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  1. Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad October 21st, 2022 2200 Hours Twenty minutes later, Casey stood in the center of the main Valhalla laboratory, stripped down to a tight shiny black micro posing suit, bulging dangerously in the pouch, and threatening to burst. His muscles glowed. He was huge, enormous, the biggest he had been yet in his young life. Lightly oiled, his youthful brown skin gleamed in the clear white LED light. Dr. Zaftig stood at his side, beaming with calm inner pride. But Casey was nervous. There he was, stripped down to bulging posers that barely covered his manhood, and ready for review. For the first time. And as always, in some place deep inside him, he was embarrassed by his hugely oversized penis. It was just too big. One by one, the 18 bodybuilders filed in silently from their post-White Cap-workout showers in the next wing, looking over the gigantic new recruit with studied casualness. For almost two years they’d grimly listened to Dr. Irving’s deliberately passive-aggressive progress reports. Casey was this, Casey had that, Casey lifted this much, Casey was however-big, Casey was the hope of the future. Etc. They were weary of it. They were angered by it. And some were threatened by it. And perhaps, just a little fearful? No: not fearful. Challenged. And in the case of Hension, Blankenship, Lang, Meyer and Waring, more inspired than anything else. “If he’s that big, I wanna be bigger,” said Hension one afternoon at lunch, to no one in particular. Chad smacked him on the back of his head, and with a short grunt, Hension came a little in his jock. “Sorry. I forgot you liked that.” “I’d like it more if you were a girl.” Hension had long since given up hiding his particular fetish. He took a big mouthful of beef and chewed, ruminating. “You wanna fuck pussy? Abdul can arrange.” From across the table, Abdul grunted and shook his head. “He don’t want pussy.” “Naw. He’s right. I don’t. Hot pussy don’t dig muscles like mine. I just wanna chick who knows how to slap my face right. Good and hard each time. Back and forth. Pow, pow. Leave hand prints. Then I wanna fuck boybutt pussy. And suck some big dick.” Hension looked at Abdul. “Yours, maybe.” Abdul nodded slightly. “Sure, you suck dick good. Any time.” He sipped his coffee. All chuckled a little, but everyone was still thinking about Casey. Over the last few weeks, a few had gone so far as to belly up secretly to the cadet gym two-way windows late at night to watch and study Casey’s lonely training late night training sessions. There the giant teen was, alone night after night in the vast half lit gym, fully clothed, muscles bulging in the yards of a completely enveloping, dripping cotton sweatsuit, insanely going through punishing reps, hurling buckets of sweat, drawing blood, banging out steaming iron reps with teeth-clenching screaming pain, grimly determined, all the while screaming and moaning to himself: Gotta get bigger Gotta get bigger Gotta get bigger….. And on it went. Night after night. The boy was insatiable, indefatigable. As if nothing could ever stop him. And now, the time had finally come. Casey watched them file into the lab. Outfitted in crisp, clean tan khakis and wearing skin tight Army regulation green t-shirts, hair still wet from their post-workout showers, they were an intimidating herd of hardcore beefmeisters. Huge, cut, and vascular to a man, their massive physiques almost aching with heavy, rippling muscle. Casey had been watching them for months, grabbing glimpses of them on campus, running, bicycling, practicing their posing, whenever he could, just as he knew they had been watching him as well in the corridors and working out in the cadet gym. He even knew a few of them by name. Private Lang and Corporal Alvarez, who were always together, Private Gunst, Private Waring, Private Jin. He had never spoken to any of them, out of shyness and awe. And he even recognized Corporal Obatu from Raw Weight Gym. He nodded bashfully to him. Obatu grinned hugely and waved with his huge paw of a hand. “Hello, Casey,” he said in his best Isaac Hayes. “Hi!” Casey said eagerly, but caught the glance from Zaftig. He resumed his blank expression, readjusted, and gazed ahead, eyes high. He squared his shoulders and stood with his pecs pointed high in full 'bodybuilder rest' pose. Of course Casey knew nothing of the cum-blasting shower orgy from which the men had just emerged. And to a man, rather feeling drained, all were primed and ready....for whatever came next. A few had their hopes, but discipline would prevail. Tonight was presentation. Only. Or so they thought. The men looked him over. “Hmmmm,” muttered Schumacher. “Damn he’s got big nipples!” someone whispered. There was the sound of that someone being smacked. In the second row of bodybuilders, an astonishingly handsome young bodybuilder stumbled and grabbed the back of the head. “Hey!” said Hension, indignant. “Shut up,” said Chad. Casey was excited. These men were seriously huge, each and every one far even bigger than Miles Donovan. Though he was almost sure he was prepared for them, even so – man alive! This was a lotta muscle. He gulped with nervousness. Sergeant Moster entered last. Casey stared, suddenly stricken. He’d never seen Moster before. Even in his clean white loose-fit baggies, he was the biggest muscleman Casey had ever seen in his life. It seemed to him he towered over the others, though truth to tell, if he’d been calmer he’d have noticed that at least 3 of the men were close to him in size and muscularity. Close. But not the equal. Not yet. “This is Staff Sergeant Rod Moster,” said Dr. Zaftig. Behind Moster, Dr. Irving scurried into the room, struggling noisily with his omnipresent video camera, lights, and clipboards. “Sergeant Moster will be supervising your training in the future.” “Yes, sir!” Casey had never been prouder. He stood straight and tall. Moster strolled over to Casey. “So this is Cadet Rockland,” he said slowly, appraising him up and down. He seemed to take over from Zaftig, who stepped back, offering no protest. Here, Moster was in charge. Moster circled Casey. He looked impressed, in spite of himself. Finally he had to give in. He turned to Zaftig. A moment passed. “He’s got great bones,” he said quietly. “Yes, great bones,” said Zaftig. “Bones like that come along once every three generations.” “He could go the limit.” “Maybe. Can’t tell yet.” What’s all this about bones? Casey wondered. He gathered it was something good, though, even great, so he stood erect, proud and tall. He fixed his clear blue eyes on the wall straight ahead and stood at attention. To a man, the 18 glanced down at the boy’s pendulously swaying posing suit pouch. The soft, thick bulge lay slack than halfway down against his right quad. Lang licked his lips. Next to him, Blankenship dug his elbow into Lang's abs, nodded, smiled, and winked. He pointed to his own mouth and with his fist simulated taking in a big organ. Moster barked out a few terse questions. “How old are you, Casey?” “18.” “What was that?” “18.” He corrected himself, and barked, “I’m 18, sir!” “That’s much better.” Moster smiled, amused. “And how much do you weigh, cadet?” “310 pounds, sir.” “Hmm. Really. Good. Good for you, son.” Casey readjusted and stood a little taller when he heard the huge black man say "son." Now the 18 were murmuring and looking him over with critical sharpness. Looking for weaknesses, looking for a lack of symmetry, looking for a spot of subcutaneous fat. And no weaknesses were to be found. One short young ginger muscleman whose name he didn’t know was smiling at him sardonically. He was uncommonly good-looking, as were they all, but something about him looked mean. He whispered to a grizzled older bodybuilder next to him, who was bigger and even meaner looking than he was. The older guy scowled. He was perhaps 40, bald, with rough deeply tanned skin, a day old beard, and a chest coating of iron-grey hair. Casey couldn’t help but notice the heavily looming bulges in the crotches of their khakis. As he tried not to stare, the pretty one who had gotten his head smacked reached down the front of his pants for some adjustment. Moster followed his gaze and smiled a little. Zaftig, as always, was clueless. "Tell him to turn around." "Casey, let the men see your back." Casey turned full around, facing the rear of the lab. He readjusted. He couldn't see the men's faces. But he could hear them. A few moaned quietly. "Jesu Christe, check out dem glutes..." Two round, rock hard butt cheek globes, glinting with light filled the room. No one could look elsewhere. Meyer, the deaf mute, stared, his mouth slightly open. He turned and nodded vigorously to Abdul, toweing over him, pulling at his belt. "Yeah, I see them," said Abdul, careful to face Meyer so he could read his lips. "Them. Er. Him. I see him." "For the record," said Zaftig airily, "Dr. Irving and I think Casey's traps and rear delts may be his best bodyparts." "Yeah, they'll do," said Alvarez. His hand went down to the front of his pants absently. His bulge was beginning to get a little bigger. "Now that's a bubble butt," said Obatu. "Sweet, sweet cupcakes. Cupcakes for a man to enjoy...." Casey was coloring deeply, glad the men couldn't see his face. "Lat spread, Casey," said Zaftig. Casey complied. Bat wings spread wide, fists plunged into his sides. His spread his legs slightly for the full effect. "And now, rear double biceps." Cannonballs shot to the ceiling. The glutes hardened slightly, veins popping, striations shining like rivers of platinum. "All right, then, turn back. Sergeant?" "Yes." Moster walked to a lab table and picked up a thick 4-foot iron bar. He tossed it at Casey, who caught it handily with one hand. It weighed about 75 pounds. “See what you can do with that, son.” Casey paused. “Sir?” “I’m not going to say it twice.” Casey nodded. He imagined the sergeant wanted him to bend the bar. He wanted to impress him, so he raised the bar high over his head, and easily bent it into a U shape. He brought the bar down and inspected it a moment, and then walked respectfully over to Sergeant Moster and handed it to him eagerly. Moster took it. “Okay, fair, fair,” he said, nodding and showing the bent bar to the group. Some of the men began to nod and chuckle. Casey returned to his spot and resumed his muscle-ready stance. Moster took the bar in his powerful hands, and bent it back to something like its original shape. He grinned, his big white teeth shining. Then he threw the bar into the air, caught it, and with a single movement powerfully snapped it in two. Casey’s jaw dropped. “Damn,” he said. “Dr. Irving, let’s hear the man’s measurements.” “We haven’t taken his measurements for a month, Sergeant.” Moster glanced down over Zaftig, his deep voice resonating. “You present a new cadet to the team, and you don’t have his recent measurements? Zaftig, you’re getting sloppy.” “I thought perhaps you might want to record the cadet’s measurements for yourself, Sergeant,” Zaftig said slyly. He wasn’t intimidated. Moster looked at Zaftig expressionlessly, then called back over his shoulder. “Private Tiffany, step forward and take the man’s measurements.” The short ginger bodybuilder stepped forward cockily. He looked younger than Casey, though Casey guessed he was really just his age. His wavy red-black hair fell in a forelock over his forehead. He had freckles. His skin was butterscotch tan, his eyes a deep, rich blue. And, like the others, he was hugely muscular, packing well over 220 pounds on his 5’6” frame. Casey noted the perfect round shape of his strong young baseball biceps, rife with rivulets of veins, and the piston-thick forearms. His heavy shoulders bulged with packed muscle. He could have moved pianos with one hand. He was bow-legged, his quads swaying gently outward as he walked. In his fly, his package appeared to be nearly as big as Casey knew his own to be, but on such a short guy it appeared twice as big. He looked as if he had to walk around his dick with each step he took. And he looked vaguely familiar. “This is Private 1st Class Joe Tiffany. I see you’re wondering about his age. Private Tiffany, get the tape measure and the clipboard from Dr. Irving. Tiffany here is 19 years old. He started with The Protocol when he was 15. I’m sure you two will be great buddies.” Casey didn’t know what to make of this. He decided that even with the kid’s big muscles, thick package and all, he didn’t want to be buddies with him. “Okay,” he said. “Hello.” Tiffany stepped forward, extending a hand as if to shake and, as Casey leaned in, walked past him, instead taking the tape measure and clipboard from Dr. Irving. Turning back, he graciously handed just the clipboard to Moster, and strolled confidently over to Casey. He looked up slyly at the baffled, tall young musclemen towering over him. “Hi, Casey,” he introduced himself breezily. “I’m Joe Tiffany. You’re very lookin’ good, man. Like the buzz cut.” Casey gazed down at Tiffany, perplexed, who grinned back at him serenely, displaying two rows of perfect white teeth. He was smart and smooth, and he grinned easily. He made Casey nervous, all the more so when, for a flash of an instant, he detected a wicked twinkle deep in Joe’s eyes. Joe winked at him. Then he wiped his face clean and looked back at Moster, all innocence. “Sir, I need some help, sir.” Moster snorted impatiently. “Corporal Schumacher, get Tiffany something he can stand on.” From the line the older guy Tiffany had been whispering to strode to the desk area and returned with a metal stool. He tossed it in the air to Tiffany, who caught it easily. While never very bright, Casey was all the same possessed of unquestionably fine animal instincts. He knew trouble when he saw it. He glanced up and down the older man Moster had addressed as Schumacher. His muscle density was impressive. His arms were thick, ripped and veiny. Two iron cross tattoos graced each forearm. His skin was calloused and rough, and his hands were huge, with bruised, knotty knuckles. He was now leaning in to Tiffany, so close to him his heavy pecs were almost touching his face. Casey could see the outlines of two heavy brown nipples in his tight Army regulation green t-shirt. Schumacher shot a dirty look up at him, and pushed his pecs into Tiffany’s’ face. “I told you before I want to see you my room. Later.” He spoke in a low tone. The muscleboy stepped back indifferently and spoke with offhand innocence. “Hey, it’s late, dude. I don’t think so tonight.” He pulled out the tape and turned to Casey. Schumacher glanced briefly up at the muscleman towering over them both and sneered a little, but Casey could spot the dash of respect in his eyes. He turned back to Tiffany. “I mean it, punk. In my room. Later.” “Leave me alone, old man. I have work to do with the young dude.” He stepped on the stool without looking again at Schumacher and stood before Casey, holding the tape measure and smiling sweetly. His words stung. Schumacher looked up at Casey and silently mouthed the words H-A-N-D-S O-F-F Casey returned the look dumbly. “Later,” Corporal Schumacher snarled to Tiffany. Moster looked up. “You have a problem, Corporal?” Schumacher turned and strode away. In the corner of the lab, Dr. Irving was recording every moment on his ever-present video cam. Standing on the stool, Joe was now a little taller than Casey. He squatted down just a little, stuck his butt out behind him for support, and brought his eyes even to Casey. He looked him up and down and whispered in his ear. “Let’s see how big you really are, buddy,” he murmured. He brought his hand down and flicked his own crotch gently with his thumb, turning his broad back for cover. Only Casey could see him do it. He looked at him out of the side of his eyes, suddenly nervous about this big little bodybuilder, who clearly had more than his share of cojones, and his dangerous muscle daddy friend, who clearly had issues. “Whenever you’re ready, Private.” “I’m ready, sir.” “Good. Get to it. Right biceps.” Casey snapped his right arm to attention and flexed the biceps full. Tiffany let out a low whistle. “Bring it on home, baby. Nice peaks. Cannonballs, even. Swole. Nice.” “Yeah, yeah,” muttered Casey, flexing both biceps now, trying to be casual. “Get to it, Private,” repeated Moster. “Okay, measuring. Sir! I’m guessing 23 inches, sir!” Casey glanced contemptuously at him with one eyebrow cocked high. “Try that again,” he said levelly. Tiffany charmingly fumbled with the tape measure and double-checked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he reported. “26 inches, sir.” “That’s better.” Casey looked forward and tried to make his face serene. He was already getting pissed. What did this young asshole know? Moster made a note on his clipboard. Behind him, Schumacher was fuming. Casey imagined he could see smoke coming out of his ears. “Left arm.” Casey lowered his right and brought his left forward. Pow - Ka-boom.. .. Tiffany brushed the rocky peak with his fingertips. “No touching the goods,” Casey hissed. “26 inches, sir.” Tiffany was all smiles. “Chest.” “Let’s see, Superman, just how we’re going to do this. Turn to one side?” he inquired sweetly. Casey just looked at Tiffany. “Damn it, cadet, turn! Do as he asks.” Moster was getting impatient. Casey turned. “And expand your chest.” Casey’s giant pecs roiled and blew to their fullest size. Tiffany gently reached around Casey, and by tossing one end of the tape from one hand to the other, he coyly avoiding touching him with all but the tape and his lightly pinching fingers. “68 inches.” “Hmmm. There’s room for growth. Waistline.” Tiffany climbed down from the stool and brought the tape around Casey’s taut abs. Again he managed not to touch him. Even so, Casey felt a slight stirring from his crotch. “32 inches.” “32?? Dammit, Zaftig, what have you been feeding this boy? Chocolate cake? Twinkies?” I’m no boy, thought Casey. And I don’t eat Twinkies. His crotch twitched again. He glanced around the room and saw other crotches twitching as well. 6 or 7 of the men seemed to be sporting half erections, bulging in their khakis. No one said anything. All expressions were deadly serious. It was as if no one noticed, minded or cared that more than a half dozen of these musclemen were now sporting serious wood. “I’m sorry, Sergeant,” said Zaftig. “I haven’t felt it was the time, before tonight, to put Casey under your advanced care and guidance. He wasn’t quite ready, I felt.” “Assuredly. Casey, things are going to be a little different for you after tonight. Quads.” “33 inches, sir.” “Dayumn….” muttered Hension. Then the sound of the back of his head being smacked again. “Ouch!” In back, Karim Abdul watched stonily, not reacting. He, Moster, and Dr. Zaftig were the only men in the room whose flies remained unexpanded. Even Dr. Irving was by now showing a little bulge. “Room for improvement everywhere,” said Moster. He made a note on the clipboard. “Calves?” “28 inches.” “That’s good, anyway. Feet?” “I wear 18 DD shoes,” Casey answered. “Speak when spoken to, Cadet Casey. But thank you. Inseam.” Inseam? “For the uniform.” Oh. Tiffany crouched down and placed the tape just at Casey’s ankle, and brought it up. He paused. “With or without testicles, sir?” he asked. “Without.” Moster was impatient. Tiffany was getting on his nerves, but he wasn’t about to show it. “Sorry, big boy, but you got a couple of low-hangers there. Pardon my fingers?” In a swift move that startled Casey, Tiffany, ignoring Casey’s growing tumescence, gently cupped Casey’s balls in his hand, lifted them and delicately moved them out of the way. “Shucks, dude, they’re pretty heavy,” he smirked. Casey was thoroughly humiliated. He felt like knocking this punk's block off, realizing that if he did he’d probably kill him if he even tried. He said nothing. “42 inches.” “Good. Now Zaftig, leave us alone with Casey. We all want to get to know him better.” Zaftig glanced over at Dr. Irving, who had withdrawn to the far corner of the room to be as far away from Moster as possible. He nodded towards the door. Irving cleared his throat and buttoned his lab coat. Zaftig leaned in and whispered harshly to Moster. “No touching. Leave him be.” Moster nodded. "Sure, of course. We'll be nice." Zaftig and Irving left the lab together. In the corner, the video camera whirred, its red light blinking, unheeded. As soon as they were gone the other 16 men came forward. Slowly they circled Casey, Joe Tiffany, and Sergeant Moster. “That’s all, Private Tiffany. Get back in line.” Moster turned to Casey, paused, and began to speak with great deliberation. “I’m the man in charge here. Going forward, you’ll do what I say. These men have all been through it. It’s your turn now.” The bodybuilders gazed evenly at Casey, who stared back, his head slightly bowed. He had neither seen nor imagined such a landscape of muscle in his life. He was beginning to get intimidated. “The motherfucker’s huge,” murmured Private Lang appreciatively. “Yes, sir.” Casey forced a smile, and he saluted. Moster smiled back, a grim humorless smile. “It would seem that you want to please me. Is that the case, Casey?” “Yes, sir, I do, sir!” “Glad to hear it, son. You have a few more years of hardcore training ahead of you. You have great potential, boy, but you haven’t realized it all yet. Has he, men?” Mutters. We’ll get you down to the gym tomorrow and we’ll all shake it out together. Men, you’re done here tonight. Dismissed. Go to bed. Good night.” Moans of general disappointment. Schumacher and Karim Abdul remained silent. “That’s all men.” A pause. “You too, Tiffany.” “Not just yet,” said Abdul. Moster looked at him, his eyebrow raised. “Corporal?” Abdul turned full to Moster. “Not just yet. I want to see if he can take it.” Moster knew full well what he meant. “Take what, Corporal?” “Get him a singlet,” said Abdul to Lang, who eagerly turned and scampered out of the lab. “You know where to meet us,” he called after him, perhaps unnecessarily. The men could hear Lang’s running footsteps as he hightailed it gleefully down the long hall to the locker room. Moster sighed. “Do we have to go through this? Again?” He remembered that when Alvarez was admitted to the program, Abdul had demanded to meet him in the wrestling ring right off the bat. He looked around. All the men were smiling in anticipation. Casey was baffled. “A singlet? We gonna wrestle?” “Yes, son, we’re going to wrestle,” answered Abdul. “You wrestled before?” Casey remembered his brutal ring training with Ramon Ramon, who never failed to pin him, even though he was only half Casey’s size and weight. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Abdul turned to go, slipping out of his t-shirt. Casey could see he was wearing a singlet underneath, and was surprised he’d missed it before, considering how tight the t-shirts were. Karim was walking away, going for his belt, when he turned back. “You comin’?” Casey gulped a little. “Yes, sir.” The man who stood before him was fearsome indeed, a dark, mature Arab with blackened, hairy, super dry, super vascular, magnificent superheavyweight muscles. The thick black hair of his chest was like a matted carpet, tinged with grey and curling around the heavy, downward pointing nipples. His python-thick cock unfurled heavily in the singlet crotch, heavy, soft, half-visible behind thin, quivering spandex, pulsing, veined, thrust forward between powerful hips. His waist was impossibly narrow, his abs like 8 anvils, his pecs and biceps bulging with muscle and ridic veins. He spread his legs wide. “Hey, look,” breathed Blankenship, staring. Casey looked down, a little panicky, and saw his own massive cock was now tent-poling his posers. Reinforced or no, the 5 square inches of cloth that still managed to cover his big penis head were straining, the fabric ready to tear to shreds. His veiny blond shaft was completely exposed, pointing straight up and out. Curling thick tendrils of his young blond pubic sprouted generously from the juncture of his penis and his vascular, rocky pubis mound. He colored deeply, squatted slightly, tried in vain to readjust himself, his fingers digging deeply into the side straps, trying to control the pouch, which was nowhere near equal to covering Casey's looming erection. Suddenly Casey's penis head ripped through the black cloth, an alien bursting out of a stomach. Casey looked up, utterly distressed. “Don’t worry about it, Casey,” said Moster quietly. The men turned and looked back, and for the first time, got a glimpse of Casey’s humongous penis, half exposed, throbbing behind his expanding posers, which was tearing slightly, ballooning away from his hips. Blond, thick-skinned, massive, covered with luscious veins. “I’d call that a suckable fuck machine of the 1st order,” said Blankenship. He licked his lips a little. Casey looked humiliated. “I asked you a question,” said Abdul. “Are you coming?” And Casey came. “He seems to be,” said Alvarez drily. Just a little precum, appearing at the tip of the piss slit, dribbling down the corona onto his erect shaft. But it was enough. His face turned beet red. He looked up, his eyes hopeful. "Okay?" he finally asked. The men nodded in satisfaction. Abdul ignored it. “Then let’s go, asswipe.” He turned and walked out of the room, headed for the wrestling ring in the next wing. The musclemen followed, each one turning slowly and massively, heading for the door. “Let’s go, Casey,” said Moster wearily. He threw him a towel. “Here, cover up if you’re embarrassed.” “Thank you, sir,” said Casey meekly. “Though with a machine like that you should be proud, not embarrassed. Tiffany!” Moster called out. “Get Dr. Irving back in here and tell him to move that camera down to the wrestling ring.” He smiled grimly. “I have a feeling Abdul may be a little surprised.” __________________________________________ Want to read "The Twenty" from the start? Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland  "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets
  2. Chapters 7, 8 Precis so far: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 7: Training Night 1: Good for Morale October 20th, 2021 1900 Hours The gym floor was buzzing with activity. Each man had a 5-gallon aluminum jug of water from which he regularly took enormous gulps, occasionally pausing to drench both himself and his training partners as needed to stave off the effects of the heat. All wore specially designed army green jockstraps. Regulation jocks were hardly adequate for their needs, and all 19 men (and especially Sergeant Moster) required XXX-large custom-fit pouches. Pendulously bulging, sweat, cum, and piss-stained, even these firm-gripping supersized mesh pouches could barely contain the musclemen’s super-sized genitalia. Gently curving cock shafts plunged from heavily veined, thin-skinned pelvic girdles on each man, leading to jaw-breaking cockheads. The jocks hugged the men’s cocks tightly, providing only barely adequate covering. Moster’s policy was that shorts and sweatpants were unnecessarily encumbering. All around the room, as the men moved from weight to weight, their mountainous packages swayed freely back and forth. On most of the men, the top 5 to 6 inches of their veiny cocks were visible, plunging into their over-burdened pouches. The men’s powerful, deeply striated glutes were fully exposed in back. Colorful do-rags, thick cable socks and black army boots completed their attire. On the floor, workout buddies Private Dan Gunst and Private Steve Waring were spotting each other through a sixth set of murderous curls. 24, 6'-10", 375 pounds, blond, huge, sporting a severe crew cut, and with a big nose and oversized hands, Gunst was a decidedly homely muscle giant, packed with imposing hardcore brawn. His bullish traps sloped massively from his 24” neck. The man’s 27-3/4 inch biceps were second only in girth and mass to Sgt. Moster’s, though he hadn’t yet attained the shapely cannonball peaks of Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, Blankenship and Alvarez. At 3.8% bodyfat he tended towards a thin coat of luminous bloat in his 375-pound physique; he was all the same, super-humanly powerful, and during his training sessions the bloat seemed to melt into a latticework of shrink-wrapped vascularity. His partner, the 26-year old Steve Waring, was uncommonly good-looking, if, at a mere 276 pounds of raw muscle, not nearly as big as Gunst. He was, however the far more ripped bodybuilder, having been in the program 2 years longer. His vascularity was astonishing, a complex map of thick, dizzying, zig-zag veins that criss-crossed his magnificent physique. Square-jawed, dimpled and brown-eyed, he always had a neatly groomed 2-day beard. As expected for a leaner man, Waring’s particular beauty lay in his batwing lat spread and chiseled abs, which tapered radically into a mere 29” waist. Cobbled, veiny abs lead down to his fearsome bulge. Now Waring was up. He tied on a pair of dirty wristbands and cinched them tightly, licked his lips, approached the 160-pound weight, and looked up at Gunst with a half smile. “What’re you waitin’ for? C’mon, get moving,” said Gunst impatiently. “It’s my third set.” “I know. C’mon, man, you’re stalling.” “You know what I want.” Waring winked and grinned, and his dimples broadened deeply. Gunst rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Jesus. You and your third set mantras.” He leaned into Waring, cupped his palm, and roughly took the jock pouch bearing his partner’s heavy balls into his calloused hand. He flicked Waring’s leathery testicles with his thick thumb and with strong fingers stroked the curling cock shaft tucked into the jock. Waring closed his eyes and exploded breath. Gunst fondled the cock, feeling where the 11” flaccid shaft coiled into a sagging downward-pointing firehose U-shape. His own cock began to stiffen as the pouch bearing Waring’s junk began to expand under his touch. He gave a last thumb flick and stepped back. “Yeah!” shouted Waring, and he squatted, grabbed the weight, stood, and reeled off 15 perfectly executed curls. The veins in his biceps expanded and contracted powerfully, eddying currents of blood in a river of muscle. 40 feet away at the incline bench press, Privates Aja Jin, Reed Bogarde and Derek Washington were taking turns doing dumbbell flyes with 125 pound weights. Ginger-haired Bogarde was up, while black muscle giant Private Washington spotted him, and the Asian Private Jin muttered hyper-masculine, mono-syllabic bon mots of encouragement. "C'mon. Get big. Get huge. C'mon man. Push. We're right here." The three heavyweights were generally together. If they weren’t closely supervised, they’d spend more time than absolutely necessary on pec workouts. A year before they had petitioned Moster to be allowed to wear their prized brass chained nipple clamps during their training. Moster had refused at first, but after they appealed to Dr. Zaftig, he finally relented. “The pain inspires them,” Zaftig told him. Moster had to agree that this one time, he had been wrong to withhold his approval. And once again, it was good for morale. The chain to Bogarde’s clamps was draped over the t-shirt and lay across his mammoth, boyishly freckled pecs. He’d completed 11 reps seamlessly, but was now pausing, his arms open wide, the dumbbells held aloft. “Do, it, man,” he growled, and as Moster watched, Private Jin reached over and with gentle, adroit firmness, tugged slightly on the chain. Bogarde’s face contorted with pain. "Push, asswipe!" screamed Jin. Bogarde completed the set. “Thanks, buddy,” he breathed, as he slammed the weights to the floor and sat up. “Privates!” Moster called out. “Remember I want to see you remove those clamps every 10 minutes for an exact period of 20 more minutes!” “Yes, sir,” said Washington, about to take his seat on the bench for his set. “By my watch, it has been more than 11 minutes. Those clamps come off. Now.” “Shit,” muttered Washington, but he duly turned to Private Jin. “Take care of this for me, and I’ll do for you.” “Okay,” said Jin. He lifted Washington’s t-shirt, and gently unscrewed the clamp on the left nipple. Instantly Washington’s face contorted with pain. Jin leaned in and tenderly licked the swelling brown nipple with his tongue for a few moments. Washington nodded, and Jin repeated it for the right nipple. “I’m good,” he said. Jin lifted his shirt and Washington returned the favor, caressing Jin’s nipples with his tongue as he removed each biting clamp. “Hey, what about me?” Bogarde grinned, slipping off his t-shirt. His large nipples pointed heavily downward, with lusciously round, perfect aureoles. He pumped his 58” ripped chest fully, fists at his side, and stood smiling expectantly as his two muscle buddies moved into his side, their heads to Bogarde’s chest, each manning a clamped nipple. For Private Bogarde, the only good thing about the unclamping was the minute of stimulation he received from his buddies to keep the excruciating pain he so adored from making him instantly cum into his overstuffed jockstrap. Once he came, his partners knew the chest workout would be effectively derailed for a good 15 minutes, and so to prevent such time wasting, both men were inclined to be extra attentive. Over time, they developed a routine. Together the two bodybuilders carefully unscrewed the clamps, and swiftly leaned in to kiss, lick, bite, stroke, and caress Bogarde’s freed, erect nipples. Bogarde moaned, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, his cock now swelling threateningly in his jockstrap. “Shit,” he moaned, and his buddies glanced down at the straining pouch. His mushroom-round penis head poked heavily over the top and began to climb up his abs. Jin and Washington knew that he might shoot his load at any moment. The two double-timed their nipple licks. After a minute, their tender administrations allowed him to regain control. He nodded – he was okay – and they backed away. Satisfied, Bogarde pumped his pecs to their fullest size and inspected them both closely, nodding with serious, unsmiling self-approval. Wet with spit, his stiffened nipples bloomed. “Freaky,” he breathed. His buddies nodded. “Awesome pecs,” said Jin. “Awesome.” Bogarde stuffed his receding cock back into his jock, and winked at Moster. Moster watched. When it was clear Private Bogarde was past danger, he called out again. “Back to your work. You have twenty more minutes before you can put those damn clamps on again.” The men nodded dutifully. Washington sat, grabbed a dumbbell in each hand, hoisted them to his knees, leaned back, and effortlessly pushed them both to the ceiling. His chest expanded mightily. Bogarde shouted the count. “1! 2! 3!” Jin spotted, his powerful hands lightly meeting Washington’s elbows with each rep. For a moment, Bogarde fondled his smarting nipples tenderly. He caught Moster’s stern eye and, still counting Washington’s reps, nodded sheepishly and slipped back into his sopping t-shirt. Corporals Rene LeFevre, Tony Chad and Private Chris Hension were supersetting between bent-over single-arm rows and military presses. The massively muscled corporals, both in their mid-30’s, were the compound practical jokers. Their perfect foil was the slightly dopey 22-year old, 260-pound superheavyweight Private Hension, a square-jawed, curly-haired, dreamily handsome inductee who had only been admitted into the ranks of The Nineteen from the cadet squad six months before. Hension's face was so unusually beautiful that he was catnip for all who gazed upon him. With his deep blue eyes, perfectly square jaw, high cheekbones, imposing Roman nose, thick eyebrows, short curly black hair, powerful young physique and endearing, gap-toothed smile, he looked like a hyper muscular refugee from some crazy TigerBeat boy band. Teen muscles personified, and unusually huge, though he was 3 years past his teens already. His hazing was not quite over. Tonight he was burning from the red-hot chili powder LeFevre and Chad had worked into the folds of his jockstrap. Early in the workout he had waddled with his bodybuilder’s muscle-laden stride over to the 50-gallon water cooler, pulled down his jock, and poured a quart of refreshingly cold water onto his stinging red shaft. Every ten minutes he had to return to the cooler as his P-21 enhanced, ever-growing penis began burning anew. He couldn’t figure it out and was embarrassed. The fabric of his jock was now transparent with wetness, and the crimson outlines of his snake-coiled penis could be seen glowing painfully. LeFevre and Chad hid their grins innocently as a baffled Hension trudged back towards them, his fingers gently probing and rearranging his drooping big package for maximum comfort. “Something the matter, Private?” asked LeFevre. Hension nodded. “My junk hurts,” he said. He still wasn’t entirely used to the newly achieved girth of his organ. “And it itches.” “You keepin’ it clean?” “Sure.” He stuck his hand in his jock. “It’s getting too big. It don’t fit in these jocks.” “How big?” LeFevre winked at Chad. “I ain’t measured.” “Really?” “You lie.” “Okay, it’s past 10 inches now.” “About the medium point, then.” “You’re probably jerkin’ off too much.” “All that new size. Kinda hot, right?” “Gotta wipe all that jism off after you shoot, son.” “I keep it clean,” Hension protested. “Okay,” said Chad. “We can take of that later for you.” “Thanks,” said Hension, and then he noted the wicked gleam in Chad’s eyes. “Oh, you assholes,” he whined. “What did you do?” His buddies began to roar. Furious, Hension grabbed a 200-pound dumbbell and flew through a set of punishing one arm bent-over rows. His wide back roiled with shifting mountains of muscle, and as he jerked and lifted, his damp wife-beater gradually crept up to reveal his hardened, vulnerable butt, pumping up and down, undulating with each rep. A red handprint from a private discipline session with Sergeant Moster the night before still glowed on the right buttcheek. And the men laughed even harder. “You got it coming and going!” said LeFevre. Hension slammed the weight into the mat, turned abruptly and placed his big hands protectively against his ass. Then he grinned. “Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, so go laugh!” Inside his jock, his stinging member twitched. Private Hension liked humiliation. In fact, there was nothing he liked better, and both Chad and LeFevre were onto it. As far as they were concerned, the handsome Private’s hazing would continue indefinitely. Just two weeks before, Corporal Chad had hacked into Hension’s private PC and found links to dominatrix S&M websites on Hension’s private PC, with cum-stained downloaded jpegs and pngs of leather-clad, spike-heeled mistresses, face-slapping hapless, undersized men. Mixed in with the images were pictures of a huge muscleman tied up with ropes and chains, a rubber ball in his mouth and an enormous butt plug shoved up his anus. Hension’s private fantasy – and he was a little embarrassed about it, which was only good manners – was to get his face slapped, viciously and unrelentingly, by beautiful, affronted, enraged women. He dreamed of being caught sucking Alvarez’s massive cock, and being interrupted, and hauled to his feet by a beautiful blonde mistress of discipline, who would slap his handsome face repeatedly, leaving welting, bright red, stinging handprints on his clean-shaven cheeks. His head would whip from left to right, from right to left, under her powerful bitch slaps. Happy tears would roll down his face onto his stinging cheeks. “Aw, baby…” he’d cry, pretending to be in pain. “Don’t slap me!” And his mighty cock would also whip from side to side. “You deserve to get your face slapped, you filthy muscle slut!” SLAP. And meanwhile, Alvarez would drop to his knees and lovingly administer skillful oral to his massive cock. This dream of slapping punishment from angry mistresses filled his nightly jerk off fantasies. Chad printed up a few and privately slipped them to LeFevre, who laughed devilishly. “Someone’s been in my room playing with my computer,” Hension complained that night at dinner. The two feigned innocence. “Why, how can you tell?” asked Chad innocently. “Because the asswipe left it on.” “That might have been you.” “Nope. The asswipe left it on at a website I like. I would never do that.” The men roared. Hension pouted. “Don’t worry, baby face. Maybe some day soon on a field trip, we can set up a surprise for you, now that we know what you like.” Hension brightened. “Really?” he asked hopefully. “We’ll see if you’re a good boy. Why don’t you come by for some posing practice tonight?” “O—okay,” he said, shooting a furtive look at Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang, quietly sharing a table on the other side of the dining room. Chad caught it and for an instant was jealous. He knew Hension longed to be a part of Alvarez and Lang’s notorious “Pose and Approve” nightly sessions. Private Robert Lang was a younger version face and body look-alike for his buddy, Corporal Julio Alvarez. The same exact height, the two bodybuilders kept their bodies shaved, and might easily have been mistaken for one another at a distance, if it weren’t for Alvarez’s neatly trimmed mustache. Alvarez also boasted the same brutal muscles, the same sweep to his triceps, the same broad back, and the same peerless baseball biceps. Older, wiser, and a touch serene about his muscles, he and Lang were like brothers. Brothers, however, they weren’t, and they exhibited no instinctive physical filial reticence with one another. Lang, standing 5’ – 10” and weighing in at 285 pounds, was dark, serious, extraordinarily handsome, and brutally built. Secretly unsure of himself, he sought approval whenever he could, a little mortified by the beauty of his face. He had pronounced horseshoe triceps of uncommonly full sweep, an impressively broad back, and, as Alvarez noted, a beautifully rounded muscle bubblebutt graced with an almost horizontal butt shelf. To help bolster Lang’s flagging self-confidence, Alvarez – without question the alpha dog of this pairing, even as he was the slightly bigger muscleman - developed a ritual he called “Pose and Approve.” At first, it developed quite naturally. Over time, it had evolved into mutual muscle worship. Alvarez’s judgment and approval of Lang’s muscles were his drug of choice, next to P21, that is, and his own brutally punishing workouts. They started out privately in Alvarez’s room. From the first night, he was ready. An 8’-0” x 10’-0” lit posing dais dominated the back bedroom in his quarters. “Built it myself,” he said quietly as Lang stared at the polished wood surface. When did he find the time, Lang wondered. Alvarez carefully adjusted the cool LED lights. Lang watched eagerly, stripping down to tight posers straining under the weight of his throbbing, veiny penis. Alvarez took his sweet time setting lights and atmosphere. Lang watched, shoving his hand into his sagging pouch and absently manipulating his big tool to half erection. When he judged all was ready, he’d step back. “Okay. Get to work,” he said. Eagerly Lang jumped onstage and hit a front double biceps. Alvarez nodded his approval of his buddy’s muscles. “Nice. Big old cannonballs. Show me more.” Another pose. This time a side chest. Lang’s pecs pounded and seemed to reach the ceiling. His heavy nipples were already taut. “How do I look?” Lang asked nervously. “Looking all right,” Alvarez said casually. “Lights need adjusting.” He half turned away as if to check the wiring. This prompted Lang into frenzy, and he began whipping out pose after pose. “The lights are fucking fine! I’m smokin’!” he cried. “Look at me, Alvarez! Check out my muscles! I’m fucking huge!!!!” Alvarez smiled. “Okay, big man,” he said. “I see. I see what you need.” And casually bending in, he took Lang’s by-now rock hard penis into his mouth and lolled it about gently. Inside, his tongue stroked the long, thick shaft, working its way up and down the veins. “It’s your reward for your perfectly developed muscles.” Lang was in heaven. Then they switched. Alvarez stepped up and surpassed his buddy’s posing performance. As he flexed, Lang sank gratefully to his knees to admire his musclegod buddy. Alvarez hit a pose - wham! - and Lang would greedily slurp on his gigantic rod. "Boom," purred Alvarez. "Big biceps, baby." "Twenty fiiiii---vvve inches...." "Bullshit." "Twenty-five baby. Feel 'em. Suck my cock." "You got it. Sucking now, man." They went back and forth for hours. Flexing biceps, smacking roiling quads, pec dancing, sucking each other's cocks. After a few sessions, Lang developed a surprisingly insatiable taste for Alvarez's stunningly perfect glutes, and sometimes lost himself rimming the man's rosebud butthole while Alvarez posed, legs spread wide, gazing at himself thoughtfully in the wall-length mirror across the room from the dais. Whenever Lang's face was buried deeply in the bigger man's butt, Alvarez found his creative posing juices to be inspired, and he was able to flex for hours without getting tired. Over time, they worked out new routines this way. Of course, Alvarez and Lang had long since taken “Pose and Approve” into more stratospheric, not to mention more public, levels of performance during the last year. The men liked to watch, and occasionally were invited to join in. For more than a year now, the men all knew that Lang slipped whenever he could into Alvarez’s room late at night for an hour of nearly silent shared posing routines and powerful rounds of cocksucking. At the end of their private sessions, each man could be heard roaring in the compound’s corridors as he spurted a mighty ejaculation inside his buddy’s mouth, onto his abs, or inside his yielding bubble butt. Just a week before, when a confidence-challenged Lang was standing in front of the corner mirrors after general workout, trying vainly to figure out a new routine, coach Alvarez decided to take it public. After all, all the men knew. And were curious. And were watching. Eagerly. Even Karim bothered to look up from his own fascination with his flexing biceps. Alvarez directed Lang from pose to pose, nodding. He ran his fingers smoothly over his body. Then he dropped quickly to his knees, stripped off his jockstrap, took his cock into his mouth, and continued to direct him from there. “Bring your right arm up a little. Now tilt your head. Look up. Pretend you see something,” garbled Alvarez, his mouth full of Lang’s cock. “What am I looking at?” asked Lang, a little anxious. “Clouds. You see clouds. Good. More clouds. Right. Here’s your reward.” Alvarez licked his cock hard for a minute. “It’s like he’s licking an ice cream cone,” said Hension. “An ice cream cone with veins,” said Blankenship. Washington stared, grinning. Lang colored slightly. In his jock, his heavy penis head began to expand and push against the thick fabric. “Yo, bodybuilders deserve to get their cocks sucked while they’re posing,” Lang said dreamily, flexing. “I’m down with it,” said Washington. “You can suck mine next.” And Lang did. Alvarez sucked Lang’s dick approvingly, licking the thick shaft lovingly. Then he pulled back to allow Lang to pivot to the next pose. Lang crunched into a most muscular, Alvarez nodded again with serious respect, and sucked him as his reward, as his buddy held a crab shot for 60 full seconds. They moved as one: pivot, flex, a nod of approval, a minute of cocksucking, withdrawal, pivot, flex, another nod, another minute of cocksucking. Absorbed by their mutual passion of posing together, the two silently went into matching, impromptu routines, flexing their powerful guns in unison as if choreographed, slapping their quads, turning to flair their lats, all the while staring appreciatively, each transfixed by the other. And the men stared, too. Soon all they all joined in. The workout was effectively over. Cocks filled mouths for the next hour. Rough, calloused hands appreciatively patted and stroked flexed biceps. Pecs danced. Tongues licked sand dollar sized, downward pointing nipples. Moster was not pleased. Nevertheless, he waited until the last groans had finished, and the last drops of the quarts of ejaculated bodybuilder cum had burst from throbbing cocks down eager throats. "Are we finished?" he asked quietly. The men lined up, sheepish, all with dripping cocks and cum flecks on their lips. Hension's face, inevitably, was covered. "It got into my eyes," he complained. Smack! "Owwwww!" he yelled. Moster waited, and then spoke quietly. “There’s a time and a place for everything,” he barked, all sheepish and spent, wiping the cum from their lips and bodies. After that, Moster determined to keep Lang and Alvarez separated on the floor as much as possible, for the two men were so – was ‘inspired’ the word? – attuned to one another’s powerful physiques that the Sergeant had determined it would be more efficient for all if they trained apart. It always led to “Pose and Approve,” behavior that Moster determined was more efficiently left to the locker room and showers. “Pose and Approve” was all very well for private time, but on the gym floor the men had been known in the past to become hypnotized by one another’s muscles. On rest days, of course, Moster kept them completely separated. That was an order. These days, the two grudgingly but unquestioningly yielded to their CO’s command. Once, Moster had caught them together outside on a bike path on a prescribed rest day, both naked, erect, and posing feverishly. He watched silently for a few moments, waiting for the inevitable moment when Lang sank to his knees and greedily gathered Alvarez’s cock in his mouth. “Gentlemen!” he boomed, striding forward onto the path. “Today is a rest day!” He swung mightily, he clipped the surprised Alvarez right on the jaw. The punch felled the muscleman immediately. Even the usually arrogant Alvarez was a mere beta puppy before the 7’-0” Moster. “In my quarters! Now!” Ten minutes later a cowed Alvarez was stretched over Moster’s powerful knee, receiving a serious butt paddling. Lang stood by nervously, knowing he was next. “You’re like two bad boys,” he said gruffly as he spanked Alvarez’s perfectly rounded buttocks. Neither man protested, each watching the other meekly as he received punishment from the implacable giant Moster. The loud spanks were heard echoing down the hall for 40 minutes. The men sat in the mess and listened to the spanks and howls. “No one crosses Moster,” Schumacher said airily, to no one in particular. The distant sound of spanks bounced off the walls. Perfect musclebutts were receiving perfect punishment. “Gee, what did they do?” asked a fearful Hension. “Someday you’ll find out,” said LeFevre darkly. He winked at Chad. Later, they emerged sheepishly from Moster’s quarters, red-faced and gingerly rubbing their painfully reddened glutes. The two were barred from contact of any kind for three weeks. Moreover, the enforced temporary change in the training schedule upset all of the men, who privately handled the transgression in their own manner. There was a strict code of punishments the men had privately devised and agreed upon over the years, and when training violations occurred, the offender was subject to the discipline of the group, most often provided by a steely-eyed Corporate Karim Abdul. The night after their ordeal with Moster, Abdul and Gunst visited the men in their quarters. The men each stood meekly, as Karim punched their faces with cool precision. Then he spanked them both, followed by Gunst’s stern force-feeding of his cock. Then, for good measure, both men thoroughly fucked their butts. The next morning at chow, each man sported two black eyes. Their flanks ached, and closer inspection revealed that sitting was painful for more reasons than were immediately apparent. “Dudes, what happened to you?” shouted Chad across the mess hall. “Shut the fuck up,” grumbled Alvarez. “Report to the infirmary,” said Moster. “Sergeant, begging your pardon, we’re fine.” “As you prefer, Privates.” “Abdul stretched the shit out of my asshole last night,” Lang complained quietly to Alvarez. “Me too,” Alvarez asked. Silence. Then they both laughed quietly. “Was it worth it?” asked Alavrez. “Fuck yeah,” said Lang. Nevertheless, the men grudgingly acknowledged privately it was their due desserts. After that, Lang and Alvarez obeyed orders, and it didn’t happen again. Their eyes healed quickly and though they remained separated at night, soon they were back on the gym floor the same day Moster suspended their sentence. “No sense in losing perfectly good training time for those two. They’ve learned their lesson,” Moster said to Zaftig, who was always puzzled by the developing social rules within his own lab rats. Three weeks passed, and the night they were finally reunited, Moster smiled privately to himself in his quarters as the excited groans of the two reunited men echoed down the corridors long after hours. The next morning, far from being tired, they appeared at 0700 hours breakfast as if entirely rejuvenated. The other men looked a little weary, having been kept awake all night, but all were in grudging good humor now that the two muscle buddies were together again. Backs were slapped and good-natured jibes taken with grinning good grace. “Have fun last night, Lang?” teased Obatu. “Yep,” said Lang, his mouth full of eggs. “Alvarez get any bigger in the last three weeks?” “He sure did,” Lang nodded seriously, chewing and swallowing. The men guffawed, and Alvarez smacked Lang playfully on the back of the head with a giant paw. “What’d I say?” asked Lang, perplexed, and the men laughed harder. Across the table, Karim never looked up. Faggots, he thought. Still, his cock twitched in his jock. He had liked punching the handsome faces of both Alvarez and Lang, though he didn’t want to admit it, and the crisply delivered black eyes he had administered had made it all even more exciting. And the fucking was fun, too. Moster was satisfied. All in all, it was good for the team. Good for morale. Chapter 8: Tiffany’s Talent Karim was in the corner, working out on the punching bag. His buddies, if the taciturn Lebanese from Michigan could have said to have “buddies”, Privates Duncan and McIntyre, were alternating between bench wrist curls and neck-strengthening dumbbell lifts. The rhythmic volley of Karim’s rapid punches filled the air. Abdul Karim was, at his most social, on the taciturn side. At 6’-3”, 275 pounds, and less than 2% bodyfat, Karim had a beard and mustache that he kept meticulously groomed at all times. He had the Arab’s big nose, dark skin, and, except for his back and shoulders, a full body armor of tight, black curly hair. His muscular chest was black with fur, with two deep red-brown nipples poking through. His quads were oak trees. His bullish biceps, covered with bright tattoos, were stacked and wired for maximum damage. His fists were huge and calloused. Karim was an extreme fighter of the first order; calm, methodical, practiced, powerful, relentless and merciless. Zaftig had plucked him from the State Penitentiary of Washington about four years earlier. He was in for manslaughter, having beaten to death a suspected serial rapist in Seattle; the trial transcripts stated that he had simply held the dude aloft by his collar and repeatedly punched the guy in the face until he grew bored. Inside, it was said, he had beaten to bloody pulps 5 inmates who had jumped him one night in the shower with sharpened shivs and the intent to kill. How Zaftig got him out was still a mystery to Moster, but, as his CO was bigger and possibly even a hair stronger, Karim silently respected him without grudge or attitude, and there was no real breach of discipline. Still, it was tough to pair him off in extreme fighting matches in the compound, although Corporal Schumacher was a close match. Annoyingly, if understandably, both Chad and LeFevre were careful to keep the beautiful young Private Hension away from Karim. Secretly protective of their young initiate, they didn’t take any chance that the longingly masochistic Hension might approach Karim, and get a lot more than he bargained for. Karim, for his part, wasn’t particularly interested in Hension. For him, a hole was a hole was a hole, and as for getting his cock sucked, he preferred women to do the job, as long as they shut up about