shower. The plumbing groaned and spluttered as he lathered himself up with the shower gel from his kit bag. As it was summer, he seldom wore a shirt when he was out in public because he simply loved to show off his gigantic muscle-bod. He was a regular sight on the streets, posing for all he was worth, sometimes allowing guys to come up and touch his thickly-veined muscles, but only if they had cold hard cash for the privilege. Mike Hugeman never gave anything away for free. It simply wasn’t his style. He decided to get ready for the gym here in the hotel room, which didn’t take long. He’d arrived wearing only stretch-denim jeans, his upper body glistening from a mixture of sun-tan lotion and baby oil. Now he placed the jeans in his kit bag and pulled on a sexy pair of black and blue striped spandex workout shorts that did little to tone down the massive bulge his cock and balls formed at their front. He couldn’t wait for it to be larger, too, for it seemed that his cock grew another inch for every fifty pounds of muscle he put on. “Fuckin’ HUGE,” he declared as he bounced the massive shelf of his pecs up and down for a couple of minutes as he dried his ravishing black hair with a hairdryer. He was completely beautiful and loved how his father’s looks married so well with the Italian in him. He’d once been told he looked like a cross between a young John Travolta and Robert Redford. He agreed with this comparison, but reckoned he was many times more handsome than the two actors in their youth. Mike got more and more beautiful with each passing day. He had sparkling blue eyes set beneath a confident brow that complimented his rugged, square jaw-line beautifully. He had full, pouting lips, the bottom larger than the top one, and when they parted to form a smile he had perfect white teeth. He always maintained thick, designer stubble which went well with the curly black hair on some of his chest, which he never shaved. He loved having a lot of hair on his front, and he especially loved how his chest hair tapered down to a fuzzy treasure trail that formed a pleasurable tongue’s highway between his chest hair and his thick but trimmed pubic tuft. At the special request of some of his regular customers, he never shaved his armpits, and the dark bushy growth he had in them was so beautiful, merely lifting his arms and flashing his pits was enough to drive some of his customers to complete, frenzied orgasm. It was time to leave. He sprayed himself with sexy cologne that enhanced his natural masculine musk and flexed some more in the mirror before helping himself to the cash the twinkster left beside the bed. There was a business card sticking halfway out of Ken’s wallet, not that it was any of Mike’s business. But curiosity got the better of him and so he looked at it. And then he got mad... very mad. Episode 2 The sensation that he was no longer asleep, but instead floating mid-air in a slight summer breeze, brought Ken Preston shrieking back to consciousness. He was no longer spread-eagled on a cum-sodden bed, or even in the hotel room, for that matter. Mike Hugeman had taken him up the fire escape to the roof of the hotel. Somewhat maliciously, the massive muscle-whore dangled him over the side, holding him only by his right wrist, like a small child would carelessly carry around a beaten-up old teddy. Beneath him was a twelve story drop that would surely kill him were the Hugeman to let go. “What are you doing to me?” Fear had caused Ken to urinate but thank goodness nothing else came out of him. This didn’t make sense. Why had Mike taken him up to the roof of the hotel? What had Ken done to deserve such a fate? The giant muscleman got to the point somewhat gruffly. “Why do you have an UltraZen business card in your wallet?” In the hands of the Hugeman, Ken Preston hardly weighed anything at all. He leaned out over the edge as far as he could extend his bull-strong arm, causing Ken to kick and dance in mid-air as he tried desperately to get closer to the roof. “I don’t... don’t know what that is, Mike. Puh-pleeeese, let me back in. I’ll pay you more money, I swear. I’ll cash in my college fund.... just please let me...” “That wasn’t the answer I expected, you little bastard. Shit, I think my fingers are losing’ their grip.” Mike feigned a worried look as he pretended to lose hold of the terrified teen. Then, ever so audaciously, Mike ripped off his spandex shorts, causing his dick to spring forth like a striking rattle snake. It instantly grew super-hard and began to ooze copious amounts of precum. He brought Ken in a bit, flipped him around and rammed his ass with his dick, but only halfway along its length. Then he stood perched on the edge of the roof, so that Ken was now once again dangling, held in place by the power of the Hugeman’s cock alone. “Look, mama, no hands,” Mike goofed, and imagined his dick growing bigger and bigger whilst impaling Ken and pushing him ever further from the edge of the roof. To emphasize just how in-control he was of this situation, Mike shot a massive bicep pose, cranking up his guns from their cold size of 32 inches around, to a staggering 42 inches. Whilst Ken quaked in fear on the end of his monster dick, the Hugeman kissed each of his biceps, flexing them harder and harder, forcing more and more blood to distend his veins, bulging them outwards like thick, ropy cables. “Pity you can’t see this from your position, twinkster. You’re missing one hell of a show,” Mike boasted, marveling at how monstrously huge and powerful his guns were becoming. Every day it seemed that he’d grown a little. He was constantly in awe of just how massive he was. But he was never satisfied with his gains. He wanted more and more size, strength, incredible beauty, and unbeatable power. He began to contract the muscles in his groin, causing his dick to bob upwards, still with the terrified young man impaled on it. “Hey this is a great workout for my dick muscles. You must weigh about one-fifty. Hell, I could perch two more of you on my hot super-cock, and still bounce it upwards. I’m just so goddam fucking huge and powerful. I’m so ultra-fucking-gorgeous. But I don’t like to be fucked with. I won’t ask you again, what the fuck is an UltraZen card doing in your wallet?” Sobbing fitfully, Ken was as truthful as he could be. “It’s my dad’s wallet... his spare one. I luh-lost my own a while buh-back... so he gave me his one. It muh-must be his cuh-card.” In the street below, a curious crowd had begun to gather. The Hugeman considered what Ken said, and after a minute decided to let him in. He placed the crying birthday boy down on the rooftop and stood towering over him, his body heaving with power in every sinew and fiber that made him so amazing. He flared his lats somewhat threateningly, but in truth posing helped him to think clearly. “Hmm, you could be telling the truth. You seem honest enough. But if your father works for those crooked bastards then I’m going to fuck him harder than I fucked you.” It was a vow which Mike promised to keep. He went to his kit bag and pulled out a spare pair of shorts which he quickly put on. They were grey in color and immediately a precum stain formed in them, but Mike didn’t care. He was just minutes away from causing so many guys in the locker room of Joel’s Gym on Church St to make with their own precum. “I hardly see my dad, ‘cos he’s always working. I think they may be clients of his. He’s in advertising. That’s all I know, Mike. I swear.” Ken was still crying. Mike suddenly felt bad. He pulled a clean towel out of his bag and gave it to Ken to dry his tears with. “Sorry about that. I guess I got carried away. UltraZen tried to recruit me into their organization a couple of years back. They offered me a free health assessment and free membership to their ultra-modern super-gym. But all they really wanted was a sample of my tissue to experiment with. They think I’m some kind of mutant, ‘cos I can grow so big. A mutant, can you fucking believe it?” Ken now understood why the Hugeman had flown off the handle. But the experience still had him rattled. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t gonna drop you, twinkster. And even if I had, I could easily have leaped down to ground-level to catch you before you hit the concrete.” Smiling the most beautiful smile Ken had ever seen on any man, actor, supermodel, athlete or bodybuilder, Mike did a side chest pose and hefted up his medicine ball-sized pectorals, beefing them up to super-striated status. His chin immediately became lost in the meat of his upper pecs, creating the illusion that his head was about to be devoured by his muscle-tits. He couldn’t wait to inflate these babies through further workouts. He really was obsessed with his bodybuilding and obsessed with himself. “I deserve a free session for what you did, Mike. It was cruel of you.” Fear and upset rapidly began to give way to anger. Ken had every right to be angry. Mike thought about this. He guessed the kid was right. He dug into his bag to return his five hundred bucks. “No – keep the money. I meant another session, on the house, of course. Or I’ll tell the cops what you did to me.” “Hmmm, Hugeman in the State Pen for attempted murder. Lots of jailhouse ass for me to pound. Communal showers and I heard they’ve got one of the best gymnasiums in the state. I could get really fucking HUGE in jail, not that any cell could hold me.” Mike scratched his gorgeous stubbly chin as his mind set off to explore such a fantasy. In jail he could be worshipped far more intensively than in normal life. But on the other hand, he’d miss his mama’s pasta. Nah, it was best to keep on the right side of the law. “Blackmail doesn’t suit you, twinkster. But you’ve got yourself a deal. One free session it is. But not right now, ‘cos I have to get to the gym to beef up further. You can come by my place tonight at 9pm. I live at Pinewood Heights on Reginald and Main, Apartment 12, on the top floor. I promise not to dangle you from my balcony. I usually do webcam hulk-outs at that time, but tonight, for you, I’ll make an exception.” That said, the Hugeman leaped into the air and out from the edge of the rooftop. In a single bound he was across to the adjacent building, coming down heavily with a mighty stomp powerful enough to loosen every tile on the ceiling of the rooms below. He chuckled to himself, delighting at how huge and hulking he was. Suddenly the unexpected happened. The force of his connection with the second rooftop was enough to jar the body of the peeping Tom who’d been observing his antics through binoculars. The guy was dressed in combat fatigues, but he seemed too fat to be a real soldier. He staggered drunk-fashion out from behind an extractor fan assembly and puked up his McDonald’s lunch all over his boots. “What the fuck? Were you spying on me you fat fucking pervert? I’ll break you in half for that. The Hugeman never gives it away for nothing.” Fuming, Mike snatched the binoculars from the peeping Tom and crushed them into tiny bits of broken glass, metal, and plastic. He felt like ripping out the extractor fan unit and using it to beat the living crap out of the fatty. He was strong enough to do it, too. He thought about the prison fantasy again. “Puh-please... don’t hurt me,” the slob in camouflage pleaded. On a hot day like this the smell of expelled stomach acids soon became unbearable. Mike wasn’t hanging around. He was going to charge this pervert for the privilege of watching him perform on the twinkster, and so he grabbed him by the scruff of his fatigues and searched through his pockets for a wallet. He found it without any trouble. It bore the motif of UltraZen. Mike’s blood began to boil. He flared red in the face and puffed himself up to a massively muscular rage. He soon forced a confession out of the peeping Tom, whose name turned out to be Lenny Simmons. Mike listened to everything he had to say: “They hired me to watch the boy. I slipped the business card into his wallet when he dropped it at McDonald’s before meeting you. It was meant to get your attention. After the kid left the hotel I was to take him out with a tranquilizer dart and drive him to an abandoned warehouse at the docks – unit 108. There the kid would have