it. Oddly, he didn’t seem to mind if effeminate boys took care of his meat, if no pussy was available. A bitch was a bitch was a bitch, though he took care to show basic respect for being serviced (even if, of course, it was his due). He did, however, like piss. Karim liked to be pissed upon, and he liked to piss on others. He marked his territory. He especially liked it when big boy Gunst pissed on him. After all, he respected the man. He didn’t consider it a sexual fantasy. To Karim, piss was just the right expression of muscle and power. Late at night, he sometimes came to the workout room alone and worked on the heavy bag. On those nights, he made sure that the kitchen boy, Pedro, was standing by. A slender 16-year old kid, barely 130 pounds, and a sweet-natured homey if ever there was one, Pedro would wait patiently in a darkened corner until Karim summoned him to approach, get on his knees, and suck his unusually hairy cock while he worked the light bag. The boy loved hair and muscles, and Karim’s big veiny tool got an appreciative coating between his lips. Karim would grunt, shoot, coat the boy’s face with globs of semen, pat him affectionately on the butt, and head off to bed without washing off. The boy scampered into the kitchen to start breakfast for the men, happy to have been of service. Good-natured Privates Bill McIntyre and David Duncan were often buffer zones for the brooding Corporal Karim. Calm and circumspect, like Karim they too were hairy big boys who preferred the ladies, albeit always in groups with the Lebanese. Moster occasionally arranged for private liaisons for the three bodybuilders with three high-priced, Amazonian professional girls flown in from Las Vegas. The men fucked their women vigorously, always with their eyes on one another. After they finished up and the ladies had departed, Karim often polished off the night fucking his buddies’ shapely muscle butts, alternating between them. It took a lot to satisfy Karim, who could fuck all night, and sometimes Moster was hastily summoned to make sure the session ended. He often brought Gunst with him to break up the party, for Karim liked nothing better than to finally cum while Gunst pissed in his face. “Feels good,” he would grunt as Gunst’s firehose cock shot streams of piss on his muscles, while McIntyre and Duncan stood by smiling, gently fingering their reddened, aching buttholes. Karim would work his cock fiercely with his powerful fist, quickly spurting buckets of semen onto his hairy abs, and, as always, trudge off silently to bed without washing or saying good night. Gunst would then get the privilege of sucking Moster’s giant cock while McIntyre and Duncan watched respectfully, stroking their own cocks. Sessions would end with each bodybuilder shooting his cum into Gunst’s mouth. Gunst could swallow volumes of cum. “Makes me bigger,” he’d say. The big boy preferred monster penis, and liked it best with other musclemen standing by watching. So it worked for everyone. Beyond them, Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, and Blankenship were besting each other in sets of deep squat deadlifts. A 42-year old muscle veteran with tattoos, steel-wool skin, acne scars, an explosively powerful physique dense with vascularity, and all honed by nearly 30 years of raw, intense training, Herman Schumacher was the current king of this group, with his wide-oval, pronouncedly roiling, round hamstrings of pure power protruding far behind him. His broad, solid, rounded manbutt rolled above his hams, meeting into a firm, deep butt crack. His calves were split into two deep and distinct diamond-like heads. Schumacher had no-nonsense iron-grey hair and was generally scowling. He knew all who saw him wanted to fuck his mighty butt. Secretly, he was happiest when either fucking – or being fucked. His formidable, muscular, hairy glutes demanded attention. He was loath, however, to acknowledge his fantasy top. Rarely fucked by the other men, and always only after extreme begging and some act of subservience, Herman Schumacher had some private fantasies of his own, involving heavy rope and buttplugs, that one day he hoped he’d have the courage to investigate. For now, the opinions of the other men were still too gravely important to him. He wasn’t ready to betray himself. Not yet. In the mean time, it was generally understood that Schumacher’s powerful tool was always at the ready to plow a tasty ass. Just out of his hearing, the other men all agreed - and even Karim - they craved his particular kind of butt fucking. It seemed he could always find the g-spot, and he quietly provided hours of late night pleasure for those men who had just finished a grueling squat workout, and whose eager buttholes needed relief. Obatu chose to shave his head bald, had shiny black skin, and like Schumacher and Karim, nearly always had a fearsome scowl on his face. His glory were his bull-like traps and his mammoth pecs, which at 66”circumference approached Moster’s own in size, shredded cuts, and separations. His fearsomely large genitalia had a habit of rolling out of his jockstrap during training, and he’d absent-mindedly scoop his balls and cock back into place, often pausing unconsciously for a quick couple of strokes on the extra-long, heavy shaft and a quick flick of his thick thumb on the bell-shaped cockhead. Then he’d lift and adjust the heavy pouch and resume his powerful lifts. On white cap nights, however, he often didn’t bother to repouch. Blankenship, younger than both and only recently having attained the rank of Corporal, didn’t have the ripped density of Schumacher nor the sheer mass of Obatu, boasting instead superb genetics and beautifully honed symmetry. Good-humored and outgoing, the roman-nosed young Blankenship favored classical Greek poses in his routines, and he often showed off his alluring lines with his muscular arms held overhead. He was a statue come to life – and he knew it. Shouting encouragement and taunts at one another, Schumacher completed another grueling set of 25 reps with 400 pounds. On the last rep, he strained to replace the weight on the floor with disciplined quiet, in control of the weight to the very last. Then he blew out a mouthful of spit, shook his head violently so that his sweat flew everywhere, and straightened up. Blankenship planted a solid smack on his naked butt. “Nice!” he yelled. Schumacher smiled wearily and nodded. Then he turned and glanced across the room to see if Private Joe Tiffany had been watching his set. Tiffany was working triceps and delts with Private Robert Lang. Alvarez was at the squat rack, training legs with Private Eli Meyer. The good-looking All-American Jewish Meyer was the shortest man in the squad, standing only 5’- 3”, and sadly, a mute. He was a highly developed, talented gymnast, double-jointed nearly everywhere and was astonishingly supple for a little muscleman. He easily contorted his 210-pound body into positions the other men could only dream of. He favored the relatively simple – for him – pose of planting his rippling arms on the floor and swinging his legs sky-high behind them, tilting his pelvis forward past his elbows and holding steady for long periods of time. The pose was catnip for the squad, who, after hours in the compound rec room, loved to more closely inspect Meyer’s proudly displayed hairless, supple pink butthole, which he playfully puckered in and out for them at will. Meyer would smile hugely and nod encouragement, his eyes sparkling with mischief, as the excited men scrambled to their knees and took turns playfully licking and probing his asshole. Alvarez enjoyed a lick as much as the other men, but he always noted Lang’s slightly hurt gaze and promptly retreat with his buddy for some private posing. For his part, however, Alvarez had no issue when Lang, occasionally overcome himself, dipped his handsome face into Meyer’s butt for a taste of honey. Afterwards, Alvarez noted, he would pose harder than ever. For Tiffany was trouble. Alvarez noted that Tiffany was studiously ignoring Corporal Schumacher’s impressive set of deadlifts. Lang, almost as dim as Hension, hadn’t seemed to notice. But then, Lang hadn’t learned yet that he shouldn’t trust Joe Tiffany. Joe Tiffany was 19. He was gap-toothed, dark-haired, freckled, had slightly big ears, and looked a little goofy. He was bow-legged, weighed 235 pounds, and had almost no bodyfat at all – and what little there was lay sweetly atop what Herman Schumacher imagined was probably the most beautiful butt on the planet. On the day of his arrival into the Project facility just a little less than a year ago, Obatu had nicknamed him ‘Huck Finn’. The name stuck, and over time morphed into ‘Fuck Him.’ No one had, though, as of yet. Not privately, anyway. Tiffany was smart. He looked dumb and played the innocent, but he was canny, shrewd, and manipulative. He also had an unusual talent, which he had privately shared with the curious Sergeant Moster not long after his arrival. It was not unlike perfect pitch: Tiffany could take astonishingly accurate size measurements – orally. Moreover, he had no gag reflex. It appeared that he could take anything. Any cock. To its full length. Even Moster’s. Moster had found out quite by accident – or so he thought. In the showers alone one night, the black muscle giant was lathering up his armpits when he turned and discovered the Private staring at him from the doorway into the locker room. “You’re here late, Private.” “I forgot my jockstrap.” “Better get it and head to bed. Training tomorrow at 0700 hours.” Tiffany held his jock up silently. He waited. Moster stopped lathering and returned his look. “Is there something I can do for you, Private?” he demanded. Tiffany said nothing but gazed straight at Moster’s gargantuan, swaying dick. “Private?” Moster stepped forward. Tiffany didn’t move. “Sir?” He gazed unblinkingly at the cock. Moster glared. “Well?” Tiffany looked up and came to attention. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “But that is the biggest dick I have ever seen in my life, sir.” “It is unlikely you have seen a bigger one.” “I’m guessing no one has, sir.” “No, probably not. Just how big do you think it is?” “Sir, if you will forgive the indulgence, sir, but I believe I could tell you, sir, and quite accurately, too.” Moster had already heard about Tiffany’s after-hours mess hall boasts. Now was the chance to see if the boy had the stuff. “On your knees, then, Private.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany stepped forward in the shower, got to his knees and opened his mouth. He held still. Water poured from the spigot and in an instant, Tiffany’s t-shirt was wringing wet and bulging with his tight teen muscles. He looked up expectantly at Moster. He was calm. “Doesn’t look like anything I can’t handle, sir.” Annoyed at the Tiffany’s arrogance for a flashing moment, Moster slapped his swaying, dripping cock fiercely three or four times. It blew into an engorged 20-inch-plus vein-pulsing snake inside of 5 seconds. Water from the shower splashed onto it and ricocheted off the walls. “All right then. You’ll have to open up much wider than that.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany opened his mouth as wide as he could. Moster strode forward, grabbed the back of the young Private’s head, and forced his face onto his cock. Amazingly, Tiffany’s lips easily enveloped the enormous head, then the shaft, and slid down until Tiffany’s nose was pressed against Moster’s body. Somewhere inside, Moster’s giant shaft had disappeared deeply down Tiffany’s throat and into his upper body. Yet the muscleboy didn’t gag. Instead, he looked up and smiled, his mouth full of black bodybuilder cock. He held still a full minute, as Moster’s cock throbbed inside him. Then he slowly pulled his head back. “18 and 5/8s inches, sir. 8 pounds, three ounces. You weigh 396 pounds tonight, sir, your body temperature is 97 degrees, and your blood pressure is 120/85.” He smiled serenely. Damn, thought Moster. He’s right on target. There was just no telling where P21 protocols could lead, and what talents it might unearth. He nodded, satisfied, and then plunged his cock deeply back in and out of Tiffany’s mouth. In spite of its huge girth, Tiffany bowed and obediently went to work. As Moster pumped his hips rhythmically and Tiffany sucked mammoth cock, the sergeant’s mind drifted towards the men. Hmmmm, he thought. He was deeply in thought, automatically flexing his muscles and yet barely paying any attention to the efficient, powerful, machine-like sucks of Private Tiffany. Finally he began to shoot rivers of cum into the teen’s mouth. After a minute or two of shooting, he withdrew his cock and coated Tiffany’s face evenly with the last blasts of semen. Tiffany licked and took in as much as his tongue could reach, and then he stood, at attention once again. His cute face was covered with clouds of thick cum, which dripped down in thick globs onto his body under the spray of the shower. He saluted again, and wiped his mouth so he could speak clearly. “I hope that was satisfactory, sir?” “It was.” He didn’t appear to be injured in any way, at which Moster privately marveled. He turned away and began soaping the blobs of cum off his cock shaft. “You’re aware that sucking your CO’s cock is a privilege awarded rarely to men of your rank.” “Yes, sir. I know, sir.” “You will report to my private exam room tomorrow about an hour into the evening session. I’ll let you know when.” “Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure, sir.” He started out of the shower room, and turned, adding, “By the way, sir, your cum tastes a little like banana. I love banana.” He saluted again, and was gone. “Fresh punk,” thought Moster, but he was pleased. Starting the next evening, Moster began to require that the priapic dimensions of each muscleman be included in his records, the information to be obtained in privately conducted sessions he personally oversaw with Private Tiffany on hand to take the strictest of measurements. As always, the sergeant immediately designed a standard ritual of procedure. Ordered one by one into the examination room off the gym floor, each bodybuilder entered singly, wearing a tight posing strap, and walked silently into the center of the room. Private Gunst was first. “Stand under the light,” Moster ordered quietly. The bodybuilder stepped onto a posing dais, and poised himself under a single focused spotlight shining from the ceiling. He awaited orders, hands at his sides. He wondered why Tiffany was present. Moster stood in half-light, fully covered in clean white sweats, as always. The silent Dr. Irving sat in a pin light in the distant corner, armed with a video camera and scribbling in a small pad. Tiffany, wearing the white regulation tight t-shirt and khakis, stepped forward from the shadows. “Let’s see what you got, man,” murmured Moster, and Gunst swung into a posing routine. The first pose was a side biceps pose with the muscleman leaving forward and rotating his back towards the sergeant, so that he might better appreciate the three distinct cannonball deltoids, the broad lat sweep, the baseball separations of the biceps head, the powerful shape of his obliques, the shapely, hard glutes, and the roiling hamstrings. It was a landscape of muscle, and the men all knew it was Moster’s preferred pose. Then Gunst straightened, reached toward the single spotlight, and slowly brought his arms down into his most powerful, sustained front double biceps pose. “26 inches, sir!” he shouted. He held it for about 30 seconds. “Looking good,” said Moster, slightly bored. A three-minute posing routine followed. There was no sound in the room apart from the rapid tapping of Dr. Irving’s pen, the hum from the spotlight, and the waves of air being sucked in and out of Gunst’s mouth as he glided smoothly from pose to pose. Front lats, pivot, side left chest, side left triceps, pivot, rear lat spread, rear double biceps, pivot, side right chest, side right triceps, pivot, left quad, shake, slap, flex, right quad, shake, slap, flex, overhead ab crunch, and finally a most muscular, crunching viciously into a vein-exploding crab shot. Then the bodybuilder stood still, waiting. Thick rivulets of sweat poured down his physique. “Okay. Front double biceps again, please.” Gunst flexed his mountainous peaks. “And hold it.” Gunst smiled and strained, eager to please his C.O. “All right, Tiffany,” Moster said quietly, “get to it.” “Yes, sir,” said Tiffany. He strode forward, and as Gunst stood steadily flexing the classic front double biceps, the shorter Tiffany gracefully reached forward, took hold of the elastic side straps of his thin mesh poser, pulled the pouch forward and down, and unveiled the muscleman’s flaccid, long, thick, imperial penis. Moster cracked a quick smile, noting that Gunst first looked startled….then curious…. and then aroused. The giant gazed down as the business-like Tiffany got to his knees, gently fixed his pretty lips on the man’s junk, closed his eyes a moment, plunged deeply, holding the instantaneously stiffening penis deeply in his throat for about 60 seconds. “Wow”….breathed Gunst. He continued to flex his biceps, but tears appeared in his suddenly glistening eyes, and his cheeks flushed deep crimson. Below, Tiffany held firm and steady, his moist lips gently enfolding the thickening penis, widening his jaw to allow the throbbing member to enlarge to its true, pounding, blood-filled girth, standing gradually as the man’s cock began to climb towards the ceiling. He appeared to be making some internal calculations. He allowed 30 seconds more to pass; then he lolled his tongue around the muscleman’s cockshaft, pulled back, dipped again to twice lick the bulbous cockhead, paused again, and then gently parted his lips and pulled back, smacking his lips happily. He wiped his mouth. Gunst stared at him. "Huge cock, man. Nice." Tiffany turned to Moster. That was all it took. Gunst promptly began to spurt ropes of milky cum into the air, which Tiffany deftly dodged. He announced his findings. “12 and three-quarters inches, sir, tip to base,” Tiffany announced with obvious pride. “As you see, he is uncircumcised. Foreskin is clean and about six inches around. Penis weight, five and one half pounds. Shaft circumference, eight inches. Head size, three and three quarters, sir. Two pronounced lateral veins.” Tiffany paused. “He weighs 325 pounds, sir, and at the moment, his blood pressure is 140/80.” He grinned. “It’s quite a penis. You should be proud, sir.” “Yeah, thanks.” Gunst was still shooting. Ropes of cum hit the walls. “Sorry, sir.” “That’s all, Private,” said Moster. “Dismissed.” Gunst, his dick still shooting volleys of cum, stepped off the platform, glanced with confusion at Tiffany, and walked slowly out of the room, his posers barely covering his throbbing cock, leaving a trail of cum as he went. “Tell Corporal Abdul to come in next,” Moster called after him. Gunst turned. “May I watch, sir?” Moster considered. “All right.” At the outset of the tests, Moster was immediately on hand with a tape measure and a blood pressure cuff to verify what he could. After awhile, he didn’t bother. Tiffany was always right. By the next morning, Moster had realized that Tiffany had deftly strategized the whole routine. He’d been punked, and by a newbie. It was as if Tiffany had foreseen Moster’s every move, and now, in record time, every man in Project Herculaneum was aware that Private Tiffany’s blowjobs were a vehicle to provide new particularized personal information being added to their charts. Moster was secretly amused at the teen’s cojones, but knew that he’d have to regain the upper hand again, and soon. Still, it wasn’t for him to break Tiffany personally. That would have made his displeasure too apparent. He began to look for opportunities for the cocky Tiffany to be bested by one of the men. A face punching by Karim would be too brutal. He considered other ways. Maybe in the wrestling ring. Yes. ******* Links to other chapters: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed
  3. The first two chapters of my muscle novel-in-progress, The Twenty. Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes the twentieth muscle god, young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 19-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decades-long Project, itself only now beginning to suggest its full potential. Introduction The 3-story steel, glass, and concrete compound was snugly nestled in the misty rural hills that rolled gently inland from the ocean, where the Santa Ana winds met the hot air rising from the distant desert to the east. Poised at the edge of the highest peak of the Santa Cruz Mountains, the 4,000-acre gated complex was just barely visible from the discreet entrance on Pacific Coast Highway below. A single sign stood at the locked automatic entrance gate, reading - Private No Outlet The private drive wound up the mountain, snaking through dark woods of redwood and pine, finally arriving at the labyrinth of vine-covered high concrete walls, topped with barbed wire, which surrounded the entire complex. Closed circuit cameras marked every turn of the road. Manicured lawns and open fields could be occasionally glimpsed through thick veils of leaves, branches and red rock. 350 miles south was Los Angeles. San Jose was the closest city, 30 miles away. Local residents drove past the gate on Pacific Coast Highway, wondering about the mysterious multi-million dollar complex. The place had seemed to spring up overnight, seemingly from nothing, more than 10 years before. The traffic in and out was largely limited to food delivery and supply vans. Unseen generators hummed through the night. The people who worked there appeared to be in residence. Was it an athletic training facility? Low planes flying overhead clearly identified a likely indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool, bicycle trails, playing fields, and more. There were also a few outer buildings that appeared to be well-appointed dormitories, with small lawns and private drives. A building attached to the central core might possibly be a central hall, with sizable private, enclosed terraces open to the sky. Convoys of SUVs, all bearing the logo VALHALLA LABS were parked in a half-empty parking lot in front of the main building. Occasionally local delivery men, bringing whole sides of raw beef, fresh vegetables, lab equipment, chemicals, electrical supplies, and – this was the most perplexing part – hundreds of tons of expensive exercise equipment would spot one or two dozen young men on bicycles, pedaling furiously through the high hills, always followed at a discreet distance by an unmarked black car and by the one of the SUVs. From a distance the men on the bicycles appeared to be unusually large. In any event, the local deliverymen weren’t talking. Most would just shrug and say they didn’t know. Besides, they’d signed a confidentiality agreement barring their conversation about what they might happen to observe within. And since no one appeared unduly nervous about the place, over the years the matter dropped. Still, the rural locals who hung out at the motorcycle bars and music clubs nestled deep in the hills continued to buzz. Most assumed that it was some kind of military base and laboratory. Others noted the apparent residence buildings from the air, and thought it was either a private Olympic training compound, or some kind of crazy health nut cult commune. Certainly it was neither a prison nor a university. But no one really knew what it was. And over the years, little by little, the mysteriously well-tended commune was enveloped in the mists of revered local mystery, a legend the hill people of the coast, who were mostly Northern California biker clubs, surfers, horsemen, and artichoke farmers, relished and loved, without knowing anything about it. Remote, mysterious, un-Google-able, not listed on any map, no one really knew what the place was, and even less was understood. However, since it was apparent that no nuclear waste was being discharged, no one worried. No one appeared on either San Jose or San Francisco streets with appeals to join some far-out religion. No shots were fired in the night. And because, in fact, the whole compound was refreshingly green, paid its local bills on time, and was mysteriously quiet at night, for years no one really worried about the place. If only they had known it was the wellspring of the Fountain of Eternal Youth. Or, as it came to be called years later, after all the fuss and scandal and stories had finally faded into the misty aura of legend – the Lourdes of Bodybuilding. ********* This is the story about the day that it all changed forever. THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. From Dr. Warren Irving’s Notes List sorted according to date of entry into program. Click tables to see details. Chapter 1: Project Herculaneum October 20th, 2021 1855 Hours In Valhalla Labs’ 15,000 square foot soundproofed gym, 18 of the longtime test subjects of Project Herculaneum were approaching the second hour of their balls-to-the-wall workout. On the west wall, one-way visibility windows framed the magnificent mountaintop panoramas in the growing twilight. As the sun disappeared, the glass increasingly glowed with the golden reflections of a roomful of massive male musculature. The workout floor crackled with the sounds of iron clangs, grunts, groans, and ecstatic roars of pain, shouts and taunts. The air was thick with hot sweat, crotch and armpit smell. Low ranking solders in the US Army, and ranging in age from 20 to 45, the 18 were, to use the argot of the world of male bodybuilding, freaks. Huge muscle freaks. Animals. Swole. Jacked to the balls. ‘Roided to the tits. Except that they weren’t ‘roided at all. Every man on the squad was clean and clear of the usual bodybuilding drugs required to build massively muscled specimens of uncommon size and strength. And they weren’t just conventionally “huge” either. All of the soldiers of Project Herculaneum were fired by one supplement only. P21. And Project Herculaneum, now approaching the end of its first decade, was finally yielding the astonishing results promised from the beginning back in 2007. The Project Director and Genius Factotum, Dr. Ira Zaftig, had long dubbed his lab creation enzyme P21, “The Fountain of Youth.” The wellspring of eternal energy, strength, youth, beauty, and sexual power. Perhaps the secret of life itself. The Men of Project Herculaneum thought of P21 differently, though. “It’s the straightest line between two mostly unreachable points: freaky muscle, and ba-boom!” Or so said Private 1st Class Dan Gunst, a 6’-10”, 375-pound mountain of ripped muscle whose growth on the enzyme had surprised even project founder Zaftig. Off to one side, the 19th man on the squad squatted on a bench and closely surveyed the men's training with half-lidded eyes. By far the largest man in the room, CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster’s muscular perfection was unparalled, even in this room of freakishly huge men. Squared-jawed and blindingly handsome, 44-year old Rod Moster was 7’- 0” tall, weighing in at 395 ripped and shredded pounds, a black mountain of solidly ridged muscle: deeply separated, profoundly striated sheer muscle mass, boasting a body fat index of 1.2%. Dr. Zaftig was the heart and genius creator of Project Herculaneum. The squad and their CO were the ongoing subjects of his personally supervised “Top Secret” project. For years, the men had been receiving regular lab-controlled injections of Zaftig’s carefully developed muscle growth enzyme, P21. Sergeant Moster, on the enzyme for more than a decade, was the project’s powerful senior officer and unopposed trainer. Yet in spite of Moster's formidable size and strength, he was soon to be equaled by two of the soldiers in his direct command, Corporal Karim Abdul and Private Gunst. He knew it, too. The workout room met Moster’s strict standards. Room temperature was always set exactly at 90o. Moster would not allow air-conditioning on the workout floor. After all, sweat lubricates muscles and encourages growth. No one disputed Moster's rules. On a sprung workout floor measuring 10,000 square feet, there were two dozen squat racks, 42 benches, 8 rows with hundreds of dumbbells ranging from 5 to 300 pounds, and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of gleaming machines, standing bicycles, elliptical tracks, cable racks, ropes, belts, grips, and stacks of weights. Hundreds and hundreds of tons of weights. In the distant corners of the gym, a few normal-sized Valhalla lab assistants scurried silently in the shadows with video equipment, towels, heavy water jugs, and cleaning equipment. The men on the floor never paid any attention to the pipsqueak lab rats, as they called them. Occasionally, one of the pipsqueaks meekly approached Sgt. Moster with questions or a need for direction. Moster was always gracious, brief and business-like with lab underlings. They were Zaftig’s people, after all, and he appreciated that it just might be difficult to recruit them. More importantly, the lab rats were not, after all, muscle worshippers. Geeky science majors somehow matriculated from Berkeley and Stanford, their applications for their employment were most thoroughly scanned to determine both their dedication to science, and their lack of sexual interest in the project subjects. Past circumstances had indicated that the men of Project Herculaneum were unusually vulnerable when it came to the possibilities implied by muscle worshippers. The less of that from outsiders, the better. For now, anyway. Besides, there was real money to be made with the advent of worship. That would come later. Above all, Moster didn’t want to water down the future possibilities. Some day, when all this was over, there was a lot of money to be made. Moster was counting on it. Under his leadership, the goals of his 18 musclemen were never ending, their focus never dulled by the daily routine of their sequestered lives inside the Valhalla Compound. And for Moster, it was all about building muscle. Solid, rock-hard, healthy, powerful muscle. Muscle supported by bones and internal organ strength. Whereas Dr. Zaftig was compelled to his daily grind of endless lab research and observation of the men by his quest for eternal youth, Moster was not distracted by such vague, high-minded creationist illusions. All Moster cared about was that his men develop huge, serious, ripped, dominant, clean, overpowering muscle, muscle like the world had never seen before. Moster relished the fact that his extraordinary development was still a constant inspiration to his men. He generally preferred to remain completely covered, rarely choosing to display his magnificent physique. His custom-built oversized sweatsuits were carefully tailored to camouflage his physique while not hindering movement. They were heavily reinforced at the seams to avoid tears and bursting, and were neutral in construction and color. The sweat pants were gathered into tight stretch bands at Moster’s ankles. He generally wore combat boots and a white do-rag. But even the careful design of more than 25 yards of a blend of durable synthetics and heavy cotton couldn’t disguise Moster’s 60-inch wide shoulder girth, 7'-6" reach, 70-inch chest, 36-inch quadriceps and 25-inch calves. An observer might only be able to guess at the Sergeants’ biceps, triceps, and brachialis size. Moster chose to wear his sweatshirt loose, masking a slender, powerfully shaped 32-inch waistline. He never tucked it in, always making certain he was successfully covering his crotch. He had his reasons for this, which were well known by his men. Whenever Moster appeared in uniform, or civilian clothing, his appearance was all but terrifying – and, at the same time, insanely alluring. Rod Moster's boxing, wrestling, and extreme fighting skills were superior to all but Corporal Karim. Moreover, by now in this stage of team development, Moster found he had to work harder than his men in order to maintain the very slight edge he still held. Zaftig knew this, much to Moster’s subtle discomfort. He knew could be unseated by the right man at any time. Project Herculaneum was that far along. He remained proud of his team, knowing as he did that some day soon they might surpass him. When it became apparent to all that his long-held edge over the others was narrowing, a few of the men privately anticipated the day that he might finally be bested by one of the 18. The bets were on Karim Abdul, though Abdul had no particular vendetta against Moster; all the same, it would be a day of reckoning for the alpha CO, to atone for some of the more painful and humiliating extra-curricular disciplines he had long enforced. Hey, as long as that day doesn’t come too soon, he would joke in the mess hall. And all would laugh, even as they exchanged meaningful glances. Moster’s dedication to Project Herculaneum was total, even if it did lead him to occasionally lock horns with the dreamy, physically underdeveloped senior genius Dr. Zaftig. The 67-year old Zaftig was both crafty and kind-hearted. Though he held a basic unshakable respect for all, he was not above manipulating the men’s fragile psyches to get what he wanted out of them, and he made it a priority to know and understand all of them for their personal strengths and weaknesses. Over the years, it had been hard work finding and inducting these particularly gifted men into the program, and, once introduced, each man represented years of painstaking research, investment, time and testing. It was only right that he would pay close attention to what made each man tick. On the other hand, Moster preferred to accent his authority with an occasional dash of cruelty. He felt it was good for the team. After all, life was cruel, wasn’t it? And so together, Zaftig and Moster had forged a decade-long alliance of good cop/bad cop, each man sharing in his own personal way a common goal. Both cared only for the success of Project Herculaneum. At base, however, they held profoundly different motives. Zaftig hoped to find the perfect candidate for P21. As magnificent as the 19 men were, the final, perfect genetic recipient of the miraculous compound had yet to be discovered. Sergeant Moster, meanwhile, had other plans. All those worship sessions loomed ahead on a promising horizon of money, power, travel, and new opportunities. After all, Moster wasn’t a fool. Zaftig might be, but he certainly wasn’t. Chapter 2: P21 1987-2021 Ira Zaftig’s 2007 successful lab synthesis of Protein P21 promised nothing less than a physical revolution for all mankind. For more than 30 years, the eccentric, obsessed, and touched with genius, Harvard Med educated Dr. Ira Zaftig had parlayed a vast inherited private fortune and the proceeds of his own lucrative San Francisco medical practice into ongoing lab research and experiments. At first, he sought to develop nothing less than an injectable synthetic that would, of course, cure cancer. The usual dream of every young medical researcher, the youthful and wealthy Zaftig, heir to a lumber empire long sold to a larger conglomerate for a lifetime profit that elevated him into the 1%-ers, had the means to set up a private lab to do it. Over the years, that cure for cancer evolved into something else. As he aged, Zaftig grew more interested in creating a formula permanently extending youth, while enhancing physical strength and systemic health. The years passed with no result. Zaftig grew more obsessed, and eventually discarded his practice. He never married and avoided personal relationships, building an impressive private lab in the Santa Rosa Mountains outside San Jose. And he became a hermit whose life routine was only about continual research, testing, developing, synthesizing, note-taking, and video review. He amassed a team, whose job it was to test protocol after protocol on lab rats, guinea pigs, and rhesus monkeys. None of the animals, he was satisfied to note, were ever harmed by his injections, but none ever exhibited any permanent signs of renewed vigor, either. It was as if they were injected by harmless placebos. Over time, lab teams noted some temporary strength and health benefits in some, not all, of the lab animals. The effects were temporary, at best, and it was difficult to determine which animal might feel the effects, and which ones would not. Zaftig assumed sympathetic systems were required for any effects at all to take place. By 1998, Zaftig had engaged as his permanent first assistant the all but silent, studious, equally hermetic Dr. Warren Irving, whose natural reticence disguised fervor equal to Zaftig’s. By then, Zaftig’s ever-growing lab employed small army of coming-and-going lab workers, security personnel and personal administrators, whose silence and trust was purchased with time-stamped temporary employment terms, astonishing starting salaries and carefully drafted legal confidentiality contracts, were on hand in the continually refurbished lab facility, now enlarged into a complex of some size. Since Zaftig was seeking the creation of a God, he appropriately named his ever-growing facility Valhalla Labs. At first, in the specialized world of pure research outside the lab, ‘Zaftig’s Folly’, as came to be referred to, was an unending in-joke on the perils of vanity research. However, it was equally observed that any man or woman who had served in Zaftig’s lab emerged silent, circumspect, and deeply respectful about what went on within. Over the years, the jokes stopped, and by the late 1990s, ambitious young researchers hoped to spend a few seasons at the secluded lab, if for only to slake curiosity – and to make a lot of money. Still, the lab had produced nothing. No patents had been applied for. On it went, year after year. Then, after 30 years of steady non-production, in 2003 the 53-year old Zaftig had a breakthrough. A crop of lab male lab animals appeared dramatically invigorated by a trial run of newly developed formula. Careful notations of animal behavior indicated that the rejuvenation of the lab animals was deeply organic in nature. Most importantly, after protocols were ceased, the effects remained. And the animals grew surprisingly. They did not become monsters, but measured, in some cases, a quarter larger in size and weight than they were at the outset. They were somewhat more aggressive, too, but, as all were relieved to note, did not become, maddened, dangerous or even slightly mean. In fact, personal handlers reported that the animals appeared “cheerful” and “playful.” They also, when allowed, copulated with the other males, and sometimes the females, almost continuously. This was noted by Zaftig, who duly recorded it. Dr. Irving felt Zaftig somewhat ignored the sinister implications. After a year of continually successful lab animal results in select males, it was finally time for the first human trial. Zaftig, ever the Henry Jekyll tried P21on himself. The results were disastrous: violent vomiting, nosebleeds and headaches forced Zaftig into a week of bed rest. “Wrong genetics,” he had to admit to himself. He assumed the formula was a failure for humans, and lived in despair for weeks. Once recovered, he volunteered for trial his chief lab assistant, the meek, complicit, and nearly silent Dr. Irving. The injection nearly killed him. In sympathetic systems, it was as if evolution was sped up 10,000 years. P21 was capable of creating nothing less than jaw-dropping gigantism, coupled with glowing organic health, visually stunning physical perfection, astonishing strength, grace, speed, coordination, and renewed sexual energy. It only worked on X-Y heterogametic chromosome pairings – that is to say, on human males. Moreover, at this point in its development, it was successfully observed in very few subjects. Because of the necessary secrecy of the project, Zaftig lacked proper comparative controls, but by his estimation, he calculated P21 to be beneficial for only 1 out of every 1,000 men. However, for that one recipient, the sky was the limit. Zaftig finally saw the light on a subject for whom the formula might work when he met Rod Moster. That was in 2006. Moster was facing prison then, charged with manslaughter. Zaftig had heard all about the man’s prodigious muscularity, and got him the best defense money could buy. Moster served 1 year, and was released. Zaftig awaited him at the prison gates, ready to whisk him away to the Santa Rosa Mountains, to another kind of a prison, and yet one that Moster would soon relish. And so, in 2007, Rod Moster (soon to be Sergeant, USAC, hurriedly and secretly enlisted) became Project Herculaneum’s first official entrant. The already competition-trained superheavyweight bodybuilder Moster took to P21 like a duck to water – or, rather, like gasoline to fire. And Moster beat even Zaftig’s greatest expectations. Muscles bloomed on muscle. Strength quadrupled. Now that he had a perfectly responsive candidate, Zaftig was eager to find another. Later in 2007, another superheavyweight bodybuilder, the near-silent Turkish giant Abdul Karim, was discovered at Raw Weight, the hardcore San Jose gym owned by 50-year old retired pro bodybuilder legend Miles Donovan. Immediately whisked into the program, Moster and Karim trained like madmen in the Valhalla Labs compound, where a new gym was put into construction just for the two of them. They didn’t much like one another, but that led to heightened competition, tension, anger, and, inevitably, greater muscle growth. And now Zaftig could make some truly accurate notes on the success of P21 in sympathetic systems. Zaftig observed in his lab notes that it was as if the full assimilation of P21 triggered alterations in deep genetic timestamp coding. It was exactly as if the body suddenly redefined its male development to date as late ‘childhood’, and began to take itself into something like a new ‘adolescence’, blooming into a new definition of ‘adulthood’. Consequently, accompanied by proper training and consistent regulation of nutrition and rest cycles, muscular growth was not just enhanced; it was prompted into a supersonic explosion unlike anything Zaftig had anticipated. As intended in trial development, P21 was, in effect, nothing less than a miracle formula, successful beyond Zaftig’s wildest imaginings. He was still tinkering with it in the lab, however, in hopes that somehow he might find the key to more universal acceptance, including female development. The injected enzyme boosted performance, it seemed, only in those recipients whose natural dopamine and endorphin levels had already reached a certain high capacity, following either years of regular workouts, or a monitored high-intensity training in very young, genetically predisposed teens. Moreover, once on the enzyme and going forward, steroids, regular insulin injections, pain blockers, and growth hormone proved not only unnecessary, but also potentially dangerous. A protocol of P21 worked best on a naïve system, or, at the very least, a metabolism cleaned over time from the longtime effects of other injectables. Mental acuity was not diminished, but then again, it wasn’t improved, either. At first, Zaftig had been disappointed P21 didn’t produce intellectual giants as well, but in time he accepted it. After all, as long as subjects weren’t rendered newly stupid by the protocol, and followed orders, he accepted that it wasn’t really an issue. It was about muscles and strength, not smarts. More subjects were introduced into the program. By 2011, the men in the program included competitive bodybuilders Rene Lefevre, Herman Schumacher, Anthony Chad, Derek Washington, and William Obatu. Muscle monsters all at the outset, and mostly discovered by Miles Donovan, as each man moved into the compound and began the training and the protocols, their size and strength increased with rapid gains measureable almost daily. Most astonishingly, perhaps, was the measurable growth in each man’s height. Over time, all recipients grew anywhere from 2 to 5 inches taller. The skeletal structure itself was affected by regular injections of P21, and bones lengthened and thickened throughout each man’s body. The principal area of bone growth appeared to be in the legs, but even the arm bones slightly lengthened. A 6’-0” man with a finger-to-finger reach of 6’-3” before injections was gradually able to reach a length of 5 inches in addition to his newly gained height. The lengthened arms, of course, gave the men a slightly ape-like appearance, with the tips of their fingers now brushing the patella of each kneecap. However, the men did not become ungainly as a result, seemed to grow at the same time in natural grace and motor coordination. Muscular density almost doubled, strength nearly quadrupled, subcutaneous fat tissue was nearly eliminated. Muscular separations, ripples, cuts, and deep tissue striations appeared where before, even on a beautifully developed physique, there had been nothing but smoothness. Muscles roiled and bloomed with magnificent grace. Even symmetry improved; it was as if the muscular system had developed an over-all critical eye as to the proper balance and sweep necessary for each man to remain at optimum performance levels. Even so, with the loss of subcutaneous fat, waist size was stunningly diminished. Within six months of starting injections, a formerly 200 pound muscular man with a standard 34” waistline would find himself sporting a mere 30” at his midsection, with his rectus abdominus muscles and lower obliques newly reknit into interlocking, striated layers of shapely support musculature, easily able to carry the newly burgeoning upper body mass. His bodyweight would shoot up at least 20 pounds, all of it lean muscle mass. Fast-twitch and slow-twitch muscles were affected alike: a man on P21 was not only able to lift almost impossibly heavy weights, but run like the wind. Motor-nerve coordination profoundly improved. Endurance was beyond imagining. Although the subjects’ diets were kept clean, this appeared to have little effect one way or the other. As long as the men were regularly fed full meals six times a day, and drank a quotidian 3 gallons of water, then diet itself was moot. However, to maintain the psychological fiction that diet was still “important”, food selections were limited to lean meats, arrays of vegetables and proper complex carbs. The men held the “no veggies” diets of standard, “middle earth” bodybuilders in profound contempt. “If it’s green, it’s good,” was the mantra. With the six meals a day and the explosion of muscle growth, human waste products predictably doubled. The men seemed to require 30 minutes daily for proper excretion. Each man found himself pissing rivers of bright, clean urine. Happily, their digestion systems were as efficient as could be hoped for, and pleasure-filled howls filled the residence halls periodically as the men eagerly shat their meals. “A good shit is like great sex,” Obatu observed. Pissing was as pleasurable, for as powerful as their kidneys were, each man produced ropes of healthy white piss, like clockwork, 5 times a day. Their glowing prostate health allowed them to empty their bladders thoroughly with each resoundingly copious piss. A man on P21 would also exhibit astonishing skin health. Blemishes and scars faded to nothingness. The men’s complexions glowed as if powered by an inner laser. Hair health flourished, and though some of the men on the protocol preferred to shave their heads, it was not for a lack of healthy follicles. Even the bald Sergeant Schumacher, hairless as a wombat when he entered the program, was delighted to see his full head of hair restored within six months. Later, however, in response to other psychological effects, he chose to shave it off daily. Normal pain thresholds decreased proportionately. Sleep cycles were not affected. Over time, any already-accomplished athlete’s natural talents were likely to be exponentially sharpened. Newly recorded performance benchmarks surpassed any previous personal best. In short, the benefits were astounding - provided the recipient was initially genetically gifted to begin with, and had already achieved a certain performance level. Once P21 had been introduced into the system, after 3 years of weekly injections, Zaftig had discovered the protocol must be carefully monitored, and in some cases, stopped for periods of time. Not everyone developed at the same rate. Once the protocol was stopped, the successful manifesting effects enjoyed by the recipient to date would not be lost, but any continuing development would slow and finally stall. However, to avoid trauma, the project’s subjects weren’t informed of this, and several of the older men had been receiving intermittent placebos for years, in order to avoid a state of psychological withdrawal. More seriously, and although Zaftig was not yet certain of the veracity of his latest finding, he was keen to observe with a continued injection schedule, that the men’s aging processes seemed to stop entirely. This is the most sensitive of all the information he gathered, and the top-secret introduction of placebos disguised the anti-aging effects for the older men in the project. It was critical that this be kept a closely guarded secret. Was part of P21’s astonishing potential the end of natural aging? Zaftig was at war with himself on this point. As a scientist, he was elated. As a sympathetic human being, he was appalled. No one but he and the deeply trusted Dr. Irving were aware of indications that P21 was The Fountain of Youth. And just as P21 seemed to promise unending anti-aging, not all of the other developmental effects could be anticipated. Nor were they, in fact, terribly convenient. Its extraordinary properties included some rather startling, not to say unexpected, priapic side effects, which had first manifested themselves in the first guinea pig lab rat Sergeant Moster, nearly 15 years before. Since then, as new men successfully entered the project, different results were recorded for different recipients. All the same, universally P21 provided something like miraculous growth and enhancement for all who responded to it. Even now, in 2021, Zaftig could only guess how it might manifest itself in different subjects. Zaftig didn’t really want to deal with the complexity of the multiple sexual side effects. For there were surprising sexual benefits as well. After all, a physically evolving male always experiences a coinciding change in sexual stats and activity. What he had not anticipated was the dramatic extent of these changes. Zaftig discovered it not long after he first tried it out on Moster in 2007. The most observable immediate change was the startling increase in genital size. At the outset of his induction into the program, Rod Moster’s penis was already unusually large, looming forth when erect at a majestic 8 inches. While impressive on most men, all the same for a muscleman of Moster’s size and development, in appearance, it came off as merely average. All that changed once Moster entered the program. Six months after beginning the P21 protocol, even when flaccid, Moster’s penis measured just over 10 inches. When erect, it approached 16 inches. Midnight black, cobra-thick, and lightly laced with a cross section of interlocking capillaries shooting off from two pulsing central shaft veins, it had become a dangerous, dazzlingly beautiful machine. In fact, Moster’s penis had become a weapon. While he was delighted with his newly gargantuan cock, it presented him no end of trouble. For one thing, there was simply no hiding it in his clothing. His dress slacks uniform trousers had been custom-fitted to accommodate his massive quads, glutes, hamstrings and calves. Now, unless he wore specially designed rubber mesh briefs under his slacks that firmly restrained him, his slack member lay lazily on his quads, with muffled slapping against his thighs as he walked. The flies of all his clothing had to be forged from blue steel, and even so, were doubly reinforced to prevent bursting from the strain. Standard bodybuilding posing trunks were all but impossible if he wanted to remain covered; his cock and balls simply didn’t fit in any pouch. Most of the time, Moster chose to wear ultra-baggy sweats, with the sweatshirt hanging down to his thighs to cover the always-looming member. Otherwise, it was all just too distracting. Over time, Dr. Zaftig discovered that for all enrollees into the program, the size of the subject’s genitalia similarly grew to outlandishly large proportions. A man with average endowment was soon delighted to note that his organ, when flaccid, enlarged half again in length, girth, and stamina. A man considered ‘well hung’ at the outset would enjoy even greater growth. But that wasn’t all. Moster quickly realized a greater sexual appetite to match his newly achieved girth. Soon after injections began, normal societal behavioral blockers that prevent many men from acting on their fantasies all but vanished. Deeply buried sexual fantasies began to seem not merely attainable, but regularly actionable. Over time, the sexual activity of the subject became an all-pervasive cycle of, at first, increasing need, accompanied by a single-minded determination to fulfill the fantasy. Moreover, it was apparent that the recipients of P21 responded with particularly heightened sexual energy and passion to other recipients of the enzyme. So-called heterosexuality was no longer an issue: choice was abandoned. The men needed close supervision to keep their sexual activity confined to the proper hours, settings, and duration. And it took some doing to keep the men in line. Of course, any partner was possible for the men. As long as their muscles were the source of longing, they were eager to spread their copious seed in any number of ways, among any number of partners. Fortunately, a psychological fail-safe was built into the men’s newly ripening sexual psyches. The men were at their most vulnerable when presenting their muscularity to outsiders. Always able to leap into swift action, whether fighting, flexing, posing, Zaftig discovered after some carefully administered lab control tests that if the men were confronted with levels of apparent sexual unresponsiveness from observers, their sexual impulses were notably dampened. While their overall athletic, training, and bodybuilding prowess was never diminished, the translation of muscle energy into unfettered sexual energy did not occur unless observers explicitly expressed longing. In other words, the men needed to be sexually worshipped, gawked at, touched, stroked, admired and longed for in order to become aroused. They needed to flex their powerful biceps and rotate their mountainous quads for the stunned and appreciative. It was slightly ironic, therefore, that these astonishing physical specimens of undeniable Alpha males were, actually, subservient to the atmosphere of admiration. Indifference seemed to cow the men into silence and confusion – all except Sergeant Moster, of course, whose internal sexual battery was always on full charge levels. Fortunately, for the orderly continuation of Project Herculaneum, Sergeant Moster was aware of what he called “the Kryptonite effect” on his men. He could douse their sexual energy easily with a disparaging glance or an offhand comment. The small army of resident support staff, facilities associates, cafeteria and maintenance personnel, and office and lab workers were duly advised not to show any sexual interest in the men on any level. Zaftig himself was never troubled by the issue. Proud of his men, he nevertheless seemed to regard them as his “boys”, growing adolescent sons, in whom he had nothing but the purest parental love, devoid of any sexuality. Moster was more than well qualified to handle that job. Zaftig took a step back, promising himself that “some day” he’d approve a comprehensive study on P21 and sex. Over time, the psychological benefits had proved addictive. In other words, P21 was crack cocaine for bodybuilders. Any man receiving regular injections of P21 had to be handled with extreme care and caution, which necessitated a largely cloistered lifestyle. They were simply not ready for general public release. Nor was the public ready for them. To be continued.....