your jizz extracted from him. What they do with it after that is none of my beeswax” Mike needed to flex while he thought about this. He pushed out a crab pose that caused his muscles to striate massively, bunching together with almost electrical ferocity. Like the comic book Hulk, anger seemed to inflate Mike lately, something he was curious about. If he could make an actual ability of this, then he could will himself far huger whenever it pleased him to. He was getting turned on, too, and his second pair of shorts began to part at the seams as his cock, once again, stood to attention. The wet bulge inflating in his crotch was enormous. Simmons couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wasn’t gay but his contact at UltraZen had given him a dossier on Hugeman, and the gigantic bodybuilder had fucked straight guys before, just because it suited him to. The shorts would not withstand a full erection, not when he was this angry, boiling blood surging through every last inch of him. “Get the fuck off this rooftop, Simmons. And don’t contact UltraZen under any circumstances. Your driver’s license was in your wallet, so I know where you live. Think I’ll be holding on to that for insurance. I’m going to pay a visit to that warehouse. If you warn them I’m coming, I’ll pound that house of yours into rubble, with you in it. Got that?” When the Hugeman spoke, he had to be heeded. Simmons, his fat lips blubbering, hastily made an exit. Mike set off towards the Stillbrook docks, his shorts just about managing to keep his junk in place. It had been a long time since he’d been this angry about something. The word “UltraZen” was enough to drive him into an indignant frenzy. What further enraged him was that he might miss his workout for the day. And for that he was going to make UltraZen pay dearly. Episode 3 For a henchman, Artie Pimms asked way too many questions. UltraZen’s Arkadian Stoat tugged at his electrically air-conditioned black mackintosh and tried to remain calm and sane. In truth, he was failing at keeping Pimms from grating on his nerves. If something interesting didn’t happen in the next 60 seconds, he was going to have to cause a public nuisance, simply to keep from going around the bend. Pimms shifted nervously from one foot to the other, surveying his surroundings with an almost pathological level of suspicion. It was abandoned, here at the docks, the perfect place for UltraZen to spring its trap. “Do you think it was a good idea having Lenny place the card in the kid’s wallet, boss?” It was Pimms’ umpteenth question in several minutes. Stoat wanted to kill the obsequious troll in man’s clothing. How in all the cosmos did these “inbreeds” make it onto the company payroll anyway? The mind just boggled. “For the third time, already, I planned it this way, Pimms. The Hugeman has a short fuse and hates all things UltraZen. How else could I get him to come here? Simmons is about as stealthy as a rhino with whooping cough. He’s almost as bad as you for messing things up. Stillbrook’s arrogant muscle whore will be here, and soon. I guarantee it. Now do me a favor and check your weapon. You may need it. And do it quietly!” Stoat adjusted the settings on the electro-blaster he carried with him, making sure it was set for maximum output. He would only get one shot at this. The only way to stop a man as huge and powerful as Mike Hugeman was with an electro-static force-field that could jolt even the most superhuman nervous system into complete but totally reversible shutdown. Positioned out of sight, keeping to the gloom cast by the shadows of some empty packing crates within the spacious sprawl of the virtually empty Warehouse 108, Mike Hugeman would have to possess x-ray vision to notice his adversaries before they noticed him. Stoat silently prayed to St Norris (the Patron Saint of B-List Bastards) that this wasn’t the case. Within minutes there was a loud, thunderous sound of something heavy hitting the concrete outside. Nearby car alarms sounded as the impact set them off. Young ladies screamed in terror, but then seeing it was the Hugeman, began to get moist for him and wish he wasn’t gay, oh and er... yeah... a couple of dogs barked or something. The Hugeman was really pissed off as he tore through the docklands looking for Unit 108. This was causing him to miss his workout. He got madder and madder, and this seemed to make him get a little bigger, which wasn’t a bad thing, he reckoned. But his shorts were about to disintegrate from the immense pressure his inflating glutes and erecting dick caused by pushing outward in opposite directions. When he found Unit 108, he smashed through the large slide-doors, pulverizing metal and wood and whatever else the fucking things were made of, the force of which made him totally lose his shorts. He didn’t care. Looking down at his massive whale-dick excited and pleased him. But he snorted in a rising rage, thinking that it wouldn’t get to be glorified in the gym today, if the day’s events kept causing him to get sidetracked. “Come out from hiding, you UltraZen bastards,” he boomed, his gargantuan roar powered by an incredible set of lungs. He was getting stronger and stronger. He could feel his body bulging all over. He had to capitalize on this effect, but also clear his head to think clearly. When silence returned to the warehouse’s echoed interior, Hugeman flexed, sweet fuck did he flex, greater than he ever flexed before. He squatted down a little, bending his legs at the knees, so that most of his weight was carried by his shimmering quads. He crabbed down into a most-muscular pose, squeezing his balled fists so tight, he could compress coals into diamonds had he been holding them. This incredible pressure, aided by a snarl that added deep russet tones to his cheeks, sent a shockwave of flexing, bulging superpower throughout his exceptional system. Energy crackled in pulses along his body’s veined super-highway, energizing his circulatory system to hulk up into overdrive. Massive, thick cords pushed out of a 22-inch neck. His body exploded into hyper-muscular relief, with extra inches popping out everywhere, his weight increasing significantly. He couldn’t wait to get this business over with so that he could beat all his lifting records over at Joel’s Gym, with a full retinue of horny, awe-stricken, paying worshippers gathered around him, just the way he liked it. He would have it no other way. He posed and flexed, flexing huger still, and posed until he could think more clearly. He pounded his granite fists together, sending further pulses of shocking power throughout. Growling and snarling – gruffly lauding his bodybuilding superiority with an exceptional nod to superior masculinity – Mike screamed the place down as his glistening, colossal physique bulged more immensely than ever, muscles bulking up so fast, his skin stretched almost to the point of sheer translucence. His definition was mesmerizing. His hulking pecs widened and deepened, and when he bounced them, it took slightly more effort on his part, the mass of the pec-bellies at their greatest so far, so that their momentum seemed more gradual, but no less rhythmic. This pleased him very much, and his hard-on raged with greater impunity. “My God,” Arkadian Stoat gasped from behind the vantage point of crates, then cursing himself for uttering a sound. He wasn’t gay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate just how much larger Mike Hugeman had become since last their paths crossed. He had failed, before, to secure the genetic samples he craved in order to experiment with Mike’s unique muscle-building properties. UltraZen thrived on defense contracts. Should they patent an elite super-soldier for sale to the highest bidder, they could become a major world power in their own right. Hugeman was the key to mastering this design. And Stoat, as head researcher for UltraZen Industries, was under a lot of pressure to reel in his prize catch. Today he vowed not to fail. Luckily the Hugeman hadn’t heard him make a sound, so caught up was Mike in his flexing and muscle-gaining. With an enormously delta-shaped back bouncing rays of glorious sunlight back through the skylight through which they came, Mike was oblivious to the stealthy, snake-like advances of Stoat, as he carefully eased his way closer to his quarry, the electro-blaster primed and ready to be fired. Stoat would only have one shot at this. He signaled with a nod for Pimms to ready the overhead net conductor. It would fire from a cylinder high above the Hugeman, something that had failed to catch his eye, fortunately for Stoat. So far things were going by the numbers. But still, caution was the only card to play. Mike was overwhelmed by his flexing, and the obsession he had with growing, coupled with the rising strength he felt surging in him. His balls swelled with jizz, and he would have to expend it soon before frustration got the better of him. He began to stroke his huge whale-dick, completely awed that it seemed, now, to be at least an inch and a half longer than it had been earlier, back in the hotel room with Ken Preston. Saint Norris’s Ghost, Stoat mentally gasped, not expecting to get a full sex show from the biggest muscle behemoth the world has ever seen. He was an out and out heterosexual, but if that was the case, why did Stoat feel the front of his trousers getting tight? No, this cannot be. This fucker cannot be turning me gay, he thought, but then lost the run of himself and said the last bit aloud: “I won’t allow it!!!” Hearing this caused the Hugeman to turn around like a whirlwind, just as his cannon dick was about to release its salty torrent. Several life-changing things happened in the space of one and a half seconds. The force of Mike’s massive discharge spewed forth with the pressure of a fire extinguisher, blasting into Stoat across a distance of about twenty feet. Gripped momentarily by his most powerful self-induced orgasm ever, Hugeman was temporarily paralyzed, but that did not matter, for the blast of his jizz knocked Stoat off his feet, sending him sprawling, just as Pimms pressed a button on his remote control, blowing the cylinder above both Hugeman and UltraZen’s head researcher. Stoat fired the ultra-blaster, but something went terribly wrong. Coils of Tesla-like energy arced into the torrent of cum that existed briefly between Hugeman and Stoat, creating a brief circuit through which the gun overloaded. The connection was only a fraction of a second in duration, but the conductor net fell over them both, holding in the charge for a little longer. Dazed and confused, Hugeman rolled around in the net and soon became trapped. Like an idiot, Pimms sprang to help his boss, reaching out to grab his arm where it stuck out from a gap in the net. Stoat writhed in agony as energy danced impishly across his suffering but scrawny frame. As soon as Pimms touched his hand, he absorbed most of the energy, which now siphoned off into him. He was knocked back into the packing crates, smashing through them. He screamed for all of his worth as anomalous energies scorched him... reshaped and rewrote him. Likewise, Stoat was also rewritten to a certain extent. This was a day that would live in infamy, no doubt about it. When the lightning show eventually ended, Mike found the strength to tear himself free of the confining net. He felt weak and he staggered to his feet, his dick now limp and pendulous as it swung from his movements. “Am I... smaller? Oh, please God, please no.” He cleared his head and rubbed his eyes to get them into sharp focus. He looked down at himself... well, his gaze got as far as his pecs and would go no further, for his muscle rack prevented it, it was so bloated and huge. He flexed his forearms and bis, squeezing his balled fists to crank up the flexing to its fullest. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he hadn’t shrunk at all, despite the sapping of his strength. In fact, he thought he might be even bigger. Thinking this quickly energized him and lengthened his dick to a semi-flaccid state. Still a bit groggy from whatever it was his assailant had shot him with, Mike turned to look down at the living mess caught in the net. At first he didn’t recognize the charred, wizened man. Then, as he studied the sooty face a little further: “Arkadian fucking Stoat. I should have known you’d be behind this,” the Hugeman growled. Stoat just moaned something incomprehensible but appealed to the Hugeman to be freed from the net. He poked an even bonier arm through the netting, hoping the giant above him would take pity on an injured scientist. Hugeman scowled and thought about pissing on the little runt. “Puh-please have pity on me, Hugeman. You can see I’m beaten, finished. I know when I’m licked. At least help me to my feet so that I can check on poor Artie. I think he took the worst of it.” Mike thought it over and bounced his pecs so as to clear some space in his head. Maybe UltraZen would leave him alone, now that Stoat had seen the new, bigger, and more powerful Hugeman. They simply couldn’t beat him. Stoat looked old, broken down, emaciated. He was no threat to the Hugeman, Mike decided. And so, he extended a huge hand downwards, offering it reluctantly to Stoat. When Stoat touched Mike’s hand, he felt a rush like no other. Although his body didn’t change shape or size, he leeched off a great-deal of Mike’s incredible power. Mike, towering above the scientist, felt his legs turn to jelly, weakening to the point of being unable to stand under his own power. In contrast, Stoat snapped himself to a standing position in a trice, almost squeezing the life out of the Hugeman. Instincts that were new to the older man coursed through him, now, and with the merest tug of his arm, wrenched the Hugeman into the air, with force enough to expel him upwards, higher, and higher. He crashed out through the roof of the warehouse, soaring ever higher into the summer sky. Stoat watched it happen, marveling at what he had just done. But how could this be? He decided there was time for analysis later. For now, he just enjoyed the worried squeal from Hugeman, gradually fading as distance claimed him. “Sto...aaaaaa...aaaaat!!!!!!!!!!” “No, dear boy, from now on I won’t be going by that name. Oh no...” He looked at his burnt hands and marveled, wonderingly, at the crackling, residual static charge that arced between his clawed fingers, energy that seemed to leech the power out of the most powerful man on the planet. Stoat took a new name and shouted it aloud: “From now on... I will be called... Man Handler!!!!!” To be continued . . .
  4. With the permission of Lorus, the author, I am reposting this story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. Fortunately, I saved a copy so it can once again receive the attention it deserves. Direct your accolades to Lorus. I am only a messenger. Adventures of an Incredibly Aesthetic Muscle-God By Lorus Part 1 It was a day like any other for Brett Hillard, who, as the world’s most beautiful male model, could name his price when it came to photoshoots. In fact, at just 25 years old he’d already visited over one hundred countries on Earth. He had his face on more billboards in every continent than the average human has dinners in a lifetime. No other man on Earth could come anywhere close to being as beautiful as he was. Alas, he’d grown quite bored with the whole thing. He had millions of pounds in his bank account. He had six hundred and fifty-seven pairs of sneakers, all of which had been donated by the various sneaker manufacturers. He’d put his name to a llama park in Swindon, simply because he’d had one shot of tequila too much one night and decided to do it for a lark. He’d also slept with thousands of men, all of whom said he was the greatest fuck they’d ever had. He was so beautiful that he could make grown men cry and then shoot their loads just by smiling at them. Life was good for Brett Hillard. Some would say ‘too good’. He wanted more. He needed a change. He needed to change. So he did some research, and found something after a little searching. On the internet he clicked on a pop-up that read: “Wanted: Human Test Subjects for Mind-Blowing Physical Enhancement Program!” “Huh? This can’t be for real… can it?” He dug deeper, reading more into it. Of course, these kinds of things don’t reveal much to start with. They get your curiosity juices flowing as they ‘rope you in’. They prey on your desires for betterment. This promised to pay thirty grand for an hour or so of his time. “I don’t need the money. But I want to be… different. Yet the same.” He admitted to himself that he wasn’t making sense. But he had to know more. So he emailed the brain(s) that ran the program, half-expecting to get spammed out of it. But that didn’t happen. Next day there was an email waiting for him that contained only one thing: a cellphone number. Without delay Brett dialed it. It was answered immediately. “So you want to be enhanced, yes?” The voice on the other side of the connection sounded calm and erudite. “I’m the world’s most beautiful male model. But I want to be better than that. Can you help me?” “Ah, so you must be Brett Hillard,” said the voice on the phone. “Yup… bet you’ve already wanked to my photos online. I’d be surprised if you haven’t.” Brett was cocky to a fault. He had that effect on people. He could almost hear the man’s erection springing up on the other end of the line. “Not my thing, alas, Brett. But my assistant has a penchant for muscular males. He’s spent many a time in the bathroom with a tablet open to your Instagram. Let’s not delve further, eh? I’d like you to come visit us. The program has already proven successful with non-human participants. I think you’ll be very surprised at my findings.” “Sure thing. What’s the address?” Brett’s big cock hardened and got larger at the thought of his body becoming better… even more astoundingly beautiful. “123 Swole Street. Come at 2pm. We’ll have everything set up, Brett.” And that was it. Brett showered and ate a hearty breakfast. Before leaving he chose a particularly eye-catching outfit to wear; he was a button-shirt, bowtie, suspenders, and jeans kind of guy. To be honest, the mega-hunky blonde was so beautiful, and super-sexy and manly in every way conceivable, that he looked amazing no matter what we wore. Blue eyed, square-jawed, he had gorgeous bulges all over his body. Even his Adam’s apple was big and manly. His body was like that of a fitness model, with chiseled muscles that re-defined muscularity. He wasn’t huge, but he wasn’t small either. His vascularity was off the charts. He had a ten pack, for god’s sake. He made Sergi Constance look like a couch potato. “And to think… I’ll be even more insanely beautiful after I take part in this program,” he vowed. He growled a little, got a huge erection again, and had to relieve himself before he left his plush penthouse. 123 Swole Street turned out to be a building for rent. It was nondescript, with a faint smell of ozone; as if there was electrical equipment buzzing and humming within. Brett fought off the usual paparazzi and screaming guys and girls getting wet for him (he was used to it, as this happened wherever he went). “You think I’m super-hot now? Wait for it, you plain, ugly fucks,” he jested. It was all part of his showing-off act. The public loved it when he was cocky and insulting. It turned them on even more. Grown men had to run into doorways to relieve themselves simply because Brett turned them on in ways you wouldn’t believe. He pressed the doorbell and instantly the door unlocked, buzzing him in. He entered the dimly-lit building and was suddenly overcome with a slight feeling of dread. He swallowed, albeit nervously. It wasn’t like him to be nervous. What if this was a trap, set up by some crazed fan that wanted to keep him prisoner forever? Although, if it turned out to be a gang of youths with boyband looks, he might be persuaded to develop Stockholm syndrome. He tentatively walked down a spartan corridor and gave a slight start when a fluorescent light above him suddenly buzzed and blinked on. More of that ozone smell assaulted his senses. His eyes watered a little. A door opened at the end of the corridor, and a gorgeous-looking bloke in a white coat emerged. He was somewhat Asian, maybe Eurasian, and reminded Brett a little of Dev Patel, only hunkier. He had a lovely smile. And suddenly Brett’s concerns were laid to rest. “I’m Raj. Welcome, Brett. We’re about to change your life. Come… such wonders await you beyond that door.” Raj was undeniably gorgeous, but nowhere near as gorgeous as Brett, but no one ever could be, certainly not after today. He remembered what the voice said to him on the phone. Could Raj be the assistant he spoke of, that ‘had a penchant for muscular males’? Brett bounced his not inconsiderable pectorals under his ‘painted-on’ shirt. Gaps appeared between the buttons, revealing smooth, tanned skin. Raj beamed with delight. “I hope that isn’t your favorite shirt, Brett. After the treatment, you’ll be finding it a tad tight.” Raj winked and then his gaze was drawn to Brett’s crotch where an enormous bulge had formed. The tight pants looked like they would split any second. Raj found himself thinking how huge Brett’s cock was at full hardness. Brett had done plenty of nudes during his illustrious career, so Raj had seen it — and wanked to it — innumerable times. But he’d never seen it erect. “Bring it on, Raj. And you never know, by the time all this is over, you’ll have a sore arse for a month, if you get my drift.” Brett bounced his pectorals some more and flexed his traps. Buttons strained. His bowtie groaned as he thickened out his neck whilst smiling his usual cocky smile. Raj’s cock ballooned behind his white coat. But he was at work, so professional decorum had to be maintained. He took Brett into the next room. There were cages with animals in them. The animals were beautiful-looking. Brett marveled at the sight of them. “That gorilla should have its own modelling contract. What a handsome fucker, for an ape,” said Brett, when the gorilla — thick and muscular with a gleaming coat — extended a hand through the bars to gently caress Brett’s hand. “Ah, he’s lovely, yes? Two weeks ago, he was a six-month old chimpanzee,” Raj exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. “Fuck no! Seriously? He used to be a chimp? Jesus!” Brett was very impressed. The next animal was no less impressive. He recognized it, too. “A Komodo dragon. I saw them on wildlife shows,” said Brett, deciding to keep his distance from the second cage. These beasts had a vicious way of interacting with other living things. “Oh you can’t be afraid of a cute little gecko, Brett,” Raj teased. Brett’s mind was blown. There were other animals in several more cages, each one starting out much smaller and less significant in the food chain than what science had ‘helped’ them become. Another door yonder, and this time a different scientist stepped through. “I’m Doctor Herman Weiss. Finally good to meet you in person, Brett.” Weiss’s voice matched the one from the phone call earlier. He was an average-looking bespectacled man of middling years. He was a little grey at the temples with a comb-over to hide a bald patch several years in the making. He tended to stoop, but his handshake was firm and sincere, which belied his lack of physical prowess. “So, Doc, what’s this experiment I’m going to be doing? I hope you’re not scamming me with false promises.” Brett formed a frown that advertised skepticism. Weiss smiled and nodded, as if he expected such a reaction. “I’ll cut to the chase. The lease on this building expires tomorrow. We tend not to stay in one place for too long. Ethics and all that.” He removed his spectacles for dramatic pause. Then: “What if you had the power to grow massively muscular on a whim?” Weiss paused to allow Brett to take it in. “Are you serious?” Brett frowned even further. This had to be a wind-up. “The gorilla is beautiful, no? For a chimp. The same would go for you,” Raj interjected. He took Brett’s hand and caressed it. Brett’s ephemeral skepticism was replaced with reassurance. “We ran several computer simulations. We predict that you would have the power to control your growth — transforming at will — unlike the animal subjects. When they changed the changes became permanent,” Weiss added. “Really? So I could grow as little or as much as I like? Then get smaller again?” Brett’s