  4. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey Chapter 6: Casey Is Discovered The day that Casey Rockland first set foot inside a gym, he was a shy, tongue-tied, lonely, oversized 12-year old. He stood, frightened and abashed, at the front desk of Raw Weight. He had walked around the block for an hour before he found the courage to walk through the dark-glass swinging doors. Miles stood behind the desk. “Yes, son?” he asked after a moment. God, this kid has potential, he thought. Gosh, he’s handsome, Casey thought. He gawked at the huge, veiny arms that poured from the short sleeves of Miles’ sports shirt. The hugely rolling biceps made his dick twitch a little. From the moment Casey first laid eyes on Miles Donovan, he thought he was the handsomest, smartest, most masculine, most muscular man he had ever met in his life. Just the sight of Miles’ hardcore physique, casually displayed in loose-fitting slacks and a navy blue sports shirt boasting the Raw Weight logo, made Casey’s well-hidden, oversized teenage member leap to attention. It was love at first sight. Which was not lost on Miles. “C-can I join?” Casey finally stammered out. “You want to train here?” “Yes, sir.” “How old are you, son?” “Twelve,” answered Casey honestly. Miles paused, and then asked kindly, “Where do you live?” “San Jose Boys’ Home.” Aha, thought Miles. His heart went out to the beautiful, over-sized, sad-faced kid. “Of course you can join. Ever trained before?” Casey’s heart leapt. “No, sir!” “How much can you pay?” “I can work for you, sir! I can clean the locker rooms, and the toilets, and take out the garbage, and paint the walls, and – “ If Miles had allowed it, a tear would have come into his eye. Besides, this kid had overwhelming genetic promise. He held up a hand. “No need for all that. Of course you can train here. We’ll discuss money some other time. Let’s get you started. Do you have workout clothes?” “N-no, sir.” “Well, let’s get you fitted out. Come on along with me. Sid, take the desk,” Miles shot to the flirting young muscleboy trainer who was chatting up one of the wide-eyed fitness babes who trolled the workout floor, looking for available young muscle studs. “And try to keep your mind on your work.” Back to Casey. “What’s your name, son?” “Casey Rockland.” “Well, Casey Rockland, I think you might have found your new home. Let’s see what you got.” He moved out from behind the desk and approached Casey. Casey’s heart was still leaping. Miles Donovan was an astonishing man. Casey had never dreamed that such a huge, handsome, masculine, muscular man would ever take notice of him. Like an eager puppy, he fell into step behind Miles, who was leading him out onto the workout floor. There, dozens of men and women of various sizes, states, dress, and degrees of sweat were toiling away at nameless, complicated activities involving weights, machines, benches, bars, cables, racks, mats, balls, rings, and rope. One or two looked up curiously at Miles and the gawky big kid trotting behind him. William Obatu was one of those who looked up. Already in enrolled in Project Herculaneum, the handsome black African muscle monster Obatu was allowed to steal away from the compound to his home front of Raw Weight (with occasional forays to the 3rd floor, where he regularly held personal worship sessions). Obatu takes a selfie.... “Who’s that big kid?” he asked Miles one evening a few weeks later on the 3rd floor. He was working arms, doing slow concentration curls, generally ignoring the rich twinky boy on his knees before him, begging to worship the bulging cannonball biceps. “What kid?” asked Miles innocently, walking by. Obatu continued doing curls and feigned the same indifference that Miles was displaying. “You know. The big kid. Downstairs. He ever come up here to 3?” “Naw. Too young.” “Pleeeeeaazzze…..” begged the handsome kneeling twink on his knees, reaching up in hopes to get a quick fingertip brush of iron muscles. Obatu glanced down, a little impatiently, and reracked the weight. “Whtchu want?” he demanded, and slapped the kid’s face. Some ‘a’ this?” He flexed his biceps. The kid moaned gratefully. “Shut up, worm,” he commanded. Flexxxxxx… “Boom,” he said. “25 inches. Feel ‘em.” Back to Miles. “Saving him for yourself?” “Nope. Saving him for your boss. And your commanding officer. Is Tyrone any good?” Obatu was perplexed. “Who’s Tyrone?” He continued flexing, gazing admiringly at his peaks. Miles pointed down at the kid who now was both reaching in vain to touch the iron biceps while feverishly licking the heavy downward-pointing bulge in Obatu’s regulation tiny posers. Obatu shuddered with pleasure but covered. “These posers are too damn small.” “You must be used to it by now.” “You never get used to it.” “I repeat, is Tyrone any good?” “What do you care, I’m paying $5,000 a month to be up here,” mumbled Tyrone, his mouth now scooping up the thick black muscle cock that tumbled from Obatu’s straining posers. Obatu glanced up. “Trust fund kid,” Miles explained. “Oh.” He looked back down again and flexed his biceps again, a little more respectfully. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.” Tyrone moaned passionately and sucked vigorously. After a moment, Miles spoke. “Looks like fun. Mind if I join you?” “Oh, if you’re gonna make a party of it, be my guest,” said Obatu, stepping aside. Miles, still dressed, stepped in and unzipped his pants. His big cock poured out. In an instant Tyrone had both bodybuilders’ cocks in his mouth. “Flex for him. He likes it,” said Obatu. Miles flexed his powerful silver daddy 23-inch biceps. A slight tearing sound was heard. “Damn. Another shirt.” He decided to take it out on Tyrone. He plucked the cock from his mouth and slapped his handsome smooth young cheeks vigorously with the now hard-as-steel shaft. “Nice move,” said Obatu. “Let me try that. Hey, asswipe. Over here.” And he smacked Tyrone’s face with his black cock. Soon Tyrone’s head was whipping from side to side, his face buffeted by heavy cock blows. "Take us both, boy. One after the other," ordered Miles. Tyrone went into a frenzy, sucking Obatu's cock, then twisting his head and sucking Miles' cock, back and forth. "Yeah, good boy," said Miles. A few minutes later the musclemen both shot, coating Tyrone's face with heavy layers of thick, creamy cum. Tyrone moaned as thick spurt after thick spurt emerged from each man's pisshole, painting his face, covering him with cum. “That was fun,” said Obatu. “Yeah, let’s do it again some time,” said Miles, walking away. "Clean that up, boy," he ordered as he strode away, squatting slightly as a zipped up, putting his heavy cock away. Obatu resumed his workout, Miles went back to his office. Tyrone lay on a bench, ecstatically spent. Casey took to lifting weights immediately. He had a genius for developing his own start-up training program, and he poured over the muscle magazines he could find. During computer hours he browed the net for muscle information, training routines, and reading all about the muscle stars. He was going to be one, one day, himself. He was determined. Then they’d see. But, gosh, it was hard work. Lifting hurt. It was painful. It was slow. It took time. He was stunned at the beginning at just how much work it was. One afternoon after he'd been lifting only a few weeks, he was sitting dejected in the locker room. Alone. Miles, coming through with towels, saw him. He understood. He put the towels away, and came over and sat with him on the bench awhile. They were silent together a few minutes. "It hurts." Casey finally said. "Yes, it does." "And it's hard." "Yes, it is. Not everyone can do it." "I didn't know it would be this hard." Miles smiled, and put a paternal arm around Casey's shoulders, patting him with a giant paw. "If it were easy, everyone would be big. It is not magic. You can't take a pill and get bigger. People who think so are crazy and wrong. There's no growth serum. I repeat Casey, there's no magic. It doesn't exist. You can't eat a magic cookie, and just get huge. And people who think so are fools. And dreamers." "But I'm a dreamer....." Casey said sadly. "Yes, you are a dreamer, too, but you're not foolish. You know what work is. Hard work. It's growth with effort. Growth without effort doesn't exist. It's an empty dream, a useless fantasy. There are no super heroes, Casey. There's only hard work. Years and years and years of it. But I'll tell you a secret......" he leaned in. Casey looked up. "If you keep doing it? every day, you'll get a little closer to your dream." A light began to shine in Casey's eyes. A tear formed. He looked up at Donovan, now standing over him. "You mean that?" "I do. And Casey? You'll achieve your dream. If you keep working." He paused and stepped back, hitching his thumbs in his belt. "You had a good workout today. You're pushing the limits. But now you need to rest. G'wan back to the home and eat some chicken. Rest tomorrow. No, rest two days. Don't want to see you back here until Saturday." He smiled. "But on Saturday? I'll train with you. And we're gonna fucking murder those weights." Casey's face shone like the sun. He nodded, eagerly, unable to speak a moment. "Sure, Miles! I'll go back and eat chicken and sleep and see you Saturday!!" He got up and began packing his bag. "Work on those abs. You can do crunches tomorrow as long as you don't use weight," he said as he left the locker room. ****** As Casey trained at Raw Weight it was soon apparent that as he gained strength and grew, he needed more than three times as much food. Sister Anne in the kitchen, sympathetic to the big, sweet, dumb, exceptionally handsome kid, supplied him with the extra portions of meat whenever she could get away with it, unaware that the Home’s director, Sister Marietta, had deliberately turned a blind eye. She was even guilty of making sure there were plenty of steaks and chicken breasts on hand. Four years passed. Casey trained like a maniac. He would have been there every day, all day, but Miles forbad it, making him aware of the need for rest days. "Your body won't grow muscles unless you rest. You want to get big?" "Yes, sir! I want to be huge!" "Then you stay away 3 days a week. Eat a lot of protein. Do your ab exercises every night. But no weights. You wanna grow and get big you gotta give your body a rest." Casey, deeply in love, filled with awe, was all the same a little frightened of Miles, and shied away from him for a long time. Miles, understanding the nature of hero worship, gave the handsome kid a wide berth, encouraging him in a business-like way as he made muscle gains. Sensing even more talent, after Casey had been at Raw Weights about 2 years, he introduced him one afternoon to Ramon Ramon, a stern, grizzled, totally ripped, if slightly punch drunk old Puerto Rican extreme cage fighter who always seemed to be at Miles’ gym, as if he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Soon Casey was taking boxing and kickboxing lessons from Ramon Ramon. He began running, jumping rope, lifting the huge truck tires in the corner of the 1st floor, and working out with a punching bag. Ramon was also into wrestling. He bought Casey his first singlet. For hours after Casey's workouts they grappled on Raw Weight’s stained old wrestling mats, bathed in sweat. Ramon was old and grey but had solidly ripped, strong muscles, and Casey loved the feel of the old iron warrior’s abs against his abs as rolled around together on the floor. When Ramon locked his legs around young Casey’s neck and squeezed, Casey always got what the boys in the home called ‘a boner.’ Big and hard, it poled up in the singlet and would have embarrassed him had Ramon not been so cool about it. “Big tool. Get you a bigger singlet next time. You need a scoche more room in the crotch.” Ramon’s legs were clamped onto 16-year old Casey’s 22-inch neck. He howled. He had never been happier. His erection pointed high to the ceiling. “Go ahead and take care of it,” said Ramon. “Be good for ya. Young guys gotta cum.” He let go of Casey’s left arm. Casey shouted and stroked with his freed hand and his cum shot to the ceiling and plopped onto his abs and the wrestling mat. He was never embarrassed around Ramon. “Think you got the biggest cock I ever did see,” said the old wrestler, his iron vice grip holding Casey in a headlock now. The cum continued to shoot. “It’s healthy. Like to see it.” And Casey groaned happily with pain as Ramon squeezed harder. They wrestled in a pool of cum, soon made even greater as Ramon shot all over his steely abs. “Thought I’d join you,” he said. "Be sure to clean that up before you hit the showers." "Yes, sir!" said Casey, happily spent. For two more years Casey followed a strict regimen of quiet hard-core muscle building. He grew and grew. Miles was taking notice. By the time he was 17, it was clear that he had extraordinary bodybuilding gifts. His dedication to lifting was unquestioned, his genetics nothing less than astonishing. One afternoon at the gym during one of his workouts, Miles Donovan glanced out of office window at the big, muscular young teen in the middle of the workout floor. Casey stood alone on the workout floor, his red t-shirt dripping with sweat. He was insanely propelling himself through a 5th set of unduly punishing biceps curls, curling 125 pounds. His face was crimson, his eyes bulged, his teeth were gritted like a madman, thick cords of veins pounded in his neck. His meaty young biceps were being punished into new growth levels. Miles watched the 16-year old boy through the window closely. “Guess it’s time,” he said to himself. He speed-dialed Dr. Anton Zaftig at Valhalla Labs on his mobile. It was time. He hardly knew nor cared what who Zaftig was, or what this “research” was about. All Donovan knew is that he was supposed to be on the lookout for ‘special’ muscle - from the young men who showed unusual potential, to the older, more weather-beaten gym rats who were so far past feeling any pain that all they could do was pack on more and more beef – as long as they were able to keep a balance with their abs, that is. And – as long as they had other talents as well, including square jaws, clean skin, clear eyes, and redoubtable priapic gifts. Zaftig had been quietly paying Donovan for years to spot potential talent. And the size and regularity of Zaftig’s checks were profoundly motivating. “Zaftig?” A mumbled affirmative. “There’s a kid who’s been training here a few years who I think you might want to check out….. No, he’s only 17, but he’s huge. Yes. Really huge. Yes, he’s good, very good, and I think he could be great. I’ve been watching him quite awhile now. Hmmm? Two years. No, three. Regularly. Yeah.” Donovan paced a little and glanced out his window to the gym floor. Casey was putting himself through his 6th set of curls. 15 reps per set. Now at 160 lbs. “Weight? He’s 220. At age 17. Yes, really. 220. Height? Get this: he’s 6’4”. And I don’t think he’s done growing. Yes, superb symmetry. What?" He sighed at Zaftig's question. "Yeah, he's hung, too. Biggest goddam tool I ever saw." Another mumbled question. "What? Okay. I’ll call you back. Ten minutes.” He hung up. He got up from his chair and walked out onto the floor up to the muscleboy. “Awesome. Awesome young muscle. Congratulations,” he said breezily. Casey was in heaven. “Gee thanks, Mr. Donovan!” he said. Casey was always excited when the handsome muscleman praised him. “Let’s see those guns,” said Miles. Casey was only too happy to comply, eagerly flexing his powerful young biceps. Miles stroked them appreciatively, and then casually flexed his own right arm. Casey stared. “Wow,” he breathed. He reached forward to touch it. “Go ahead,” said Miles. “Stroke it.” As Casey approached respectfully and softly ran his fingers over Miles’ thick biceps, the older man glanced down. And was startled. The bulge in Casey’s gym shorts was poled out about a foot from his hips. He didn’t seem to notice, transfixed as he was stroking Miles’ biceps. Miles flexed a few more times for him, and with great self-control, walked away. He called Zaftig back. “Yeah, he gets hard when he touches muscles. Okay. No, I don’t think he does drink. Or smoke. One thing, though. I don’t think he’s the brightest light in the billboard. Does it matter? No? Okay. Yes. I will. I’ll keep you posted.” It was that afternoon that Donovan smilingly informed Casey that his membership to Raw Weight would be free of charge for the foreseeable future. He clapped him breezily on his powerful young shoulders, and was slightly astonished at the hardness of the muscle beneath his palm. For his part, Casey was overjoyed. He didn’t stop to examine why such good fortune might have his way, and what might be expected of him in exchange in the future. He continued to pump enthusiastically, and pack on the muscle. The kid’s not bad, thought Donovan, watching Casey joyfully burn through a grueling set of 20 reps of 400-pound deadlifts. ******* Just a few days later that Casey Rockland finally decided to do something about the gang who had been pummeling him in the dorm shower room for years. Already it was taking more and more of the boys in the gang to hold him down during his beatings, which were growing far less frequent as he got bigger and bigger. One day they stopped completely, but the boy’s hostility still festered in the air. Casey was getting ready for payback. Ramon had showed him how, too. “You got a fearsome punch, kid,” he said one afternoon, flat on his back in the ring where Casey had just knocked him, his eye blackened. “Lead with the left. You got it.” One night after lights out, a few of the boys circled his bed. He looked up at them, bleary-eyed and half asleep. “What?” he asked. “Pull his shorts down!“ “You do it! It’s gay!” “I wanna see!” came a pipsqueak voice. Casey felt a dozen hands pin him down in the half-light, and his shorts were yanked to his knees. His adolescent penis, tumescent in the steamy night, was exposed. He was humiliated. And mad. “Goddamn!” one boy yelled. “It’s huge!” “It’s like a monster!” “Hey, Banana Man!” “See, I told ya!” “He’s a freak!” “Casey the Freak!” the boys chanted, and began to pummel him. Casey curled into a ball on his mattress, gritted his teeth, and took it tearfully. “Next time,” he said himself as the boys rained his body with their weak punches. "Next time, they get it." On what turned out to be his last day in the San Jose Boys’ Home, a gang of 18 biggest boys circled him during morning showers, laughing and pointing at his monster penis for the last time. "Okay," he said. "You turds have laughed at me for the last time. He swung a fist, very deliberately, and caught the ringleader square on the jaw. A tooth flew out and the boy hit the wall of the shower. Methodically Casey began to punch his way through the crowd of now-terrified boys. He was surprised at how easy it was. When the steam cleared, all 18 lay on the ground with an array of blackened eyes, broken noses, fractured jaws, and missing teeth. Casey sported a huge shiner himself. It was worth it. That afternoon 5 ambulances pulled up to the front gates and took the boys away for bandaging in the San Juan ER. Four boys were required to stay overnight for observation. Sister Marietta called him into her office to reprimand him. As she always did with the bad boys, she bent him over her lap and spanked his firm young butt with a ruler. She broke three of them before she finally gave up, perplexed at how hard the young man’s behind had become. Afterwards, rubbing his stinging bottom, Casey ran back to his room and cried. No one loves me, he cried. That night he ran away forever from the San Jose Boy’s Home. He went to the gym, and still sniffling, emptied out his locker. Donovan watched him from the window in his office as Casey, in tears tucked his favorite do-rag in his back jeans pocket and slumped out into the night. Casey figured he had to leave town, although he had no idea where exactly he was going to go. Miles picked up his mobile phone. He figured the time had come. A hour later, Dr. Zaftig found Casey sitting alone and dejectedly in the San Jose bus station. Dr. Zoloft was in transit from the city to the lab facility in the countryside outside town when Donovan had called him hurriedly. He did a fast detour in his minivan, walked swiftly into the bus station, and took a good look at the huge kid bursting out of his t-shirt, sitting alone on a bench in the corner. He knew right away he had another promising specimen for Project Herculaneum. Miles Donovan was never wrong. Zaftig walked unhesitatingly up to Casey and introduced himself. He talked about a bright, golden future for the young bodybuilder. Innocent Casey stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few minutes. Then he smiled through his tears. In the end, he went with the doctor with the funny name. He never questioned anything. He was just grateful. Casey moved into the cadet facility at the base of the mountain leading up to the main compound that night. The next morning, Dr. Irving appeared in Sister Marietta’s office and signed for his release. He flashed some government identification for her, muttered some Federal mumbo jumbo, announced that Valhalla Labs had invested in Casey’s training for four years, and petitioned the court for the right to take Casey into custody. Sister Marietta held up her hand to cut him off, offering no objections. “Take him. He’s too big for us now. We can’t afford to feed him anymore, and the other boys are now terrified of him. Besides, four of his classmates are still in the hospital. It would be best for all if he left.” As she signed the papers offered by Dr. Irving, she added, “But please take good care of him. Casey is a sweet and simple young man. He needs love.” No other paperwork seemed necessary, and though it was far from being anything like a formal adoption, it was enough for the Good Sister. She was relieved to see the boy go – he now always seemed to be hungry, and she had been forced to replace Sister Anne in the kitchen because the boy’s appetite was breaking the food budget. She was glad he could go somewhere where, hopefully, he would get his required 6 square meals a day. Beyond that, she wouldn’t worry. Casey had always been a good boy – well, until the day before. She knew he’d make the right decisions for himself. Or not. Once in the program, Zaftig fast-tracked Casey’s growth. Under Zaftig’s watchful eye and the encouragement of the cadet trainers, he worked harder than anyone he had yet encountered. And the food? He couldn’t believe it – six full meals a day! Two days a week he was required to remain near his quarters and relax. The other five days of the week were taken up with schooling, enhanced nutrition, supervised meditation, running drills, bicycling, swimming, gymnastics practice, small arms training, and nightly injections of Protein 21b, Zaftig’s laboratory serum developed under the most rigorous of testing. Within two months, he was a full cadet in the program, and in less than 2 years he was approaching the threshold of muscular perfection. Most of the time for those years, he was alone with Zaftig, Dr. Irving, his trainers, and some of the Project cadets. He had been restrained from meeting the other 19 men, who trained and socialized on their own in the main building of the facility. He didn’t notice it just at first, but during the next two years he couldn’t help but wonder at the increasing volume of his emissions. He had no inkling that Protein 21b might be causing his sperm production to gradually increase exponentially. Still, during the two years he came to understand that there might be some link between the clear liquid in the daily injections and the increasingly generous volume of semen that spurted out of his cock nightly. He was also amazed that his cock itself appeared to be getting even bigger. He had always been hugely hung, but – this was crazy. At first it required little more than a washrag to clean up after himself, but in time, larger and larger bath towels were required to mop up the flow after cumming. His sheets were badly always badly stained in the morning, and – strangely – every night he found they had been replaced by crisp, new sheets. He never knew who might be doing this for him, and over time his initial embarrassment about his sticky sheets faded away into the generally dark, accumulating volume of unanswered questions. After he passed his high school graduation equivalency exams, Zaftig decided he was ready to take it to the next level. It was time to formally present the boy to the 19. Casey was 18 years old and in the best condition of his young life to date. Still, he was lonely. At night he lay alone in his little room, gazed out the window at the moon and the stars, and beat his humongous meat off fiercely. He dreamed of being the biggest, strongest man in the world. Everyone would love him. And he would protect everyone. It was the sweetest dream in the world, and it was always enough to charge him to a satisfying climax. Then he’d roll over and fall into a deep sleep, hopeful for better days.
  5. Guest

    growth Winner Takes All

    This is the first BRAND NEW STORY I have written in a while, but this is an idea I have had for YEARS just never really decided to write it until recently when I had a couple yahoo buddies insist that this kind of needed to be told. It is not really that long. I'm dipping my feet in the shallow end before I dive head first into the deep side, but the fun I had writing this, it probably won't be that long until then. Please leave comments, as I LIVE for them! Likes are cool, but the comments are what makes me feel a bit better on how well the story is received. Winner Takes All The two of us knew what we were about to do. Both of us had been rivals now for the past 3 years that we started this university and were placed into the same damn dorm room. But today was the day that it was all going to change. Me and my roommate were both on the college wrestling team, both juniors, and about to head into our senior year together. I was 6’4” 290lbs with a low 5% body fat and a nice and plump 9 inch cock when fully erect. He was 5’8” and 275lbs of shredded beef. We were tired of always competing for the spot of Captain, and since the former Captain just graduated it was up to one of us to take the reigning spot of the team. That’s when I found this book that dealt with the occult that said there was a way that could alter our fates permanently. Basically a transfer of power. The one rule was we both needed to know what we were getting into, so I brought it up to him one night and we both agreed that one of us was definitely going to be captain and the only way for our rivalry to stop was to end this charade for good by draining the other one completely. So here we are, I set up this table in the center of the room at an undisclosed part of campus that no one would be entering into. I drew the pentagram across the entire table and had candles lit up around the room like the book stated must be done. He entered the room right on time, after everything was set up. We both pulled out a chair from the table, sat down and looked each other straight in the eyes. We knew once we started there was no going back from this ever. One of us would have all of our dreams fulfilled, and the other, well we really don’t know what will happen to the other person yet. This ritual asked that in order for this occult spell to work, we must challenge one another on top of the pentagram. Before we arrived at this moment, the only real way to challenge each other wasn’t with a game of Monopoly or Poker, but a true show of strength – We were about to both be engaged in the ultimate match of Arm-Wrestling. As the book stated, the winner would get everything. Both of us placed our right elbows on the table and onto the red chalk circle. Our biceps tensed, eyes still locked as we both clasped our hands tightly. I could feel his strength and he could feel mine. We both had the incantation memorized and we knew it was time. We both recited it as all of the lit candles flames sprang off of the candles and merged into a big ball of light above us. It begins now… Both of our arms tense as we push against each other. The veins in our forearms and biceps bursting from our skin as they engorge with blood, fueling us with the power to try and take the other man down. I can see the beads of sweat slowly begin to form on his brow and slide down his face, as he sees just how serious I am. I am going to win this. I begin to push as his arm slowly begins to go down. He is struggling, still managing to hold his own, but he won’t be able to last. I am the bigger man here. Taller, more muscle, more strength. I smirk as his arm slowly starts to descend lower and lower as it closes in on the table’s surface. He does not give in however, I can see the determination in his eyes, as he uses all his might to slowly push back. I give in a little to this game just to give him a tiny bit of hope that he has a chance. He gives me a cocky grin. I show nothing, as our hands slowly start to rise back up to almost the starting position. I show him a faux sign of concern, as my arm starts to bend in his favor, until it just stays locked in ta 30 degree angle off of the table. I show my true face now as I begin to push back, this time fear overtakes him as he begins to panic. My arm pushing him back fast. There is nothing he can do as our arm lock is now at the ready position once again and slowly his arm is descending in my favor. He tries to fight back, but he now knows it’s going to be me. I am the team captain! Nothing is going to stop me from- I feel pain erupt from by balls. I was sitting with my ass on the edge of the seat anticipating the win when his steel toe boot came in direct contact with my crotch. I falter in pain and I watch as he overpowers me. Looking at him all I see is this sinister grin as our arms reach center point before I feel my hand slam down onto the table surface. I’m shocked…scared…there is absolutely nothing I can do now. I try to pull away to end this but my hand is glued to his. I feel this electric current flowing through our touch and radiating into my body. I feel sick, weak. My body feels like it’s about to throw up. When I see it start to happen. I watch as all my muscles flex to their most pumped state. Starting with my meaty forearm, the muscle begins to slide down into my hand through my fingers and melds with him, adding to his already solid build. I gulp realizing what it now means about one of us will gain everything. Staring at the massive ball and veins wrapping around my bicep, I watch as the huge lump begins its slow journey through my tiny forearm, through my hands and fingers and into his arm sliding up where it eventually stays at its new comfortable spot on his already huge biceps. Fuck he’s going to get huge. I try pulling away again, the chair I am sitting on falling over as I crash onto the floor, him following and landing on top of me. I am not sure if it’s the realization and fear from me or if it is him now knowing what is happening to himself and what he will eventually become, but the pull from him was slowly beginning to increase. I watched as my traps shrank down to average shoulders and my pecs bunched up and shrank to a normal chest as all the muscle from my upper body began traveling through my arm and reassembling itself on to him. His chest swelling larger than any heavyweight bodybuilder I’ve ever seen and damn those traps, do huge and kept rising up and up like dough being baked in an oven as they kept expanding and filling with pure rock hard muscle. As this was happening, I didn’t take notice to my other arm and abs, which had already lost all of its size his solid 6 pack was expanding to a very hard and defined 8 pack. It was so damn cut you could probably grate cheese on his washboard. Next came the lower section of my body. My thighs, and calves all but pushed their way up my upper body. I looked ridiculous as all the mass went through my chest cavity giving me a look that I may have pecs again, just to see them just as quickly vanish and drop into him like water filling a jug of water. His Lower body was amazing! Calves so huge like two footballs stuffed into each leg side by side with diamond hardness. Thighs that could easily crush marble with. You could tell that neither one of us skipped leg day, just from how massive he was becoming. As all the muscle had finally left my body, his clothes stretched to their utmost limit. I tried to pull away but we were still locked. That’s when I felt it and I began to panic. “No, No, No!” my 9 inch cock began to slowly get sucked in shrinking smaller and smaller, as I felt it being pulled out of me, but I could not see this actually leave my body, that is until I saw the growing bulge in his shorts, elongating and beginning to get hard. He began to laugh, his voice so deep it caused the walls and floor to tremble around us. The transfer was over. I got up realizing how small everything looked around me. How is that possible? It was then that I noticed he also took my height. This titan of a man began to stand and he went up, and up, and up till I was barely at his navel. His clothes so tight they began to tear and in one mighty flex they all shredded to rags and fluttered to the floor around his body. His mighty alpha body looming above me, I was totally overshadowed by his dominant size, power, and gigantic manhood. It was too much for me as I knew what was going to happen next with that erect column of flesh that I just passed out…
  6. Previous chapters: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable appetite to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his ever-growing need to receive equal doses of both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 9: Good for Morale, Continued Oral was hardly uncommon in the compound. In fact, Moster encouraged it. And Zaftig was fascinated by the men’s hunger for it, though he never took part. Not long after starting a P21 protocol, each man had developed insatiable an insatiable need to suck and be sucked. Cocksucking was therefore more than just a healthy release for the men: it was now mandatory. And though none of them would acknowledge themselves to be 100% gay, part of their acceptance into the program relied on each man’s private original tendencies towards pansexuality, boosted as they were by the behavioral blockers of P21. Over the years, each of the bodybuilders in Project Herculaneum had at one time or another sucked every other bodybuilder’s cock to full release many dozens of times. Often it happened in the showers after training, but sometimes it was after meals, as well. And as all were superlatively endowed with astonishing penises of uncommon weight, size, length, beauty and girth, no one was disappointed. Even Abdul Karim took part, much to the surprise of everyone. Though he never talked about it, even appearing bored, the more observant men noted a gleam in his eye each time he bent to service Gunst. Oral was against the rules on rest days. By the time training days came around again, the musclemen were already laughing, slapping each other on the backs during meals, and smacking their lips in anticipation. Fucking was another matter. All the men had been vaccinated against the virulent STDs that had long ravaged the world, and were now immune to any infection, their antibodies remorselessly attacking any invader. Butt fucking was an art. The soldiers were all equipped with powerful machines, all endowed with superb glutes, and all highly in touch with the pure waves of pleasure broadcast by their sensitive prostates. Good muscle butt fucking was serious stuff. As all the men were huge, heavy, and powerfully strong, it was like heavy lifting crossed with pure animal pleasure: one bull fucking another bull. Vigorously. Group fucks of spirited, high-energy muscle daisy chains were a once-a-month event, seriously organized and generally preserved on video for the records. Wearing full black leather masks in order to remain as anonymous as possible, and with deep black satin robes covering their individually distinctive bodies, the men gathered in the dimmed mess hall and connected their dicks to the next asshole in a line-up deliberately arranged by Moster. Muscle worship was not part of the evening. The point was prostate manipulation and bonding. Still, private fucking was not discouraged. A few of the men had distinct preferences for one another as fuck buddy, even as the cocksucking was group-wide and free-for-all. Of course, Schumacher had been fucking them all for years – except for Karim, of course. Apart from the daisy-chain sessions, no one dared to even approach Killer Karim from the rear - if he valued his teeth, that is. But so far, as far as he knew, no one man in particular had privately fucked Joe Tiffany – apart from the scheduled group daisy-chain fucks, where Moster was careful to make sure that the connections varied from session to session. Schumacher had fucked him just once in a group session, although as always as always he was masked and gowned. He could see through Tiffany’s mask that his eyes were rolling back in his head in pleasure, and Schumacher wasn’t sure Tiffany knew who he was. He knew it was Joe Tiffany’s muscular rear he was fucking, however, sliding up and down his supercharged big cock. That butt was pure, beautiful gold, a magically shaped combination of soft skin and raw, ripped power that was mind-boggling in its balance and tireless in its energy. Tiffany had taken charge of the fucking, as he gave it to the taller muscleman in the chain ahead of him, powerfully blasting forward into the glutes ahead of him, and, in perfect timing, also pumping his animal butt up and down on Schumacher’s cock with furiously blind energy. For his part, Tiffany knew full well whose cock had impaled his perfect butt that night. He didn’t share this information. From that night, he had a plan. Another plan, that is. In reality, all of the men were deeply aware of whose butts they were servicing, and who was manfully plugging his own from behind. The men had spent too many hours together in the rec room, on the workout floor, in classes and in the showers, not to be able to instantly recognize and distinguish each of his buddies. The wearing of the robes was nothing but a farce, but still they conceded, secretly further aroused by the spectacle of the volumes of black fabric draped with alluring mystery over each man’s rippling physique. Still, from that night on, Joe Tiffany knew that Herman Schumacher was just the man to regularly plow his supple, needy, bodybuilder-cupcakes behind. All he had to do was train him just a little bit over the following few months to ensure that he was captive, obedient, and would always be on call whenever Tiffany was of a mind to be mindlessly fucked. In the mean time, at night in his quarters his oversized dildo was getting the workout he bought it to do during one of his rare trips to town. He would energetically shove it deep into his butthole, rear his head back, close his eyes, and dream of Schumacher’s likely powerful thrusts. And, as Moster always said to Dr. Zaftig, who wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ritual behind the group fucks, “They need more sex than ordinary men. A lot more sex. Their metabolisms demand it. Besides – “ And Zaftig would say with him, in unison, “It’s good for morale.” Waring was screaming in Gunst’s face. Steve Waring “Come on, asshole! What’s the matter, pansy ass? Can’t you do it? You’ve only done 12 so far, butthead. What’s the problem, 200 pounds too heavy for you to curl, baby boy?” Gunst’s face was screwed into a mask of lip-curling, teeth-crunching pain as he vainly tried to complete the 13th rep. His biceps were exploding. The veins in his neck stood out like steel cables. His face bloomed deep crimson. He screamed. He couldn’t do it. He strained and squeezed and tried again, and his arms froze mid-rep, unmoving, the biceps bulging with 23 inches of shattering power. Suddenly he threw the weight to the floor, where it crashed resoundingly, echoing throughout the compound. Waring jumped back a little to avoid getting hit by the bar. The other men never stopped work, nor did they look up. Moster strode over to them. “What’s the problem here, Private Gunst?” “I – I couldn’t do it, sir,” said Gunst, backing away and mopping his face with his huge hand. Ashamed, he lowered his head. Fountains of his sweat splashed onto the floor. Moster turned to Waring. “What set was he on?” “Sir, he had completed five sets of 15 reps each, sir.” “Successfully?” “Yes, sir.” Gunst glanced nervously down at Sergeant Moster’s twitching palm. Moster hadn’t punished anyone yet tonight for slacking, and he knew it was about time he’d want to show his authority over the men. He needn’t have worried. Moster smiled kindly. “That’s actually pretty damn good, Private Gunst,” said Sergeant Moster. “Waring, take care of this man, and then let’s see him try again.” “Yes, sir,” said Waring. The young bodybuilder quickly got to his knees, lifted Gunst’s pulsing cock out of his barely restraining jockstrap, brought it tenderly up to his lips, and began to suck it deeply. Gunst closed his eyes and reared his head back thankfully. Immediately his cock was at full erection, throbbing and pulsing in Waring’s mouth. On white cap nights, cocksucking was permitted on the workout floor only if approved by Moster. “Use your lips, Private,” directed Moster, “the way we’ve discussed. You know the way Private Gunst likes it.” Waring nodded eagerly and mouthed the young man’s giant throbbing organ. “Pump your hips, Gunst.” Gunst began manfully plowing Waring’s good-looking, All-American face. “Harder.” Gunst pumped harder, and the satisfying sucking sounds grew louder, adding to the din. Waring thoroughly licked the cock up and down its full length, and rubbed it against the two-day old beard stubble of his cheeks. “Scratchy,” moaned Gunst with pleasure, his eyes closed. He plunged in again. Tiffany nudged his darkly handsome training partner Private Lang, who was just finishing a set of pull-downs. “Check ‘em out,” he murmured, winking and pointing. Lang turned and smiled broadly at the dreamily cocksucking Waring. “Waring always was a good cocksucker,” he said, just a shade too loudly. “You have a problem, Private Lang?” Moster’s voice boomed through the room. Tiffany ducked his head towards the pull down machine. Lang went white. “No, sir,” he stammered. “I think you do. Get over here.” Here it comes, chuckled Gunst to himself, watching the intimidated Lang stumble forward meekly as Waring, below, hungrily sucked his throbbing big cock. “Go get your punishment, man,” whispered a grinning, sweating Corporal Lefevre, punching the shame-faced Lang on the shoulder as he passed. Alvarez watched expressionlessly. “Take it like a man,” he murmured Alvarez as Lang passed him. He flashed a hard look at Tiffany. He knew what he was doing, getting Lang on the hot seat. He’d pay. Later. The hot seat. Indeed. 5’-11”, 280-pound Lang, streamlined with ripped, striated muscle and dripping with sweat, approached Moster and stood at rigid attention before him. He saluted. Sighing, acting as though he were resigned to the inevitable task of discipline before him, the giant Sergeant Moster sat heavily on one of the benches. By now the men were all looking away in a mix of nervousness, embarrassment, eagerness and excitement. Lang stood motionless, staring straight ahead in perfect attention, dreading the humiliation about to befall him. “Was something funny, Lang?” “No, sir.” “You don’t find Private Waring funny?” Lang glanced nervously at Waring, who greedily sucked cock. “No, sir.” “What are the rules, Private?” “We are respectful of the need for regular oral stimulation, sir.” “And why are we?” “It’s good for morale, sir.” “Was your comment good for morale, Lang?” Lang was ashamed. “No, sir.” “No. Let’s get to it, Private.” “Yes, sir.” Lang relaxed his attention, gulped, and quickly slipped out of his sopping t-shirt. He squeezed large droplets of sweat out on the marley surface of the gym floor and tossed it resignedly in the growing puddle. Standing before Moster a little pathetically, he was a muscle giant about to be chastised by an even larger muscle giant. Silently, submissively, he bent over Sergeant Moster’s powerful quads and lay prone on his lap. Moster, his fingers twitching, raised his palm. He paused a moment. “How long has it been, Private?” “Since when, sir?” Through Moster’s sweatsuit Lang could feel the man’s enormous penis, relaxed across the top of the sergeant’s right thigh, press against his abs. “Since I had to discipline you in front of the men, Private?” “About two months, sir.” Moster glanced down appraisingly at the beautiful, trembling glutes that lay gleaming over his knee. He paused, his hand held aloft, inspecting with internal approval. “You were training legs tonight, weren’t you, Private?” he asked. The suspense was killing Lang. “Yes, sir, I was, sir.” “Squatting deep?” “Yes, sir.” “Keeping good form?” “I think so, sir.” “Good, Private. This will supplement your workout tonight. Heat helps muscles grow.” With calloused, powerful palms, his thick fingers spread wide for maximum sting, Sergeant Moster sharply spanked the muscleman’s rocky glutes with carefully applied, deeply resonant butt smacks. Lang twisted and turned on his lap. After a few sharp spanks he cried out. “Sir, it stings, sir!” Tears spouted from his eyes. “Goddamn right it stings.” Moster turned to Gunst, watching from a few feet away with wide eyes, his large cock sliding deeply in and out of Waring’s mouth. “Fuck face, Private,” he commanded. “Yes sir!” shouted Gunst. He placed his hands on the back of Waring’s head and pumped his hips rhythmically as Waring, his mouth full of cock, moaned with deep satisfaction. The rest of the squad was watching. Moster could see all were now getting visibly excited. Their jocks were starting to bulge fearsomely, and two or three massive penis heads had popped out of their restraining pouches. “Get back to work!” Moster commanded, and without hesitation, the men turned back to their weights and began to lift again with renewed zeal. Gunst’s huge body shuddered, and a river of thick cum began spurting out of Waring’s mouth and down his chin. “UUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHH!” he roared. Waring was moaning deeply as the desperately swallowed the pint of semen pouring down his throat. By the time he was finished shooting his load, Moster was steadily applying the 25th blow to Lang’s shiny red, twitching musclebutt. Moster issued his next order. “See that you finish that set properly, Gunst, or you’re next on the hot seat.” “Yes, sir!” he shouted, stuffing his dripping, still hard cock back into his stained jock as best he could as Waring, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, scrambled to his feet. “Spot me,” Gunst said to Waring, and, grabbing the weight, he peeled off 15 perfect-form, agonizingly correct curls. Waring, doing his best to ignore both his own achingly enlarged cock and the yet looming bulge in Gunst’s jockstrap, and with the splotches of cum still dripping down his face, spotted him with as much concentration as he could muster. “1! 2! 3!” Waring counted the reps, filled with admiration as Gunst’s mountainous biceps exploded with power. As Waring shouted the count, Moster applied another heavy smack for each rep to the quivering, deeply scarlet, muscular bottom of Private Lang, who, over his knees, groaned deeply with a blend of humiliation, excitement and pain. As he spanked, Moster called out loudly to the men. “Attention! Men!” “7! 8! 9! 10!” Spank! The man snapped into attention from wherever they stood around the workout floor. “Tonight you will be meeting our newest recruit in Project Herculaneum.” Spank! Spank! “From this evening on, we will now be known as The Twenty.” Spank! Spank! Spank! The men stood at rigid attention. “Yes, sir!” they shouted. “And remember, men,” said Moster, grinning down at handsome Private Lang stretched over his knees, who had tears in his eyes and whose face was almost – but not quite – as beet red as the handprints on his perfect butt, “being spanked by me is a badge of honor. Never be ashamed when I call you forward to the hot seat have your butts whipped. I do not pay such honorific attentions to anyone outside the squad.” Spank! Spank! “18! 19! 20! 