erection was now straining towards painful restriction. “We think so, yes,” said Raj. “Okay, I’m in. Pump me full of your science stuff. I want this. I want it more than anything!” The procedure was blissfully brief, and defiantly simple. Brett was made to take a shower before changing into a medical smock, although he would have opted to keep his own clothes on. Weiss insisted that the procedure would be most effective if outside contaminants were eliminated. Brett acquiesced. He was weighed, too, and some detailed measurements were taken of his body. Next a serum was administered through his muscled forearm. Doctor Weiss had no problem finding veins on Brett’s arm; he was ripped and vascular to a fault. The serum glowed with a faint greenish hue. “A side effect of the radioactive isotope used as a catalyst, Brett. It will not change your skin color,” Weiss assured. He winked somewhat mischievously “Huh? Radiation? You didn’t mention that before. Will it make me sick?” Brett’s alarm was short lived when Raj interjected. “It’s no more dangerous than an x-ray. Nothing to worry about, Brett.” Raj scribbled notes onto a clipboard as he spoke. His chief job was to note down everything that happened to the test subject. Brett didn’t much care for the unflattering medical smock, and he summarily ripped it from his body. Somewhat nonplussed, both scientist and assistant took a step back. “I want to look my best when I become incredible,” Brett explained. And so the 6’3” mega-hunk stood completely naked before the purveyors of his amazing future, his body rippling and glistening beneath a patina of sweat that adorned him with a god-like glaze. He sported a massive erection. Raj was overwhelmed by its length and girth. It had to be at least twelve inches long and eight or nine inches thick. Beneath the fleshy, horse-hung cock, his ball sack was heavy and bulging with gonads big as peaches. And they were about to become way bigger once the procedure ran its course. A minute passed during which nothing much happened. Raj had stopped taking notes and remained aghast and agog at things as they unfolded. There was a video camera recording everything as it happened. “I don’t feel any different,” said Brett, and he began to think that all this was just a scam. Then… It was slight at first, but did his chest suddenly thicken and look fuller than before? “Hmm… interesting. Only your chest has responded to the serum,” noted Doctor Weiss. He nodded to Raj, indicating he should make a note of it. “Well, I was just thinking about having a bigger chest, Doc,” said Brett. He bounced his now larger pecs, enjoying the experience immensely. “This could be significant,” said Raj. Weiss frowned. “I don’t pay you to have opinions, Raj. Keep taking notes,” Weiss intoned adamantly. And then to Brett: “Try thinking about growing another muscle, Brett, er… your biceps?” Weiss was as excited as a scientist could get on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, his own personal ‘Eureka’ moment. Raj, by contrast, licked his lips in anticipation. Brett lifted his right arm and bent it at the middle, forming a distinct and eye-catching mini boulder. A smug expression washed over his delicious face when veins popped out all over his arm and the bicep bulged larger than it ever had. It definitely got larger, almost as large as the soup plate-sized eyes in Raj’s handsome head. Brett didn’t stop here. He copied the pose of his right arm using his left, forming a double biceps pose. Veins popped larger, his muscles bulged significantly bigger and Raj moaned audibly as his lust for Brett Hillard intensified. To hell with professional decorum. Weiss didn’t pay him nearly enough for his work. “Try another pose, Brett. Perhaps a lat spread. Not that I’m knowledgeable of such things,” Doctor Weiss said, almost bashfully. Brett was only too happy to oblige. The naked archetype of Adonis fanned out his upper body, and his mind forged the image of him swelling huge. It took just seconds for his body to respond. He grew way larger than his learned onlookers could have anticipated. His lats formed an impressive delta spread. His pecs heaved upward and became thickly corded and striated. “Get me a fucking mirror… now!” As Brett’s desire to grow intensified, so his aggressive side became apparent. Muscle rage had to be anticipated. It was so very masculine, as the serum bolstered Brett’s levels of testosterone many times over. A mirror was fetched. Brett could now see himself reflected full-length. A smirk of pure conceit formed on his beautiful face. This was what he was destined for. “Grrrr… I’m a big, gorgeous muscle-god now. But this is just the beginning. So much power now courses through these veins. I can do anything I want. Rawwwr!” He flexed down into a huge most muscular, and his muscles exploded with greater size and definition. Raj gasped and dropped his clipboard, not that Doctor Weiss even noticed. The older scientist seemed transfixed with pure awe, although he was incapable of becoming aroused. Raj was aroused enough for them both. “Perhaps we could take some measurements now. And your weight has changed considerably. Could you step back on the scale, Brett please,” Doctor Weiss urged. Raj’s pants were soaked at the front, but his lab coat concealed the precum wetness. He wanted to come, but things were only beginning to hot up as far was Brett was concerned. “Incredible. Your weight has gone from 220 lbs to 350 lbs in a matter of minutes. Perhaps you could halt your gains for a while; give your body a chance to adjust, eh?” Weiss’ complexion had become a tad wan. This was far different from observing a chimpanzee grow to gorilla proportions. Brett had the ability to shape his destiny (as if he couldn’t do that before?), unlike dumb lab animals. “Hey Raj, you have the hots for me, so you get to wield the tape measure,” Brett said cockily. Stepping off the scale, he blasted muscle pose after muscle pose, his beautiful body becoming more and more striking. His skin tightened so that his muscles rippled and rolled, and his veins bulged so much more. Raj wanted him so much. His throat had become dry, and he croaked when he tried to speak. “Biceps...chkkkk…. twenty-six inches….up from nineteen.” Brett smirked in cockiness once more. “Just for starters,” he announced, bunching his upper arms into small cannonballs of size and hardness. He was already hugely muscled, but he knew he could get so much bigger. In fact, his growth seemed instinctive now. He only had to think about his muscles growing and they responded with gusto. His chest had gone from forty-eight inches to sixty-two. He wanted to pump it up even bigger, but it would have benefitted greatly from a workout. In fact: “Hurry the fuck up, the pair of you. This place is starting to get small around me. I need to put my muscles to work and get to the gym. I’m gonna blow people away.” Brett had grown weary of playing the science guinea pig. He wanted to explode onto the world and kick it around like a football. “Er… very well. But we’d like you to keep in contact, for check-ups soon. You are the first of your kind. This serum could have many beneficial medical applications, as in curing diseases that cause muscles to atrophy,” Weiss advised. “Yeah, yeah, Doc. You’ll get your awards and all that shit,” said Brett, continuing to pose and flex in front of the mirror in the lab. His cock had swelled up massively and Raj wanted to suck it so badly. In fact: “Why doesn’t Raj here come back to my penthouse and monitor me in daily life? He can report his findings back to you. Then we can get up close and personal. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Raj.” Seeming all too desperate, Raj pressed his face against the muscle-god’s prominent chest. The smell of his muscle-musk was overpowering. And rightly so. Brett had him under his spell. Weiss could do nothing but acquiesce. “Hmm… my clothes are all but useless to me now. So how will I get home if I’m naked? The streets will run white with spunk when grown men see me like this.” What to do, Brett? What to do indeed. Then he thought about growing smaller. And he did. It was miraculous to observe. But he didn’t return to his original size. He kept some of his gains, just enough to tease the fabric of his clothing to near-bursting point. His shirt had looked painted on to begin with. Now it hugged his muscles even more snugly, and he couldn’t button it across his chest, so he left the top few unbuttoned for even greater effect. Likewise, the threads of his jeans strained to contain his gorgeous thighs. The buttons of his fly groaned trying to keep themselves fastened. His crotch was wet with precum. Combined with his musk, he smelled incredible. An Incredibly Aesthetic Muscle-God was born. And it was time to have some awesome muscular adventures. Part Two: Raj Moves In The penthouse was a complete paradise to Raj. His own apartment could easily fit into Brett’s bathroom. This was a place where a rich twenty-something gay bachelor entertained to extreme. It had its own gym, games room, home cinema, sauna, jacuzzi, bar, and rooftop swimming pool. But there was only one bedroom, since even penthouses have finite space. “Don’t worry about the sleeping arrangements, pretty boy. You’ll be sleeping with me from now on. Not that we’ll be getting much sleep, wink wink,” said Brett, now that he and Raj were alone. Raj couldn’t believe his luck. The most beautiful man in the world was basically making him his roommate. Maybe much more, too. “I can’t believe this is happening,” said Raj, trembling with delight. “Well it is happening, so you better get used to it. Now to get you out of that fucking lab coat. I want to see you in the flesh, cutie.” Brett muscled up considerably, so that his clothes literally flew apart into pieces of confetti. He shot up in height, too, gaining 300 lbs of muscle in seconds. He was now even bigger than back at the lab. Raj cried tears of delight and forgot to breathe for a second. “Look at how huge I am. You’re a fucking rodent compared to me. Although, you’re a pretty sexy one.” Brett ripped Raj’s clothes off. Raj was muscular and toned, and not too ripped. He had, maybe, twenty decent pounds of muscle on him. He was 5’11” and a little broad-shouldered. Indian by blood, he was very attractive. He had a nicely-sized cock, too. A good eight-incher. It would suffice. “Get down on your knees and suck my huge muscle-cock, Raj. Try not to choke on it, although I suspect you will, heh heh,” Brett playfully commanded. He liked Raj a lot. Although he came across as a tad aggressive, he really didn’t want Raj to get hurt. “I will do anything you order me to, Brett. I am your slave in all things from now on,” Raj almost cried out his words. His speech was quickly quashed by a mouthful of the biggest, most beautiful cock he’d ever tasted. He could just about get his lips around the thick mushroom head. “Awww… feels good, Raj. You’re old hat at this,” Brett growled. Standing before him, he blasted out a full lat spread and willed even more muscle onto his incredible body. He bulged insanely — every part of him bursting with size and power — much to Raj’s delight. “Look at how huge I am. But don’t you dare stop taking more inches of my muscle-cock. Take it in, little man-bitch… but don’t choke. You gotta keep breathing in order to serve your Muscle Master. I’m your god now!” Brett’s pecs heaved with striated prowess, bouncing as the muscles pushed and rolled against each other. He played with his rock-hard nipples whilst Raj serviced his cock, and his arousal augmented further and deeper. Just for fun Brett willed his pecs a little bigger, so that they now formed an obstructive shelf before him. They blocked his view of Raj completely, and then Brett grew his nipples to ten times their size. Thicker than three cigar butts taped together, likewise the areolas swelled to the size of size plates. They began to ooze a delicious milky liquid that cascaded over his pec shelf and gushed down on top of Raj who was already getting drunk on Brett’s precum. Brett’s sweet nectars mixed together, and Raj drank it all in, not just with his mouth, but with his entire body. His lust at its greatest, Brett grew larger. His cock shot out and thickened considerably, so that Raj’s mouth could no longer contain it. Raj coughed and pulled back, his body glistening with his own sweat and Brett’s muscle/sex nectar. Brett picked Raj up with one hand and carried him to the massive bed in the bedroom. He playfully tossed him like a ragdoll. His strength was so great that Raj felt completely weightless. Raj lay there, panting and ecstatic, and everything darkened as Brett’s massive shadow fell across him. Cords of precum and muscle-tit milk quickly soddened the bed, but neither of them cared. Caught up in the moment, they were both slaves to Brett’s ever-increasing power. “Heh, I’ll go easy on you, my little man-bitch. Don’t want you in a body cast, heh heh!” There was no way to gauge Brett’s current weight, although his weight could never be ‘current’ since it was near-constantly changing. But Raj felt like he was shrinking as the massive muscle-god before and above him continued to explode with huge amounts of muscle. Brett’s skin tightened over his burgeoning muscles, causing the fibers to become visible and interlaced with networks of bulging black veins. Raj gasped and thought he could see the blood coursing through Brett’s subcutaneous piping. Brett threw his head back and laughed/growled in ecstasy. He was clearly drunk with power and wanted much more. His shoulders, neck, and traps exploded with mass and his pecs and delts continued to balloon. He lowered himself yet nearer to his ‘shrinking’ little man, so that Raj could take nectar directly from the source. Brett’s teats felt like dicks in his mouth and Raj found himself alternating between the two. Growling with desire and lust to grow even more huge, Brett squeezed his gigantic pecs together, creating a deep, dark, and sweaty cleavage which Raj was privy to explore with his tongue as it darted from one muscle-teat to the next. As Brett continued to gain yet more size, the king size bed began to groan in defiance of the massive weight it struggled to support. Brett didn’t care. Suddenly he flipped over, nudging Raj off the bed completely so that Brett could lay on his back. Easily close to 8’ tall, his girth was immense, especially his upper body. But his legs were no less impressive, so much thickness spread across thigh muscles that rippled and rolled as they battled for space. Between thighs and abdomen, Brett’s ball sack expanded to mind-blowing proportions, accompanied by a muscle-cock that simply refused to stop growing. A helter-skelter array of thick, dark veins embossed the rod and fed it constantly with blood altered forever by Weiss’s serum. Raj found himself ensconced on a sea of mega-muscle, the centerpiece of which was a phallus as big as his arm. There was no way his modest hole could accommodate a missile like this. And yet… “Fuck me… please Brett, my muscle-god. Fuck this little man-bitch into next week,” Raj implored. Choked with lust and muscle, his eyes watered with emotion. He was now obsessed with Brett, and this would never change. He found himself unable to stop from climbing onto Brett’s cock and positioning his hole over the huge head. It was already way bigger than just moments before when he was able to take it in his mouth. This would be like getting fucked by a baseball bat. But he couldn’t stop himself. “Get my huge cock inside you, little man-bitch,” Brett barked. The rod oozed enough precum to sufficiently lube itself. But Raj still struggled to get the fist-sized head into his anus. “Heh heh, am I too big for you? Does it hurt my little man-bitch?” Raj was barely visible beyond the huge wall of pec meat that obscured much of Brett’s view. He loved his new body and its awesome power. “Cuh-can’t take your duh-dick… please, make it smaller… puh-please!” Tears streamed out of Raj’s eyes. He really wanted to push down on his master’s enormous cock. He wanted so much of it inside him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life getting hammered up his hole by such a mighty beam. His lust was overpowering. He knew he was close to coming. Brett sensed it. His super-dick had become super-sensitive to maximize his pleasure. Just like his nipples he could control this sensitivity as much as, or as little as, he liked. And through his dick alone he could feel Raj beginning to convulse prior to orgasm. “Okay, I’ll make it smaller for you… but the rest of me must compensate for the shrinkage. Watch this…. Rawwwwwr!” Even as Brett’s dick shrunk by thirty percent or so, his body ballooned with further crazy amounts of muscle. The bed creaked more noticeably, now, as his body gained hundreds of pounds of new muscle. He flexed a massive double biceps and the huge mountains burst forth with more veins and more size. His head now seemed dwarfed by his biceps. His forearms also increased hugely. They made Frank McGrath’s forearms look like fucking twigs by comparison. Raj found himself slipping further down the muscle-cock. Inch after inch went into his hole, lubed sufficiently for maximum benefit. The pain was still considerable, but Raj found he could endure it. He’d taken a ten-incher in the past, but this time he was riding on more than that, probably twice as much. He’d be sore for a week after this, if not longer. Brett played with his massive, and super-sensitive, nipples, tweaking them between his fingers and thumbs whilst Raj adopted a bouncing rhythm up and down on his member. Raj was crying and screaming with every upward thrust from Brett. If Brett were to thrust hard enough he’d have Raj hitting the ceiling and probably cracking his skull. Brett had no idea how strong he was at this time. But he knew that he could get a lot stronger. And he intended to. But for now, he had to practice restraint, for Raj’s sake. Damn, why were men so fragile? He made a mental note to find a hardcore gym and fuck the biggest bodybuilders that trained there. He’d make them all his man-bitches. They would be small compared to him. Heh, that’d fuck up their egos for sure. After a few more minutes of the one position, Brett grew restless. He needed variety, and there was an itch in the small of his back. He leapt to his feet, causing the entire floor to shake. Folks living below probably thought it was an earthquake warning tremor. Still not close to coming (although closer than before) Raj gasped at Brett’s current height. The top of his head was just inches from the ceiling. The ceiling had to be at least nine feet from the floor. “Time for some doggy style, my little man-bitch,” Brett growled. Raj didn’t complain. As a devoted bottom, this was easily his favorite style. He submitted his hole once again and enjoyed the experience even more. Brett had to kneel in order to bring his mammoth member down to Raj’s level, but this was not a problem. And thus, further pounding began. Brett had to limit the strength of his thrusts for fear of sending the bed and Raj careening across the bedroom. But an enjoyable experience was had by all. To finish off, Brett effortlessly flipped Raj around, and the smaller man cooperated by drawing his knees up towards his head and pushing his anus outward, giving Brett two “handlebars” to hold onto in the form of his ankles. Brett did him up the hole even further, and increased his dick girth just enough to give him maximum pleasure without tearing Raj a second asshole. Raj came first, gobbets of spunk splashing onto his abs and chest. He cried out with a level of bliss no man has ever experienced. This further goaded Brett on. He wasn’t ready to cum just yet, although he was close. But he decided not to come inside Raj, as he’d no idea just how much spunk a body this large — with coconut-sized gonads — could produce. Besides, there’d be other times, and Raj seemed exhausted. “Heh heh, I’m a god amongst insects now. I guess I can go on tirelessly. Not like you, my little man-bitch.” Brett grunted out a few more thrusts – knowing he could have gone on and on — but there was plenty of time to ‘get to know Raj better’. Besides, he was ravenous. Growing and fucking had given him quite the appetite. “Time to come. But the mess will be considerable. Hmm… better think fast!” The muscle-god bounded across the bedroom and out onto the adjoining balcony. The city could take his spunk. He was forty stories up, and he knew he could blast out his load like a cannon. “Here you go, fuckers!!!” And he shot his load, a massive blast of muscle-crème. It shot out over the city skyline, arching outwards and onwards. He delivered gout after gout of his rich seed, which rained down on an unsuspecting population. “RAWWWWWWWWWWRRRR AH FUCK YEAH!!!! I’M A FUCKING GOD!!!!!” Liter after liter of hot steaming jizz pumped out of his huge cock. And he didn’t stop shooting for at least three or four minutes. Finally, he was spent, his balls reduced to a quarter their size, but his newfound instincts told him that he could simply will them to refill with yet more spunk, even more than he’d just shot. He finished by forming a massive full lat spread. His upper body fanned out and ballooned with masses of muscle-flesh. His skin tightened further, creating scar tissue: the bodybuilding badges of honor. He could keep the scars if he chose to, or order his body to heal. He was invincible. His full lat spread made him look even bigger. Every muscle was pumped huge. His pecs heaved upwards, so that he had to hold his head back to give himself room to breathe. He dominated everything with his size and power. And he could get even bigger if he commanded it. He crabbed down into a most muscular pose, and his muscles became even more striated, with mind-blowing separation between. In order to compensate, his body grew more veins in order to pump more serum-altered blood to his muscles. He growled maniacally, super-drunk with the lust to grow and get even stronger. His dick got bigger, thicker, and longer, and his balls almost exploded as more spunk was made in seconds. He flexed his upper pecs and willed his huge man-teats to issue their nectar upwards. Fountains of the fluid shot up and arced towards his mouth. In this fashion he fed on his own elixir. And it made him grow bigger. His cock grew larger still — easily thirty inches — and it slammed against his ten-pack ab wall. The sound was like a wet mattress slamming against the trunk of an oak tree. Brett came again. And again. This time he urged his issue upwards — a larger fountain yet — and he gorged on his own spunk. It empowered him. Hundreds of meters below him — the city streets teeming with life — people stopped and gazed upwards, drawn to the sound of a god’s screams of bliss. Some people were scared by the sound. Others were indifferent and went about their daily business. Others, still, were aroused by it. After, Brett shrunk down to 400 lbs of muscle, standing at 6’6”. When Raj was recovered and refreshed from their first fuck, he’d have him measure his muscles. He decided that 400 lbs would be a good baseline from which to spring future growth spurts. He was thickly muscled and extremely aesthetic. He would grow and alter his physique to suit his moods. Right now, his mood was hunger. He decided to see what was in his huge American-style fridge. There was some leftover fried chicken, which he devoured bones and all. A bucket of potato salad went down the same way. He fried up a dozen eggs and wolfed them down right out of the pan. There was a liter of frozen yoghurt, which he added to a blender, chucked in some protein powder and cream cheese and more eggs. He whizzed it up into a decent-enough shake and chugged it down. Finally he was satisfied, but he would want more food, and soon. “Time to hire a live-in chef. He’ll cater to all my food needs, giving Raj more time to worship me and get fucked. Speaking of Raj...”