21!” “Yes, sir!” Spank! Spank! Tiffany grinned. He had often spotted the quiet, shy, legendary young muscle giant Casey Rockland in the mess, and heard all about his fearsome physique. He was looking forward to meeting him. He paid no attention to the unwavering, hostile gaze of Corporal Alvarez. Corporal Schumacher strode over to him. He glanced over at Alvarez threateningly, who immediately shifted his gaze and went back to work. “You better watch it. You don’t want to piss off that guy,” he muttered to Tiffany. “Who the fuck cares?” shrugged Tiffany. Thirty feet across the room, Moster continued to apply his stern, masterful spanking to Lang’s squirming, rock-hard musclebutt. Lang’s face was now contorted in an ongoing blissful combination of pain and pleasure, his mouth forming a smiling O….. “…oooooooooo….” Alvarez was watching closely from the corner. Even at more than 40 feet, Tiffany could see the Alvarez’s jock was now poling straight out from his body, strained to the bursting point. “I can’t always cover your ass when you misbehave. These men are my buddies. You’re still new here.” Tiffany smiled cockily. His fresh young musculature glowed with youth and health. He knew that since the last daisy chain that his sunny handsomeness and bad boy intentions had become irresistible to the old horndog Schumacher. It was all going beautifully. “I can take care of myself,” he said. He gestured with his thumb to the blank-faced, completely erect Alvarez, who was by now busy with his next set of deep squats. “Besides, he looks like he doesn’t mind.” The mute Private Meyer was now gleefully bent over before Alvarez, holding his ankles and laughing silently, dancing and twitching that magical butt of his just a few feet in front of the man’s protruding jockstrap. Alvarez had to grin. Then he turned back to the squat bar. “See?” Schumacher grunted. “Yeah, I know you can take care of yourself.” Schumacher moved in close and breathed into Tiffany’s face. “ I want to see you later on.” “You do, hunh?” “Yeah, I do, hunh. After the detail meets Casey Rockland, you come to my quarters. Tonight. That’s an order.” “Finish up, men!” commanded Moster, still spanking the twitching Lang’s bright-red glutes. Spank! “Ouch!” Lang cried. “You’re not my CO.” Tiffany lifted a bar off a squat rack and began doing slow military presses. He smiled indifferently at Schumacher and said no more. Schumacher grunted angrily and moved to the cable rack, where he finished off his chest workout with a final set of intense cable flyes. He now had Corporal Herman Schumacher wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it. He wrapped up his set of presses, now purposefully ignoring him, and grabbed his towel. He wiped himself off and smiled beatifically across at Moster. Moster, never pausing in his discipline of Lang, was amused. He winked at Tiffany. He knew he’d get the Private’s butt to himself – in time – but he generously allowed that Schumacher would get to it first. And that was part of his plan. Casey Rockland was the other part. The workout was finally over. “To the showers, men,” Moster called out. The men collected their workout bags and empty water jugs, and filed eagerly off the floor, clambering over one another like puppies, heading towards their no-holds barred shower room games. Even the normally disgruntled Karim had a special light in his eyes. He was looking forward to Gunst’s piss. As they raced out, Moster looked down at Lang, still stretched pitiably over his knee. “How many was that, Private?” he asked calmly. “59, sir.” “Good. I assume you enjoyed it?” “Yes, sir,” he said with meek truthfulness. “Actually, I loved it.” “Then here’s one more for good luck.” He raised his black hand and applied the last, 60th searing red-hot butt smack. WHACK! “Ow! That was good, sir!” Lang scrambled to his feet, saluted, and tenderly rubbing the scarlet handprints on his delectable bodybuilder butt. “May I join the others now?” “Off with you.” “Thank you, sir!” Lang scooped up his discarded clothes and plastic bottle with one hand, flinging his gear over his broad shoulders, standing still for a moment pouring what was left of the cool water over his shoulder onto his stinging glutes. He grinned at Moster. "Thank you again, sir, for the discipline. My butt needed it." Moster waved him off. Then, kneading his iron-hard, hand-print reddened butt cheeks with the fingers of both hands, the handsome private scampered happily, if somewhat bow-leggedly, away to join his sweaty, horny muscle buddies in the locker room. Chapter 10: The Showers Inside, they had already slipped out of their drenched t-shirts, boots and jockstraps, slipped on striped flipflops, and had headed quickly to the showers, and down to extreme business. Lang was eager to rejoin the men. After all, there was just enough time for one more round of group cocksucking, butt fucking, and stress-reducing water sports before they all had to gather in the lab upstairs to meet the new recruit. Naked in the steamy group shower, he found his way to his muscle buddy Alvarez. He fell to his knees as Alvarez turned, strode forward to meet him, flexed his mammoth biceps, and shoved his meaty erect cock into Lang’s gratefully receiving mouth. Behind Lang, Private Gunst thoughtfully soothed his stinging, reddened glutes with a powerful jet stream coating of clear, clean piss. His mouth full of cock, Lang nodded gratefully up at Gunst, who returned his nod with a “Hey, it’s okay.” Lang arched his butt to receive the coating of piss all the better. He glanced over at Schumacher, who was now violently plowing Tiffany’s wide-open mouth with his own swollen firehose man meat. Schumacher hadn’t said a word. He had walked directly up to Tiffany, who swiftly went to his knees and carefully guided his lips over the shaft of the Corporal’s 11-inch penis. Schumacher was facefucking him as mercilessly as he could manage, but the young Private seemed serenely in control. As usual, he never gagged. Which made Corporal Herman Schumacher plow harder and deeper. Which prompted a satisfied smile on Tiffany’s calm, appreciative lips as he sucked with cool detachment the muscle daddy Schumacher’s violently throat-pounding large cock. After Gunst finished painting Lang’s glutes with thoughtfully applied streams of hot piss, he turned to Waring, fondled the handsome young muscleman’s leathery testicles, got down on his knees and allowed him to glide his own achingly engorged member down his eager throat. “MMMMmmmmm, it’s good!” he moaned, satisfied. “Even big boys like to suck cock,” he winked up at Waring. He smacked his lips. “If it’s big enough.” “Is mine big enough?” asked Waring as he rubbed his scalp in the streaming hot shower. “Yup,” answered Gunst, dipping in for another full-throated suck. “Sure is.” All the other musclemen were similarly at work, soaping up, sucking cock, washing armpits, lathering crotches, laughing, shouting, grunting, flexing their muscles, getting their oversized cocks sucked, or with their faces buried deeply in their buddies’ spectacular glutes. In the center of the shower, Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang were going through “Pose and Approve.” Alvarez was gliding through his finest posing routine, while below him and kneeling on the tile floor Lang licked and sucked his huge, stiff cock with hungry appreciation. “Front double bi’s,” said Alvarez. “Pow.” Meyer was dead center in the large shower room, standing on one hand on the tile floor, holding his powerful body aloft, his legs spread wide, one fist supporting his full bodyweight. He arched his butt high and smiled happily as, through the steam and roar of the water, one after another of his training buddies bent over and applied luscious, deep licks into his succulent butthole. He grinned, pumping his stiff cock with his free hand as they licked, kissed, and smacked his firm buttcheeks. Jin and Washington were now each chewing ferociously on Bogarde’s perfect, brown nipples. He roared with pleasure, and pumped himself into a mighty front lat spread. Straps of pec muscle bloomed powerfully. He turned from side to side, proudly thrusting forward each pec. His buddies chewed, licked and bit. Meanwhile, the handsome Blankenship, who had a preference for big black cock, was fiercely lathering up Washington’s enormous pole. He covered it waves of soapsuds, pumping it up and down as it rose to full girth. He glanced up at Washington, now biting Bogarde’s nipples. “Yeah, you got one big black motherfucker muscle cock!” he shouted. “You like big black cock?” roared Washington, waggling it in Blankenship’s face. “Love it!” he shouted, and washing the soap off, took it all in his mouth. “Watch him suck my cock!” Washington whooped. Obatu, soaping his armpits, laughed. He strode over to the group. “Room for another brother?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, shoved his meat into Blankenship’s face. Blankenship smiled rapturously, and as Obatu continued to soap up, he took his cock into his mouth as well. “Most muscular,” said Obatu. “Pow. Check out dis crab.” Black veins exploded. His fists pumped together. He pushed his hips forward. His cock surged straight ahead. The two black cocks plunged in and out of Blankenship’s mouth, his tongue tracing over their shiny thick veins. The enormous Washington, the biggest man of the group of five, put his arms around Bogarde’s and Obatu’s shoulders, while on the tile beneath them Blankenship moved from cock to swaying cock, from Washington to Bogarde to Jin to Obatu and back to Washington again. Surrounded by the bodybuilders’ cocks, Blankenship sucked each erect penis deeply. He gazed at the network of veins that criss-crossed the hip muscles of each of his buddies. Their huge cocks were like jewels set in the finest of settings: lean, fat-free muscles. When he got to the handsome Asian Private Jin, he marveled once again about how a Chink could have such a huge dick. He sucked it lovingly as the other men stood closely above him, their cocks looming in his face, dripping with water and pre-cum, awaiting their turn. When he finished with Jin, he moved on to Bogarde, whose nipples were being avidly chewed with care above him by Jin and Washington. Bogarde’s cock was, of course, in great need of immediate service. No problem. It was, after all, a world of huge, looming bodybuilder cocks. And Blankenship’s favorite sport – after bodybuilding – was cocksucking Next to him knelt the dimwit Hension, his handsome face now buried deeply into the posing Corporal Alvarez’s glutes. Lang was now on his feet and posing with him, as the dark Arab Corporal Karim, behind him, licked and kissed his mighty ass as well. He caught Hension’s eyes, and, in unison, the two men buried their faces into the posing partners’ glutes. “Hey, careful, there,” said Lang. His butt still stung, and Moster’s handprints were still glowing bright red on his taut asscheeks. “Sorry, man,” said Karim. He gently licked the red hand welts, and could taste Gunst’s piss. He knew the man’s special sweet taste. Gunst had often pissed deeply into his mouth. Chad and LeFevre, soaping up themselves, moved over to Hension, whose beautiful face was deeply buried in Alvarez’s butt. “Hey, McIntyre,” called Chad, “get over here and take over for Hension!” “Don’t bother me,” said Hension. “Sure thing,” answered McIntyre, licking Meyer’s butthole. “Be there in a sec!” “What are you doing, guys?” asked Hension plaintively as Chad and LeFevre lifted him bodily from Alvarez’s glutes, carrying him into a corner of the shower. Alvarez stopped posing for a minute and looked back at them. “Hey, where you taking him?” he asked. Lang looked up. “To the rescue,” said McIntyre, now on his knees and pressing his face into Alvarez’s butt. “Oh, okay.” Alvarez turned back to Lang and continued posing. Karim had never stopped licking Lang’s ass. Chad and LeFevre were now sharing Hension’s pretty tool. “Figure you have it coming,” said LeFevre,” licking away the last remnants of the chili powder. “You guys,” said Hension, and began to wash his hair as the men cleaned his cock with their tongues and lips. Moster leaned in at the shower door. “Good work tonight, men.” He turned and headed toward the locker room door. “Thank you, sir!” the men shouted after him. Moster called back to them as he left the locker room. “No fucking tonight. No time.” “Shit!” Moans of general disappointment. “Sorry. Expect you all upstairs in the lab in 10 minutes.” “Yes, sir!” Once again, in unison. On the workout floor, alone and silent as always, the meek Dr. Irving slipped back into the room and to shut down the lights for the night. From the locker room, he could hear the splashing of the showers and the groans, moans, roars, whoops and shouts of the satisfied men as they each let loose volleys of thick, spurting cum high into the steaming air, arcing and splashing onto each other’s superbly muscled bodies. Thick cascades of semen plopped onto the tile and began flowing slowly past the men’s browned feet towards the shower’s drains. Irving walked over to the garbage pail. He glanced inside. Yep. There they were. He could see them in the half-light. He reached in amidst the wet rags of paper and extracted 18 empty aluminum capsule wrappers. Moster had probably ordered the enhancements from Zaftig particularly for tonight’s workout. He knew that by now each bodybuilder probably had already cum three or four times. By 2150 hours, they would all, to a man, be drained. Except, of course, for Sergeant Moster. He picked up the receiver of the staff phone on the wall, and pushed a button. “Facilities,” he requested. In the distance now, the men were all roaring as one. No doubt they were all spurting in unison by now. Pints and quarts of cum. “Facilities? Yeah. Irving. Right. Better put the plumber on notice. The shower drains in the main workout locker room will be clogged again tonight. They need to be cleared by 1800 hours tomorrow.” He hung up without bothering to listen to the response, turned, and walked out of the room. In the showers, the roaring was dying down to satisfied explosions of breath and more laughs, whoops and hollers. The water was turned off, and locker doors began to open. The room grew quiet as the men dressed, all thoughtful now. All thinking about the new recruit they were about to meet. Casey Rockland. In the showers, thick rivulets of cum dripped from the ceiling, walls, spigots and faucet handles, clogging the drains. It cost Zaftig thousands each month to simply to maintain the system’s burgeoning septic tanks. “It’s just one more thing I didn’t really plan for,” he would sigh to Moster, who would nod, straight-faced. "It's always something," Moster would reply, absently scratching his bulge.
  7. This is the first story I ever posted to the forum, enjoy! Raijin: First Comes the Lightning Raijin "The God of Thunder Thighs" they call me that and for good reason too! While I may not be Japanese, I am a professional bodybuilder who is VERY well known for his insane leg development. Well...that and my name is Raymond which I have to say isn't the best basis for a nick name but whatever; it seems you aren't a well-respected pro unless you have a nickname right? Well, all that aside, while I do love having legs as freaky and developed as I do, I just want to get my fucking upper half to match them... Imagine my excitement when my work out partner, another professional bodybuilder, John told me he had gotten his hands on some really powerful drugs that cause growth near instantly! Well John, god bless him, has been trying anything and everything he can get a hold of to get to my level. Now don't get me wrong the man is a beast nay a god amongst normal men but then again the company he keeps, such as myself, are not your average men. Neither of us is Mr. Olympia though we do aspire for that title but John's legs are a little lacking, at least compared to mine heh. I assume this is why he workouts with me instead of solo or with another pro, I mean I make sure that bastard pushes himself on leg day and he does the same for me the rest of the time. So I headed to the gym which I was not surprised to find empty aside from John and I, it was late Thursday night after all. Now call me cocky, arrogant, or whatever the fuck you want but when it comes to gym time for me I always have my posers on underneath a pair of shorts that are a size...or three...small for my massiveness. To quote the all wise Mel Brooks "If ya got it, flaunt it!” Well that and I love to give John a hard time showing off my legs plus it seems to push him to do better during his workouts. I look around a bit and find John in the yoga aka posing room with his duffel bag and the biggest shit eating grin I've even seen on the man which is saying a lot. "It's about fucking time you showed up Rai!" "...it's damned near midnight, 'miracle serum' or not I need my beauty sleep." John grinned ever larger putting the Cheshire Cat to shame. "And with your face you really do, careful you don't bust the mirrors in here." ...yes we have that type of "friendship". Call it rivalry or the fact both of us are assholes but we both know we can trust the other for anything. "John you asshole just show me the shit would ya." "Ya, ya keep your man panties on." John goes to his duffel and brings back two shots filled with a substance I can only describe as a mixture between tar and coffee grounds. He describes to me his sponsor had gotten his hands on a few vials of this mystery shit that was supposed to be in beta testing but actually does all the shit the ads in the muscle magazines "promise" they do. Now since we are such best buds and his sponsor is hoping I will jump ship from the company I play poster boy for to theirs (fat chance but if this works...) they made sure to give enough to John for the both of us to use as good will gift. John is adamant that I go first which I find strange but eh, fuck it I don't have much to lose and a lot of mass to gain! As he puts a syringe back into the duffel I peel my shorts and posers down far enough for John to put the needle into my ample cheeks. As he performs the injection I exclaim. "Holy shit man is this Icy Hot or something? This crap feels like its burning my ass from the inside while I'm sitting on a friggin' block of ice!" John chuckles like the ass he is and calls me a bitch, again like the asshole he is. "...I'll show you who the bitch is..." I mutter. He laughs and gives me a hearty slap on the ass to tell me he's finished. I turn around and ask him when does the growth start, why didn't he take the first shot, and if he wanted me to give him his now but all he does is point to the wall mirrors and tells me to look. Putting it out of my mind I turn around and stare at the mirrors in anticipation. While waiting I take stock of John and myself. As I’ve said, I'm bottom heavy as all fuck almost like I spent my life trying to defy the chicken leg stereotype though I can thank good ol' genetics, tenacity, and steroids to getting physique to its current level. John, while not having anything unique like my legs or the giant arms or barn door wide shoulders some others pros have, is stuck with only a "merely average" (as he puts it, the self-deprecating git) physique. Which in this case, is near perfect symmetry and proportions with enough mass to put most body builders to shame. I may have calves with such a large muscle connection that I may as well have cankles, calves wide enough to doom me to wearing either shorts or clown pants exclusively, thighs so wide and with such a sweep to make jeans and non-personally tailored pants a nightmare, an ass big enough to nearly require a federally mandated "wide load" sign; but I would kill for John's "merely average" proportions. (And if you tell him, god help you, you and I will have some nice short words "punchtuated" for emphasis.) What the hell do you expect from thighs measuring a little over forty inches each, cold & in competition shape, and calves that would challenge any major league quarter back to handle correctly? Aside from my near cartoonish legs I'm not too shabby with the rest but it just doesn't compare to my redwoods. Shit I'd be Mr. Olympia if both halves were even. As I am lost in thought I decide it would be in my best interest to strip down to my posers as I see no reason to possibly shred my clothes and so I can see all of my coming glory without anything in the way; but I only make it to taking off my shoes before I feel the first kick. I gasp as I feel what I can only describe as a full body pump taken to almost euphoric levels. John chuckles as I stand up and can't help let loose a small moan. I stare in the mirror in amazement and watch my chest puff up like I'm inhaling ever more air. My shoulders slowly widen, causing John to take a few steps to the side and make some room. I can feel my back push both backwards and outwards as it rises my arms slowly forward. My arms! My god my arms! I can see and feel the cables of sinew lengthening, expanding, and thickening in my forearms. My forearms have never had that proper Popeye look but now would put the spinach swilling fool to shame. My biceps were getting ever fuller and rounder by the second looking now like a full moon dominating the horizon. Now my triceps have swollen to the point my mind cannot comprehend how that much mass is able to hang onto my body and yet have the density of steel or better. My shirt is straining to restrict my bulk, so with a chuckle I do a most muscular and watch it burst into a pile of rags. John, whose attention I had this whole time, laughs and applauds for this display of might. I was about to start a side chest pose to give my burgeoning magnificence the display and attention it oh so, so, deserves when I finally pay attention to the changes happening to my legs. I'm dumbfounded that I hadn't heard the threads snapping out of my shorts sooner but they are made of a stretchier fabric than my shirt. Despite the ill-fitting nature of them initially they just now have busted enough to let my legs breath. Heh, with the remnants being what can only be called a kilt I decide that this won’t do, grab the waist band, and rip them off in one motion. Which is immediately followed by clapping from the peanut gallery standing next to me. Now that I can see my legs on full display I’m rendered speechless. "GOD DAMN IT!" I yell "FUCK!" I exclaim. For all the growth the rest of my body did my legs still VASTLY outmatch the rest of me! My calves have grown so fucking monstrous that my socks have been pushed down to my ankles. I've had to adjust my stance to such a degree I can't believe I didn't consciously notice till now due to my quads thickened to the point my knees are damned well near swallowed by their mass. I mean Christ, aside from my chest being too big to do so in the first place, I still wouldn’t be able to see my feet from how fucking thick my quads are I look down now! And yet somehow my calves are still rubbing all over each other despite my severely widened stance. "Ha ha ha." I look into the side mirror and see my hamstrings are so thick that I doubt I can really sit down again and with my legs this fucking thick I practically have a built in seat now anyways. Speaking of a seat, my ass has grown to an astronomic if not cosmically thick level. My lats are so now so thick I can't lower my arms even if forced but not even it was thick enough to rival my immense ass. My legs are so thick now it looks I have my chest underneath pelvis twice over. "Hahahha." Frankly it looks like my poser has been swallowed into the abyss that is my pelvis but at least my junk grew more too....a lot more....just how big is it now and how the hell are my posers on still anyways? I mean between what looks like two pumpkins on one side and a very large and very irate squirrel stuffed into the other side. And.... "Hahahahahahaha!" "AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING AT Y-....!" I try to turn around to yell at John, the bodybuilding hyena, but that's just it "I tried". As I turned my quads, my calves, and well, my everything, just got into the way of well...it self and I landed flat onto my excessively ample ass. Shit I'm used to a waddle or swagger but this is fucking ridiculous. "Hahaha well I'm laughing at you Rai. Who would have guessed gaining what looks like another hundred plus pounds of muscle would get a guy famous for his big ass legs to get them even bigger. Surprise, surprise!" ".....JOHN YOU ASSHOLE HELP ME THE FUCK UP WOULD YOU!?!?" I yell at the top of my lungs fuming and thrashing the whole time to try to get back up onto my feet, but I just can't not get my legs to interfere with themselves. John, while still laughing, reached for both of my hands to help me get into a squat position so I could try to stand up. Right then I heard a very loud snap and a crack, at first I was fearful it was my bones but I notice a breeze from the AC on my ass. I look over and see that my posers have snapped off with such force it cracked one of the mirrors. "Mother FUCKER!" I yell as I try to stand up quickly but in my haste I just end up back on the ground like a roided out turtle stuck on his back. "'....hahaha, Rai seriously man you need to take this seriously and stop making this so fucking funny!" I give John a death glare which doesn't silence his laughter but it at least gets him to help. "Haha ok, ok, here Rai all you need to do is stretch your legs a bit and get used to them I bet. Here I'll even help, seeing I'm such a nice guy and all!" "John. You, a “nice guy”? You got me into this in the first place!" John stops laughing and looks at me straight in the eye. "You came here, you asked for the shot, and you wanted the results. You got more than expected but I am not fully to blame and you damn well know it." He smiles again and says "Ok now stop your bitching and let's start stretching!" With that he gets onto the ground and picks up my legs from the ankles and pushes my knees into my chest. He puts all his weight onto my feet pressing my knees firmly into my chest. I can barely see anything aside his head with my legs dominating my entire field of vision. "Look man I don't think this is going to work...and this feels weird to me what with my being NUDE and you most likely going to try and cop a feel." John puts my feet on his shoulders and looks at me. "Ya and what do propose we do huh? Neither of us have anything you can wear." He slaps my calves and thighs to prove his point. "Be a man about it and stop being an insecure twat." "...fine." As he keeps putting his weight onto my legs trying to limber them up I can't help but stare at them. I hadn't gotten this close of a look till now. The lines in my quads are so deep and thick it reminds me of the Grand friggin' Canyon. My quad's tear had to come from Goliath to be that size...but now that I outsize even him the description sorta falls flat. Christ, the fact I can't see anything but my quads, calves, and John's head didn't hit me till just now how immense they've gotten. I can't help but be impressed and admittedly a little aroused from my growth though I bet the extra testosterone from my even larger balls isn’t helping. "Haha looks like you're getting excited! Heh, you're even blushing about it. You know for such a stud and now god amonstg men you really are a cute softie aren't ya?" "Wait, what?" With that I heard a rustling noise from what I assume is John's bag.....fuck he can't be.... "Hm? I'm just thinking out loud Rai nothing else." With that I feel a pressure and heat on my ass. I start to move and try to get away from what I can only assume to be John's dick. (Christ I didn't know he was that large...wait why the fuck am I thinking this?) "Ah,ah, ah, big man hold up right there!" He raises his hand into my severely limited field of vision and I see he has another syringe with that black goop that started this mess. "Now Rai what did you think was going to happen eh? Friends we are but you swaggering your giant luscious ass all this time to mess with me, and now that your ass is the fucking Holy Grail of muscle holes do you think I'm going to not take advantage? You're going to cooperate or I'm going to make it so you will NEVER be able to walk again. You'll get so big all you can do is be a circus freak, now let’s have some fun big man." With that said John slaps my ass and smiles. I feel something very large and warm press hard on my ass. I hear a loud and wet sounding pop and I gasped...