. Brett returned to the bedroom and saw his little man-bitch sleeping soundly in the bed. Brett, now sleepy from so much food, decided to join him. He lay down beside him and enveloped Raj in his muscular arms. If he wanted to, he could grow huge again. But he decided to save his strength for later. There were so many amazing muscle adventures to be had. Part Three: Finding Bodybuilder Man-Bitches It didn’t take long for Brett to find a live-in chef. Within an hour of placing the online ad, there was a queue of anxious and horny chefs — mostly sex-hungry males — gathered outside his building. Brett stood on his balcony overlooking the city and regarded his ant-like minions from high above. His booming voice carried to all and sundry. And specifically, to the women that turned up expectant and starry-eyed for a chance to work for the muscle-god: “Sorry girls, guys only. Go home and play with your dildos!” The crestfallen women chefs didn’t have to be told twice. Brett picked a handsome enough fellah and ordered the concierge to let him up to the penthouse. His name was Pete, but Brett would call him Chef Guy. His salary was three times that of his last job, which suited him fine. He was also gay, so there’d be some perks to the job, too, no doubt. “Cook me up a huge meal before the gym, Chef Guy. Protein-based. And make something out of this!” Brett cockily handed Pete a bucket containing a mixture of his super-spunk and his muscle-tit milk combined. Brett figured that his own fluids would be more nutritious than anything any bodybuilding nutrition expert could develop. Not that he needed to take anything to grow, but it was fun to dabble in new things. Pete came up with a macaroni and hamburger bake doused in the milk from his new employer’s tits and gonads. Brett reckoned he could increase the potency of his issue if he hulked up to massive proportions before spewing forth this anabolic ambrosia. But for now, the food was delicious. Brett ate three huge helpings and a rack of lamb with all the trimmings whilst Raj and Pete watched and wanked furiously. The penthouse would forever smell of spunk from then on. After eating, Brett hulked up to 500 lbs, so that his stringer tank and denim cut-offs would appear membranous next to his incredible skin. He grew his lats out so that his arms rested akimbo, although he couldn’t really get his hands and hips to touch. He loved that feeling, to have muscles so huge that they restricted his movements. He wanted his button-fly to look as strained as possible, so he got Raj to take a scissors to the panel of material that conceals the fly — cutting it away entirely — so that the silver buttons glinted and strained visibly against the massive pressure caused by his junk within. Some of his pubes poked through the gaps in the fly, and every follicle dripped with his musky aroma. “Here, get a snootful of my scent before I head to the gym,” growled Brett, pushing Raj’s head into his crotch so that he could inhale his amazing crotch musk. Raj busted a nut once more and cried out in bliss, before Brett picked him up, sucked all the cum off his dick, then kissed him lovingly and set him back down. No available protein would ever be ignored or wasted. “You two don’t get up to any sexy mischief while I’m doing my workout,” he playfully admonished his two-man crew, although he winked as he spoke. That said, he picked up his gym-bag and left via the balcony. “Fuck it, I’m too big to fit in the lift. This way is faster!” He leaped over the balcony rail, powerful spring-like muscles in his legs bulked out massively to propel him far out over the city. It was an amazing feeling. He landed just a few meters from his regular gym, bulking out his leg muscles to massive proportions in order to comfortably absorb the impact of his landing. He made a massive crater in the street, and car alarms went off and windows shattered. He didn’t care. “City can bill me. I’m good for it,” he declared with lofty pride. His gym was a plush affair, mostly for male models and minor celebrities to work out in, but there was also a hardcore section. Brett avoided the locker room entirely; he’d only spend too much time in there posing and fucking the shit out of the other members. Fuck it, he made his own rules. He decided he was a bit overdressed for his workout, and bulked up by another 100 lbs or so until the stringer tank and exposed button-fly cut-offs flew apart like wet tissue paper. But he still had to think of the other members coming too soon. From his gym bag he removed a micro mankini. It was literally a pouch with string attached. He also slipped on a cock-ring. He didn’t really need to use a cock-ring, but he liked the feeling of extra pressure as more and more blood was forced into his massive tool. The pouch of the mankini barely engulfed the fist-sized mushroom head of his dick. The entire shaft of his monster dick — with thick, dark veins pulsing with power — was exposed for all to see. Brett decided his dick could use more size, and so with a growl that would turn an attack dog’s hair pure white, he forced his dick to grow and thicken to twice its size. “Shit forgot the cock-ring,” he lamented. The titanium ring stretched to contain the even thicker ‘trunk’ of Brett’s dick. “Hmm… fuckin’ thing is holding. Can’t have that. Gotta give it more size. Hnnnnnnnghhh!!!!!” Everyone on the gym floor looked on with awe. They all knew Brett, and couldn’t believe their eyes at his command of muscle-growth. It looked like magic to them, and it was the horniest, most incredible sight they’d forever admit to witnessing. But when Brett grew his dick to the size and thickness of an average man’s leg, the cock-ring exploded. Hot metal flew in all directions. One piece took out a section of mirror behind a rack of free weights, but fortunately no one was hurt. “Hmm, need another cock-ring,” the gorgeous behemoth mused, as he started searching about for a suitable replacement. The bar from a barbell would suffice, so he picked it up, and tried to bend it into a ring. The metal fatigued a little and heated up, but it wasn’t enough. “Need more size, more strength to bend this fucker!” And so more grunting and flexing followed, and as Brett’s monster bod bulked up to even huger proportions — muscles literally gobbling up free space as they became engorged with blood and serum and inhuman power — the bar gave in with ease. He bent it in two, and then into a ring. Crude, but it would do the job. He slid it onto his monster schlong. It was a little loose. Not a problem. He hulked more size out of his dick until the cock-ring was water tight next to his veiny organ. He leaked a bucket-load of precum, which splashed about as he jiggled and twirled his monstrous member. Precum splashed onto the transfixed onlookers. Brett’s musk filled the capacious room and grown men began to lick Brett’s stink off each other. As he bulked and flexed, so the mankini became even more stringy, his gigantic balloon pecs pushing ever outward, forcing the strings to strain and grow thinner. All this happened before he lifted a single weight. By the time he even began his workout, he’d bulked up to over 800 lbs. and almost eight feet in height. He could vary the height/mass ratio to any degree. He now towered above everyone; the next biggest guy in the gym that day was only 250 or thereabouts. Brett could snap him like a twig. In fact: “Hey, mouse boy… look at you, you fucking runt. How much can you bench?” Brett teased. “Er… up… about one-eighty, Buh-Brett,” Mouse Boy stammered. He was afraid of the beautiful and most muscular man alive, but he was too horny to care. Like everyone else in the gym, ladies included, no shorts or singlets remained dry once Brett was in the room. “Buh-Brett? Is that my name, Muh-Mouse Buh-boy? Dare you stammer in my presence?” Now Brett was getting a little pissed off. He decided he didn’t need to work out, but he wanted his arrogant fun. So be it. “Sorry, Brett,” said Mouse Boy, clearing his throat. He sported a not unimpressive erection in his tight black singlet. “Hmm… put more weight on the bar, say… four hundred. Then get on the bench and use a spotter,” the giant ordered. Worriedly, Mouse Boy tried to overcome reluctance balanced with horniness. He was already sliding around on his own precum at this point. The gym stank of it. “I can’t lift that much, Brett,” he protested, glad he could contain his stammering. Brett didn’t approve of stammering. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll have a little help, heh heh,” Brett chuckled. When the spotter was in place, Mouse Boy — the heaviest bloke in the gym next to Brett — got into position on the bench and tried not to feel like a little kid again. “Now neither of you move until you get the signal. You’ll know it when you… er… feel it,” Brett said with a wink. Then he left the floor. Lots of people stood around in silence. They exchanged nervous glances. No one knew what would happen next. After what seemed like a small eternity… The gym began to shake. Just a little at first, but quickly increasing. Beneath the bench upon which Mouse Boy was nervously ensconced — with his spotter trembling behind him — the floor beneath came away with a mighty concrete crack. It began to rise, an area of about eight feet long by four wide. Below the unearthed section of floor, Brett lay flat in the basement below. His huge hands gripping the piece of floor he’d removed upon which two grown men, a bench and four hundred pounds of iron were raised as though they weighed nothing all. Mouse boy couldn’t even raise the bar. He just lay on the bench with his hands tightly gripping the bar, with his spotter clinging on for dear life. Brett hefted out twenty-four reps before relaxing the floor back into place. Masonry dust filled the air, assaulting eyes and noses alike. Brett barely got a pump. “More weight… more mouse boys get onto this section of broken floor. Now… dammit!!!!” Brett wanted to break a sweat, even a little one. But there was no end to his strength. Hell, he could bench all this weight on the end of his dick if he wanted to. Reluctantly more men gathered onto the broken section of floor. One even sat down on Mouse Boy, who was now completely horny but crying at the same time. This was so humiliating, but his lust for Brett’s beauty and power overshadowed his pride. The bar was loaded with weight until it could bear no more. Two more spotters joined in, one on either side of the first guy. The section of floor now supported a dozen men. The weight was astronomical. But Brett could do it. He took the strain. He inhaled for what seemed like a minute, his monstrous chest bulking up to inhuman proportions. He pressed upwards with his mighty arms. The floor quivered a little, but slowly it went up, and up… and up. Brett’s dick grew larger and larger. The second cock-ring heated up and stretched with extreme fatigue. Veins exploded all over Brett’s body. He grew. And he grew some more. He was fucking huge. The weight grew lighter. “More bodies… more weight,” he screamed. “Please Brett… we’re fully loaded up here,” Mouse Boy pleaded. The floor began to crumble dangerously. It felt way too light. Finally, Brett gave in and let everything fall back into place. By the time he arrived back up from the basement, he’d shrunk back to around 600 lbs. But he was still a monster. “Bill me for the fucking damage,” he told the gym manager. And then to everyone else: “You’re all my man-bitches now. From now on you don’t train to look glamorous for photo shoots. You’re all to start hardcore bodybuilding. You’ll be drinking my tit milk and spunk as your protein. I want strong man-bitches to fuck. You got that?” All the men in the gym nodded obediently. They all wanted Brett so much. And just for a treat, Brett willed himself to get even more beautiful. His eyes got bluer and larger, his nose more rugged, his jaw more angular. His lips pouted fuller and his teeth sparkled brighter. His dimples grew a little deeper and his hair shone a more scintillating blonde. His neck became manlier and his Adam’s apple grew a little more prominent. His voice deepened and became even more masculine. Then he flexed his muscles and exploded out of the micro mankini. It had stretched as thin as hair on him and his gigantic cock made short work of the pouch. Women in the gym fainted. Brett got bigger and bigger. His muscles pushed out in all directions, becoming more cut, more striated. His body shone with glistening perspiration, simply because he willed his muscles to shine. “Still want more, you fucking twigs? Want your muscle-god Brett to get even bigger and more gorgeous?” “Oh yes,” came back the chorus. Brett concentrated and configured a double biceps pose. His muscles got larger. Mountainous cannonballs shot up as his biceps climbed higher than his clenched fists. Each bicep was five times the size of his head. His pecs swelled to mammoth size. His lats pushed out on either side, gorging on free space. His waist tapered as his oblique muscles and core abs became tighter and stronger. His legs became huge, with diamond hard cuts in between rolling muscles that left his balls with no room to hang, and so they were forced outwards, themselves swelling with size and power as he willed them to fill with his powerful, godly juice. He changed to a side chest pose. His pecs grew ever outward; truly muscle-tits to the extreme. His huge nipples gushed with milk, spraying everyone close enough to fight over it. The pec striations became deeper, darker. Dark shadows gathered beneath his pec shelf, soaking up the under-swell like a creeping black slick. His abs — now a twelve-pack—partially disappeared into the shadow cast by his pecs. He flexed more and more, grunting, screaming a manly caterwaul which declared his extreme power over his muscles and all those present who lusted to touch and get lost in them. He flexed down into a most muscular. Inhuman biceps hardened and bulged with deeper veins, dimpling into his pecs on each side. Cords thick as thumbs pushed out of his tree trunk neck as he grunted and growled and demanded more size and power from his muscles. He leaned harder and harder into the pose, and by now his dick was gushing his gorgeous nectar as readily as his tit glands. Everyone present was sprayed, driven into an orgy of uncontrollable extremes. Something occurred to Brett at this point: he could will his juice to grow everyone that partook of it. And he did. His incredible body began to pump it out of his dick and tits at a phenomenal rate. This didn’t deplete him in the slightest; in fact, it had the opposite effect; goading him on and making him stronger and more productive of fluids. All the men present drank of his juice, some fighting amongst themselves for the precious muscle-building liquid. This had the desired effect. Men in the gym began to grow. And seeing them grow around him made Brett want to grow even further. Hot, muscular studs transformed around him, first becoming middleweight bodybuilders, then light-heavy, heavyweight and so on. The air filled with the sound of lustful groans and moans of sheer delight and muscle-obsession. Clothing stretched and seams came apart. Some men couldn’t take it and came over and over, their spunk adding to the copious fluids splashing around the gym. Others were able to control their transformations and Mouse Boy bulked up to almost 400 lbs. Brett noticed this and chose Mouse Boy — whose real name was Declan — as his first. Brett was three times his size and weight at this point and so Declan felt weightless to him. “Fuck me into next week, Brett. Please!” Declan’s body stopped growing and he was huge at this point, easily way bigger than Mister Olympia. His body was delicious, huge and striated, with cuts that seemed hewn from glass. Brett wasted no time bending him over a machine and spreading his legs. Declan’s hole was that of a deeply muscled bodybuilder now, sporting thick, deliciously striated glutes between which a tasty hairy and sweaty hole gasped and implored to be penetrated. Brett’s massive twenty-four-inch dick was way too big to get into that moist pipe, but the Incredibly Aesthetic Muscle-God was too embroiled in his own insane muscle-lust to make his dick smaller. He barked an order to the next two biggest bodybuilders who he knew were completely drenched in his fluids. “Feed Mouse Boy. Let him lick my juice from your hot bodies. He needs to get bigger so he can take my dick. Do it now!!! GRRRRRRRR!!!!” Brett was in the zone. He kept his dick at its current size, but once Declan started to lap the cum from the bodies thrusting before him, so his growth spurted again. Dozens of pounds of muscle burst from his body and his hole equally grew and deepened. “Yeah, keep it up. I wanna fuck Mouse Boy so bad. He’s gonna enjoy being fucked by a god!!!” Just to make sure Declan didn’t surpass him in size and power, Brett molded his pecs to make his nipples point upwards, as he had done before. Muscle milk erupted from each oversized gland and he deftly guided the flow towards his mouth. This made him more powerful, and he exploded with a massive 500 lb. growth spurt in a few seconds. His height shot up to just under twelve feet. His strength was off the scale. Declan stopped growing at 850 lbs. or thereabouts. Huge, but nowhere near Brett’s scale. But at least he could now take Brett’s dick and started pushing back in sync with Brett’s enormously powerful forward thrusts. “Aw yeah….fuuuuuuck!!!” Brett couldn’t see what was happening below his gigantic pec-shelf, but he could feel it well enough. Declan’s buttocks felt amazing; tightening around Brett’s dick like they were designed for this function and nothing else. Brett willed the veins of his dick to harden and thicken to create better friction and so heighten the pleasure for both men. The feeling was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He wanted to keep Declan at this size, but wasn’t sure if it was possible. Did he really have the ability to do so? He wasn’t sure at this point. But he fucked him and fucked him, causing him to scream out things like: “Don’t let this end!” and “Brett, you’re a fucking god. Don’t stop!” But Mouse Boy could not be greedy. Other men in the gym were still bulking up thanks to Brett’s incredible body fluids. They all had to have their turn. Without a thought for Raj back at the penthouse, Brett took them all. The fucking lasted for hours. Brett continued to grow and get stronger. But eventually, when all men lay passed out on the floor of the gym — with equipment smashed and clothing lying in tatters all around him — Brett decided to take a break. An inexorable hunger washed through him. Not quite depleted, still, he needed to pace himself. He was new to this new life and power he’d been given. He had to explore it to discover the full range of his abilities. But he needed to eat. So, he shrank back to 500 lbs. and headed in to take a shower. Part Four: The Apology and So Much Growth A week passed, during which the smell of spunk in the penthouse of Brett Hillard never seemed to lessen with the passage of time. You only had to step into the capacious muscle-den to get horny enough to come all over the place, further adding to the compelling reek. But Brett was meticulous about such things and no drop of jizz was ever wasted. (except that one time, when he shot gout after gout of it out over the cityscape). Brett had a lot of growing to do, as did his man-bitches. Declan the Mouse Boy (oh how he hated that moniker) had been evicted from his apartment because he failed to meet the rent due to spending all his dosh on bodybuilding supplements. Brett let him stay at the penthouse until he could find another apartment with a landlord that wasn’t a dick. He even lent him some money to help him get out of a bind. Pete — or Chef Guy — continued to provide all the delicious meals a growing bodybuilder needed to get huge (and even ‘huger’). He liked pleasing the Muscle-God. Now he also had to cater to Declan’s food requirements. This wasn’t really a problem. All Declan ate was pasta bakes loaded with Brett’s ambrosial fluids, as well as the non-exhaustive chugging of gainer shakes. He worked out near-incessantly in the penthouse gym, always striving to better himself and grow for his mentor. He saw Brett as his mentor, although the Muscle-God didn’t really see himself in that role. He was too self-obsessed to ever spend time helping a lesser bodybuilder to get huge. All things considered, Declan seemed to be doing quite well. So much so, Brett would sometimes reward him by fucking him full of his amazing fluids. Pity the growth that ensued never stuck for more than an hour or so. Raj was feeling left out. One night in the sack, snuggled up next to the giant Adonis he said, “Are we officially a couple?” There was an earnest tone in Raj’s question. The bed creaked noisily as the 600 lb. muscle-monster rolled onto one enormous side to better address his boyfriend’s query. “Of course, we are. Isn’t it plain to see, little guy?” Brett had been calling Raj ‘little guy’ for several days. This was an upgrade from the ‘man-bitch’ status he reserved for all his fuck-buddies. “Yes, but… I don’t know, Brett. I seem to be drowning in muscle, of late.” “But you like being engulfed in all my amazing muscles… don’t you?” A hint of doubt rang from his tone, even as his humongous muscles twitched and flexed as he caressed his beautiful boyfriend. “Yes of course… but I thought we could have this place to ourselves. Pete is fine; we need him for our meals… but Declan living here, too?” Raj trailed off with an exhalation peppered with despair. “But we hardly see him, honey,” said Brett. He’d never called Raj ‘honey’ before. It felt like old married couple shit. Still, upon hearing it Raj’s eyes brightened a little. Seeing the tender side of Brett — however brief — was always nice. Brett went on: “This penthouse is huge. He practically lives and sleeps in the gym, only coming out for meals. We barely see him for more than a few minutes a day. His lust for growth is impressive.” “What about us? I know we haven’t been together that long, but we haven’t even been on a proper date. I’d love you to take me to a fancy restaurant and be romantic instead of always being cocky and self-obsessed.” Raj frowned with a little wetness in each eye. Brett got out of bed and flicked on a light. He was huge and naked standing over the bed. Raj got hard in a trice. “Brett not now. I’m too tired for sex. And a bit sore from the last pounding you gave me.” “Maybe if I hulk up to my biggest size ever, you’ll cheer up. Plus, we’ll go on a date tomorrow. I promise. I love you, Raj. Mouse Boy is just for fucking. I don’t have feelings for him. I’m just turned on by how much he wants to grow. But he’ll never be like this!” That was his cue to launch into a massive double biceps. Brett’s muscles snapped obediently into monstrous relief. Veins exploded all over his upper body as they fed his amazing serum-infused blood into every muscle-fiber. Then the fibers divided and thickened, resulting in more growth. He pumped up… impossibly huge. Growling seemed to help the process along. Brett dropped his arms and formed into a full lat spread. His lats flared wide and his pecs heaved upward, expanding… always expanding. Striations, dark and deep, cracked across his amazing muscle-tits. His cock slapped against his cobbled midsection with a loud, moist thump. Raj intermittently forgot about his woe and began to furiously beat his meat as his huge boyfriend got huger and huger before his eyes. Brett grew bigger and even more beautiful. His power was endlessly flexible; he could change his size at will whilst keeping the improvements to his face as the power applied them. His face just got more and more handsome, ruggedly so. His masculine lines knew no limits. His dimples developed dimples. His muscles enlarged to insane proportions. He changed his upwardly-curving giant dick to a downwardly-sloping one. It began to pour with precum. “Wanna drink and get huge, my love?” Raj groaned in bed and shot a premature load, much to their mutual dismay. The tacky fluid landed across Raj’s toned, naturally tanned chest. With just a little patch of dark hair between his somewhat unflattering pecs, Brett leaned down to lick up every drop, not wishing to waste the protein. It was also an expression of his love. “Take me on a date… then you can make me huge, darling,” Raj said, almost imploringly. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It could only be Declan, as Pete was an employee of Brett’s and would never disturb them after hours. “What do you want, Mouse?” Brett’s voice was guttural and pissed-off sounding. “I smell come. Not the usual smell in the penthouse. Fresh stuff. I want some… please!” On the other side of the door, Declan sounded desperate. Brett thought about it for a second. Then: “Well now, Raj has already shot his load, which I licked to the last drop. So, you’re smelling my fresh precum. That’s what brought you here. You really can’t help yourself, can you, my little 300-pounder?” “I need to gorge on your fluids, and to become a massive bodybuilder… I need to grow,” Declan pleaded. “But your growth won’t stick. It’ll melt away like snow on a wet pavement before long,” Raj reminded the muscled interloper, almost relishing the prospect. He didn’t dislike Declan by any stretch; he just didn’t like him interrupting them during their intimate ‘boyfriend’ time. “So, what if it does? I can go back to the gym with my exaggerated muscles and pump iron so much, I’ll be snorting so much iron and sweat, I’ll choke.” Brett thought about it. Then: “He has been growing like a weed this past week. Even though his growth from my spunk and tit-milk is temporary, it’s helping him to build his body in the conventional sense. Raj, you should jot that one down in your observational notes for Doctor Weiss.” “Yes, I guess I should. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it, Brett!” Raj got out of bed and angrily stomped off to get his notes. “I’m too lusted-up to care about your feelings right now, Raj. Sorry if I hurt them though.” He didn’t sound like he’d meant it. And that was that for the night. Raj would sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. But for now: “I’m ballooning in size, Mouse Boy. Making my fluids nice and potent for you, heh heh!” Declan now lay on the come-sodden bed, with the giant Muscle-God casting a dark shadow over him. Brett’s now downwardly-sloping mega-cock streamed precum. Declan drank from it as though it were a faucet, gulping down the fluid as readily as Brett’s body could produce it. Whilst this went on below, Brett blew up his pecs so monstrously, they pushed his chin and head back to take up more room. His grew his nipples to dick-size and caused a torrential shower of tit-milk to rain down on Declan. The ‘not-such-a-Mouse-Boy-anymore’ stroked his own dick furiously, which triggered his growth and he began to get huge. “Holy shit, I feel a huge growth spurt coming on. Bigger than back at the gym when we first met!” Declan’s speech was broken up between the gurgles he made while gorging on Brett’s fluids, as well as his gasps of sheer muscle-lust and absolute bliss. “Keep going, Mouse Boy… get huge for Br—” Before he could finish: “DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT. GRRRRRRRR!” Declan exploded with rage. Drenched with Brett’s fluids, his growth was immense, and instant. Many hundreds of pounds of masculine muscle blasted out of his frame; in places his skin stretched painfully, resulting in red stretch marks that just barely avoided tearing. The bed collapsed under the weight of a 1000+ lb. behemoth who was drunk with power and the will to grow even larger. Despite his size, he moved with lightning speed, connecting a solid fist to the middle of Brett’s mammoth chest. The rock-hard pecs took much of the force, but enough remained to send Brett careening across the bedroom. He crashed into the wall with enough force to bring masonry down from above. Declan loomed over him, heaving with rage. “Who’s the Mouse Boy now, Brett?” Declan formed a massive double biceps, flaring his lats and swelling his pec-meats. His upper body exploded with mass and definition. The cuts between his muscles were deep and dark, and his body glistened with a sweaty sheen caused by the exertion of his growth. Then he did a full lat spread so immense, the bottom half of his face was swallowed up by pecs way larger than any Brett had ever sported. From across the room, in an open doorway, Raj caught it all on his camera phone. He was excited and terrified all at once, but scientific curiosity became the dominant emotion here, although he held the camera in shaky hands. “I’m suh-sorry, Declan,” Brett panted, clearly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. He’d never been in a situation like this, in which he felt somewhat helpless. He somehow had to turn this to his advantage. “Can’t you see that you’re not always in control of your fate, Brett?” Declan was continuing to swell with size. His muscularity was immense. He’d easily passed 1200 lbs. in less than a minute, with no sign of slowing down. The more he flexed, the more his muscles liked it, and responded by growing larger, thicker, and more cut. His head scraped the ceiling of the room, and so he had to stoop. His dick was almost the size of a whole man, and it slammed repeatedly against his gigantic pecs as it twitched and spurted further growth. Despite being genuinely scared, the concentration of muscle musk in the room was now so great, that both men were stimulated by it. Brett was growing, but at a slower rate to Declan, who outmuscled him by 500+ lbs. It was then that Brett’s advantage came: “Fuck me, Declan. I’ll be your Mouse Boy for a change. You need to channel that rage into something, before you lose complete control.” Brett slowly got to his feet and offered his hole to Declan. The huge muscle-beast, also overcome with lust, couldn’t ignore such a tasty offer, and so he took Brett there and then, screwing him with his inhumanly massive come-pole. Brett’s strength was barely enough to push back sufficiently, but he just about managed it. Declan, about to lose all control over this temporary burst of power, drilled into Brett repeatedly, his massive shaft pummeling Brett’s muscle-ass enough to almost cause it to prolapse. Simultaneously, bent forward, Brett clamped his dick in between his mighty pecs and began drinking his own precum. He knew that when he blew his load proper, he’d need the extra energy to get the jump on Declan and finally regain control. Declan, not too experienced in fucking, came massively and sooner than he’d have liked. He pumped liter upon liter of his thick crème into his ‘mentor’ whose body drank it up like a sponge. This excited Brett’s serum-infused blood, and so his altered testosterone began coursing through him like never before. He came in his own mouth, and gallons of super-charged come torrented into his system, half of which was his own recycled stuff. Declan started to weaken and lose mass, gradually at first, but then the process accelerated. Brett didn’t grow, but willed his incredible body to become denser, and stronger because of it. All that charged come was absorbed into every cell in his body, and in his mind, he knew that he’d just become way more powerful than Doctor Weiss could ever have imagined. After about a minute, Declan was back to his 300 lb. self. He was exhausted, and collapsed into Brett’s arms, who then took him to a guest bedroom to recover. Brett shrank down to 750 lbs., but when he tried to get back to 600, he found that he couldn’t. “Wow, this must be my new default weight,” he marveled, catching himself in his mirrored sliding wardrobes that spanned an entire wall of his bedroom. Raj, naked and horny, went to his huge boyfriend, and felt even less of a man, now that Brett was even bigger. He was 6’8”, now, and his muscles were heaving and huge. He playfully bounced his pecs and they felt weighty and laborious to move. It was an awesome feeling, as though his muscles demanded that he grow stronger in order to exploit them to their fullest. “I’m so sorry about earlier, Raj. I was a jerk not to consider your feelings. Will you accept my apology?” Brett picked up Raj and before he could kiss him Raj said softly and sincerely: “Yes, of course. I love you, and maybe we rushed into this. But I’m still on the clock with Doctor Weiss’s research, so it’s a crazy volatile situation in which we’re both embroiled. We should expect the unexpected. I got it all on cam for Weiss. I hope you don’t mind.” “Of course, I don’t. You can put in on YouTube for all I care, although I expect it’d be flagged in a heartbeat.” “But I don’t want to try growing, myself. Not yet. Not until we know more about it. You might be able to control your growth and the lust it invokes, but lesser men? Declan couldn’t control himself. Had you not retaken control he might have exploded.” Brett nodded in agreement, lost in thought for a moment. Then, in a complete change of subject: “I’m taking you to the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in town tomorrow. So, we’d best get our glad rags on.” “Hmm,” began Raj, looking more contemplative than usual. He went through Brett’s vast clothing collection in the sprawling wardrobe. “Most of your clothes are stretchy, but you’re now many sizes too big for even your most accommodating garment. Can’t you de-hulk back to 600? Try it again. Really concentrate this time.” Brett did just that. But it was no good. He couldn’t get smaller than 750. His dick was larger, too. Secretly both men relished the fact that Brett’s new default size was much greater than before. But what about clothing? They spent two hours alone seeing Brett try on shirt after shirt. Some of them buttoned from the chest down, but none of them could close across his mighty mega-pecs. Other shirts of slightly lesser quality would blow apart at the shoulder seam, or at the biceps, as soon as he moved or twitched a muscle. It was fun for a while, bursting out of shirt after shirt. Likewise, pants were no joy. He couldn't even get a pair to go past his calves, let alone go up his gargantuan thighs. Eventually: “I doubt they’ll let a naked massive bodybuilder into their restaurant, no matter how much I bribe them. I’d really like to get dressed up for you, though. Something about clothing these massive muscles and being seen in public wearing clothes that barely leave anything to the imagination is quite the turn-on. For us both, no?” Raj agreed. And so did his boner. “Time to let my money do the talking. He reached for a phone and dialed the number for his personal clothier, Fortunato of the House of Trione, an Italian designer who only made clothing for muscled men and serious bodybuilders. Brett Hillard was a client, but he was now his BIGGEST client. Fortunato would have his work cut out, that was for sure. Brett had wakened the designer in the middle of the night. He didn’t sound pleased to be awakened from sleep, but Brett was succinct about his needs. “I’ve grown huge. Make me a new ensemble, and I want it ready by late afternoon tomorrow. I’ll quadruple your fee if you and your minions work through the night, plus I’ll throw in a yacht.” “Buh-but, it is so late, Brett darling. And I’d need to take multiple measu—” “I’ll laser scan myself and email you the measurements. I’m fucking huge now, and you’d better do a good job, or no yacht,” Brett interjected sharply. Fortunato really wanted a yacht. And so, he agreed to snap right to it and get to work making new clothes for the world’s hugest bodybuilder. *** At 3:45 pm the next day, the concierge buzzed up to the penthouse to inform its resident that a rack of clothes had arrived and that he would send them up. Brett was excited. His old clothes lay in tatters in his bedroom, and as penance for his behavior of the night before, he made Declan clean them up. Anything intact he could keep, which delighted Declan no end, as plenty of clothes remained that were now his for the taking. He was growing like a weed, and Brett’s cast-offs still reeked of his musk. Not only would Declan look amazing wearing designer couture for huge bodybuilders, but the smell would also keep him fluffed and lusty near-constantly. Raj went through some of the outfits on the rack and looked uncertain about some of them. “I think he gave you some room to grow, darling,” he said after a short examination. But the clothing was of the finest quality, even at such short notice. There were shirts and pants made of sumptuous fabrics — the best money can buy — all varied lengths and cuts, most of which were constructed so that they would flatter every delicious curve and bulge on Brett’s magnificent body. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll grow into them, heh heh!” Brett guzzled through a huge bowl of ice cream as he spoke. He didn’t have to worry about spoiling his appetite for dinner later. He rarely felt full, and he’d have to eat several more bowls before he came near to feeling that he’d ruined his appetite. The End
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