  8. The two roommates wake up the next morning in completely different mindsets. ‘Morris…..dude…..I really want to know what went on last night. You did things in your sleep that seemed kind of strange. You kept rubbing your legs and chest with your hands and kept complaining about something moving around inside you. I was going to wake you but I figured it would cause you to punch me or something.’ ‘WHAT? You are watching me sleep? Damn Ben sometimes I wonder if you should just have sex with me and get it over with.’ Ben frowns and turns around to leave their bedroom before going down the hall to get ready for his next class. Morris feels something buzzing by his right leg and realizes that his cell is ringing. He picks it up and sees a number he isn’t aware of. He answers it and starts talking. ‘Uhh hello who is this?’ ‘Hello there Morris, this is Professor Hardman. Avery has filled me in on where you are in the course and it seems to me that you will not have to attend any more lectures since you have passed a key component of the class. I will see you in a few weeks okay? I still want you to keep up on the workouts you are doing and spend a little bit of time with Avery so he can prep you for the final exam.’ Morris is surprised by what he is hearing and now gets what Avery was talking about the night before. ‘Professor, is it possible that my roommate Ben could also pass the class or does he have to do something too to get further along?’ Hardman chuckles a little and asks Morris exactly who Ben is since he has not actually met him before. The young student describes him to the professor who admits that Avery has never talked about him. ‘Hmmm, well Ben will have to work a bit harder to get to the final Morris, but maybe you can bring him with you to your sessions with Avery. In the meantime, he will have to go to the lectures to compete with the other thirteen students. I will be teaching the lectures while Avery will spend his time in my office. I need to get going now and I hope you have a good day Morris.’ The professor hangs up before Morris gets another word in. He gets up and puts his phone down inside the shorts he is going to wear for the day. He goes down the neighboring hall and into the bathroom. Ben stands by the vanity mirror putting lotion on his body which he has covered by only a pair of very skimpy briefs. ‘I just talked to Professor Hardman and I guess I don’t have to attend any more lectures. You will have to though. I tried to get you out of them, but he wouldn’t listen to me.’ ‘Aww damn dude, that sucks. Well not for you, but of course I know why you won’t have to go. I’m not going to sleep with that brute besides I think it will be great to gain some more knowledge there so I can grow huge.’ Ben flexes his biceps in the mirror which appear to have decent peaks on them from Morris’s perspective. He laughs a bit before leaving the bathroom and going down into the kitchen to grab something to eat. After six weeks into the course, Ben is beginning to struggle with the pace that has been set by Professor Hardman. Morris is noticing a real change come over him that actually makes him wonder if he should do something about it. In between classes a few weeks later, the two roommates sit down in the students’ lounge to talk about what is going on. ‘Dude…..I don’t know if I can compete with those hulks in there. Some of those guys are so freaking huge and seem to be getting even bigger. I swear that one guy in front of me grew while I was sitting in class last week. I kept hearing this weird sound come from his back and it looked like his shirt was getting tighter. By the end of the lecture, it was skin tight and I could see every muscle in his back. It was fucking crazy.’ Morris stared off somewhere as Ben described his experience. Once he finished talking about it, he waved his arm in front of his buddy’s face and smiled. ‘Hello…..Earth to Morris? Did you even hear a word I said?’ ‘Ohh yeah man I did, it’s just…..I think I believe you when you say that. I just wonder if that will happen to me too. I still think you should come with me to see Avery tomorrow it can’t hurt to hear him out. Maybe he can help you through some things?’ ‘Oh I don’t think so dude. You seem to have some crazy connection to him now. The last time you saw him two weeks ago, you were really pumped. I think your muscles grew too. You are almost my size now which at one time seemed impossible.’ Morris smiles as he slowly bounces his pecs which just a few weeks before were too small to even notice. He flexes his arms making the veins stick out and snake across his forearms and biceps. Ben shakes his head and puts his left hand on his face. ‘Your confidence is so much higher now man. Avery is definitely helping you, but I am just not getting the same results. I am going to go talk to Hardman about maybe getting out of the course because I am feeling overwhelmed.’ Ben gets up and turns to walk down the nearby stairs into the basement. Morris wants to follow him, but feels compelled to stop when he sees the guy that Ben was talking about earlier. The hulk has a thick black beard, bald head, tattoos on both arms, and pecs that can’t be contained in his tight blue shirt. The glasses he is wearing give people the impression that he is not only powerful but intelligent as well. His exposed olive skin is covered in black fur. He stops walking himself to turn his head around to see that Morris is looking at him. His powerful legs strain against his beige khakis as his huge ass pulls along every seam. He wanders over to the smaller man and looks into his eyes. ‘Hey there. *smiles* Weren’t you in Hardman’s class at one time? I seem to remember you from the first day, but you disappeared after that.’ Morris notices beads of sweat slowly dripping down the man’s wide veiny neck between his huge pec shelf. He returns his attention to the man’s eyes. Those big hazel eyes seem to be seducing him ever so slowly but not before he starts to move backwards a bit. ‘Well, I scored highly on the test so Hardman went ahead and put me through to the final which is pretty great.’ The man is surprised by this and lifts his arm up to his head. The thick baseball in his right arm grows to stretch the sleeve to its limits. Morris can’t seem to take his eyes off of it as the man squeezes it tighter. Within seconds, the sleeve busts as the bicep rises to its fullest peak. The man laughs before putting his arm back down to his side. ‘Damn, I need to buy new clothes. I have had this shirt for two years and it has never been this tight before. Avery told me that I need to slow down on these workouts, but I just can’t stop. They make me feel so…..incredible. I feel like I could grow forever.’ ‘Wait? You know Avery? I was about to go see him for some coaching on the final?’ The man looks at Morris with an amazed look on his face. ‘Avery Goodwin? Ahh now it makes sense. Avery is pretty sure that I will make it to the final too. You don’t seem to be growing like me though? Do you workout all the time?’ ‘Obviously not like you. You are huge man. My roommate sits behind you in class I guess. He said he could hear you growing as you sit in class.’ The man laughs and accidentally rips the left side of his shirt which exposes one of his lats. ‘SHIT! This sucks so bad, hey do you mind following me over to this corner man?’ The man moves over to the corner of the lounge and grabs his shirt. As he does, the fabric immediately rips as he pulls it off his upper body. He removes the sleeves and collar before wading them up in his hand. He shrugs his wide shoulders as his tatted hairy pecs bounce. Morris stares intensely at them as they bounce. ‘Hey what is your name man? Mine is Lance.’ ‘Morris. It’s Morris. Wow you are thick Lance. Avery has definitely done wonders for you.’ The man winks and reaches down to grab the unsuspecting young man’s hands before placing them on his hard abs and pecs. Morris moans deeply feeling the power raging from inside Lance’s body. ‘OH GAWD! I don’t think this is the place for this Lance. I don’t even know how this happened.’ ‘I suspected something about you Morris. You exude some sort of musk that immediately drew me to you. I don’t normally do this trust me, but for some reason your touch is VERY enticing.’ Lance tries to go a step further but Morris manages to stop him before he strips his pants off. ‘I think I should go see Avery now. This seems to be getting out of hand. I will talk to you later Lance.’ Morris rushes away from him before he can make another move and ends up stopping at the top of the stairs to the basement to catch his breath. His heart beats faster as he looks down to see Avery standing at the first turn and is staring up at him. The hairy stud laughs knowing what has just happened. He points at the floor next to him and motions for the young student to come down. ‘So…..you met Lance did you? He has definitely changed a lot. I barely recognize him myself.’ Morris meets him at the midway point and they both go down the stairs and into the gym. Avery takes him into the back of the gym to the table that they normally socialize at. The young student continues to have trouble breathing for some reason. Avery puts his arm around him and hugs him close to his chest. The huge graduate student is wearing a very loose tee that barely hides his thick meaty pecs. Morris’s lips find them and immediately start to kiss them lightly. ‘Oh no man. I am supposed to help you prepare for the final and that doesn’t include pec worship. *he laughs* Although it might help you calm down a little. *pulls the front of his shirt down and rips it open exposing his massive boulders*’ Morris moans deeply as he starts to suck on Avery’s huge pecs and nipples. The big man feels his cock straining his jeans as it nearly rips its way out the side. ‘Okay okay……damn Morris. You are making my balls stretch tighter than I can remember. I suppose you are hungry for some hot man juice aren’t you? Well, I won’t hold you back from that.’ Morris smiles as he leans down to unzip Avery’s jeans where he immediately meets up with a huge leaky rod. The big stud gasps as the young student gulps his cock down and starts working it over quite rapidly. The graduate student looks up and makes a few ‘hmmph’ sounds which go unnoticed to Morris. He is completely unaware that another man has now joined in on the fun. Another remarkably thick cock starts rubbing against his face as he continues to massage Avery’s cock with his mouth. Caught up in the whole sequence, Morris stops sucking Avery’s cock to turn and gulp the other cock down. He hears a very deep manly voice moan directly above him. The juices coming from this man’s cock taste remarkably sweet to him which makes him work it over almost at the same rate as Avery’s. He takes turns moving back and forth from one cock to the other making the big studs moan and groan as they rub Morris’s body. They both feel their rods swelling and their ballsacs stretching to their breaking points. The other man finally chimes in. ‘OHH MAN, I can’t hold it. Get ready for a geyser Morris.’ It is at this point that Morris realizes it is Lance and stops to stare up at him. The man leans over to plunge his tongue down Avery’s throat who is moaning himself as he feels his cock ready to burst. Morris pulls his own cock out of his pants and lets it ooze all over the gym floor. He massages both men’s huge hairy chests with his hands as he anticipates Lance’s load. He strokes it in steady rhythm with his own cock which makes the big stud shutter in delight. Within a few seconds, the man growls as he coats Morris’s face in thick white spunk. The young student then swallows the spurting rod down and chokes on the thick wad it is shooting. Watching intently, Avery moans passionately as he humps the air making his cock swell to the point that it turns purplish. ‘SHIT SHIT Morris, here it comes, I always lose it when I see something hot like this.’ Morris pulls Lance’s wet cock out of his mouth just in time to turn and get soaked by Avery’s powerful rod as it drenches his face and shirt in ribbons of cum. Morris sighs before leaning in and slowly gulping down the thick pole as it continues to pump multiple loads inside him. He feels the river of jizz also flowing out of his mouth and down inside his shirt which eventually meets up with his own cock. He rubs it all over his rod and jerks it a little bit faster. The two men pick Morris up and put him on the table. They both encourage him to keep stroking. Morris starts yelling in ecstasy as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. Avery leans over to whisper something in his ear. ‘Yeah man…..keep stroking and you will grow fucking massive. I know you can do it, just keep going and you will get a huge surprise.’
  9. Morris’s breathing slows down as his chest begins to rise. The two hairy studs notice the changes starting as the student’s arms begin to fill out as the veins thicken up and his biceps stretch the sleeves to their limits on his shirt. He moans feeling it spreading through him as his entire body reacts. His quads begin ripping the seams on his pants as they spill out the sides making the two bigger men growl in delight. ‘Yeah Morris, let it take over. Fucking grow like us, you won’t regret it.’ He stops stroking his cock as it thickens outward and begins shooting pre like it is cum. Morris squeezes his biceps making the sleeves completely rip open revealing two huge round mounds of muscle in what were his scrawny arms. The veins pulse as they move up to his shoulders which are ripping their way through the fabric also. His nipples strain his shirt to the point that he moans feeling them ready to explode from their confines. The two bigger men rip his shirt off and start punching his mammoth pecs making him gasp in pleasure. They know it feels amazing since they have had the same reaction before through their changes. Each time they do it his cock jumps and sprays another jet of precum. ‘Shoot it man it would be the ultimate finish to a great change.’ Both Avery and Lance pick him up and pull his ripped pants off before toying with his crotch and ass. Morris squeals as he feels his load finally pushing its way up into his cock. The two men smile as he finally shoots his cum all over them before falling back on the ground. His growing glutes make him bounce slightly as he feels his legs stretching and pulling themselves bigger and wider. He continues moaning as he feels himself getting larger as the other two continuously massage his cum into his skin. ‘Feels awesome don’t it Morris. Me and Lance were shocked at the way it felt ourselves. The pump is so incredible. *both men flex their biceps above Morris* Aww yeah, embrace it man because it goes away quickly during the first change.’ Morris feels himself starting to lose a bit of the pump Avery was talking about as it starts to deflate his muscles slowly. He groans feeling himself shrink as the other two pick him up on both sides and take him to the showers. They smile at each other as they reach over to turn the stalls on and drop him down on the ground. Morris makes a few agonizing sounds and stares up at them both. He tries to get up but slips a bit making the other two studs crouch over in laughter. ‘OMG man……this is too damn funny. You know we are just playing with you Morris. The truth is…..you are a part of us now man. Consider this a hazing of sorts you are going to have no problem passing the final exam now. Hardman will give you and Lance the exam next week so get ready. Now you two need to get cleaned up and go home.’ Avery washes up quickly and leaves for the locker room. Lance walks over and puts his hand out to lift Morris off the ground. He lets go soon after as the smaller, but noticeably fitter Morris starts slipping on the floor again. He lets out a few groans before Lance grabs his arm to keep him balanced. The thick hairy stud walks over to his stall beside Morris and starts lathering himself up. Morris stands there to take in the view for a few seconds and realizes that he is incredibly attracted to him. He feels his cock getting hard again and slowly walks over behind the sexy man. He wraps his arms around Lance’s chest and starts rubbing the man’s huge heaving pecs and ab slabs. The Arabic-American moans deeply, resting his back against Morris’s chest as he reaches his own arms around to rub the smaller man’s legs. Morris arches his head around to kiss Lance on the lips, but the big man resists. ‘Come on Morris…..we can’t be doing this man…..you are obviously still feeling horny from the change. *feels the small student’s cock rubbing up against his hairy ass* Well…..*smiles at him*, I guess you could shove it in there for a few minutes if you want.’ Morris growls eagerly as he slowly pushes himself inside Lance and thrusts in and out. Lance rubs his thick beard against the smaller man’s head and moans deeply feeling every inch inside his hole. He slaps Morris’s quads with each individual thrust making the excited top grunt. ‘Yeah man, fuck me. The water really feels good against our skin doesn’t it? I noticed this after I showered the first change the other day.’ Morris grips Lance’s thick waist as he pounds him faster. The versatile big man leans his head back to whisper something in the top’s left ear. ‘Don’t cum in me okay? Avery told me that it will cause problems if I have sex with another man similar to me. Just spray it on my back.’ Morris lets go of Lance and pulls out as he jerks his cock wildly and feels his balls filling up. Lance then decides to turn around and jerk his cock too. They both lean up against each other and wrap their arms around their shoulders to bring themselves to climax. They change things up and jerk each other off with the other’s hand feeling their rods swell and tense against the pressure. Finally after a few minutes of edging, the two men spray each other with thick creamy wads as it cascades all over their bodies. Lance yanks Morris under his shower stall and starts lathering soap on him. They lightly punch each other in the chest while cleaning the cum off and laughing as they do it. Morris looks him in the eyes and winks before jumping into Lance’s arms. The big man winces for a second and leans in to kiss his buddy’s lips. They moan as they remain under the water and hold each other. Before long, other guys start showing up in the showers and glare at them in a rather negative way. Realizing that they need to get going, they let go of each other and rush to grab towels to put over top of themselves. When they get to the locker room, Morris sits beside Lance and rubs the big man’s back in a comforting way. ‘I feel like we need to be together Lance. I can’t seem to stay away from you now. The connection I have with Avery is a little different, but with you it feels like we should be linked.’ Lance looks into Morris’s green eyes and smiles. ‘I feel it too man. *puts his right hand on Morris’s left leg* We do have a personal connection. I would have never known it if we didn’t have sex. I know now why we are the two finalists we are both linked through Avery who is tied to Hardman too.’ Morris looks puzzled as to how this could happen. Lance sees this and attempts to explain it. ‘Obviously you know that I have had sex with Avery since we both have this gift. Well Avery is not the main source of this, it is actually Professor Hardman. The reason there are only two of us in the end according to Avery is the fact that Hardman doesn’t want his secret to be out in the open. He entrusted Goodwin to select the best two from the fifteen he allowed in the class, that is why Avery led the first session. He chose me before the class ever began so I knew that I would be here at the end. I noticed you with him after the second part started. He was definitely into your potential. I have no idea why, but he picked you over the rest because of what lied beneath your skin. Obviously, he was right because our chemistry is amazing.’ Lance leans over and kisses Morris before pulling him into his chest and squeezing. The smaller man moans feeling the thick fur against his face and massaging the big stud’s back. Unbeknownst to them both, Ben is walking towards them from the gym area. He taps Morris on the shoulder to get his attention. ‘Well well well…..I should have known you would be messing around with this guy. I quit the class man the professor told me I wasn’t going to make it to the final anyway. It is quite obvious that you two are the ones that did. I just didn’t know that you two were THAT close.’ Morris turns around to let go of Lance to smile up at Ben. ‘I promise I didn’t cheat on purpose Ben. It just happened that way.’ Ben curls his lip up to the side and shakes his head. It is apparent he doesn’t believe him. ‘Whatever man, it doesn’t matter because the results speak for themselves. Anyway, I am finishing up early because I have another final to get to. I will talk to you later.’ Ben runs into the showers to clean up while the other two men kiss one last time. ‘I guess we should be going too Morris before other guys here start talking; time to split man.’ Lance gets up as his towel falls off showing off his hugely muscled lower body before slowly sliding his shorts over top of his beefy ass. He can hear Morris moaning over on the bench they were sitting on. The big man turns to push him off and growls in a flirty way. ‘Hey get up goofball and dress. You have got to get moving, I know you have other finals.’ Morris admits that he does and gets up to go over to his locker to get a clean outfit out that he left there the other day. When they finish dressing, Lance rushes out the front doors of the gym so Morris doesn’t follow him too closely. By the time Morris goes up the basement steps into the main lobby, Lance is nowhere to be seen which makes the student a little sad but he knows that he needs to study for the four other finals that are taking place the rest of the week. He returns back to the student lounge with his backpack in tow and lays his books down on one of the tables to study.
  10. Ben waves and leaves the room. The man gets up and pulls one of the other chairs up in front of Morris’s table like he did before. He crosses his arms and looks a bit concerned. ‘Alright man. I’m sure you have heard that we only pass two guys in this course. This is the first session and you are already refusing to complete an assignment.’ ‘I just don’t like putting my personal thoughts on paper so others can read it that I have never met before. Does this mean I am finished here?’ The man smiles a little and shakes his head no. ‘The professor will look over all fifteen students’ assignments and I will explain to him what your concerns are. Frankly, I don’t think it will matter whether or not you complete the last part anyway because I think you are right for this course. I was you when I started and I see so much in you that reminds me of me. Call me Avery by the way. I just realized I never introduced myself to the class. (laughs))' Morris laughs with him and studies the man’s hairy muscles with his wandering eyes. The man grabs the student’s arms and places them on his pecs. Morris moans a little feeling their incredible power. ‘You do know you are taking the last part now don’t you. It is essentially the same since you are showing me that you are into muscles on a sexual level.’ ‘Ummm…..uhhh…..okay I guess. I am a bit embarrassed actually, but your body is quite incredible…..Avery.’ ‘Let me show you a little more then. (gets up from chair and pulls his dress pants down) How do you feel about these? (flexes and tenses his huge quads making the striations show)’ Morris’s eyes grow wider as he sees the thick forest of hair on top of the diamond-shaped muscles. Avery grunts a few times making his entire body flex. Morris feels his cock straining his undies watching the graduate student pose. It is at this time that the professor walks in and shakes his head. ‘WELL WELL, Avery Goodwin. I wasn’t expecting you to break away from the code of conduct with one of the students.’ ‘Ohh damn, sorry professor. It’s just he needed to complete the third part of the assignment and didn’t want to do it on paper so I sort of helped him do it through touch and visualization.’ The professor takes his glasses off and shakes his head up and down while looking amused. ‘I have to say that is a great approach and obviously you like this student so…... (pauses to think). I don’t even have to look at the other parts of the assignment for him then. Congratulations......(walks over to his desk to look up the names listed at the tables) Morris, you will continue to remain in the course.’ Morris does a little dance in his chair before getting up. Avery walks over to the professor’s desk to retrieve his dress shirt to go with his dress pants he left on the ground. Hardman picks up Avery’s drenched shirt rag and looks at him in a bad way. ‘Ummm Avery, what the hell did you do? Did you rip this off during the session?’ ‘I had to professor, it was stuck to me and I couldn’t get it off.’ ‘Goodnight Avery, I will talk to you tomorrow.’ He tosses the rag into the trash as Avery picks up his tablet and dress clothes. He is wearing gym shorts which don’t leave much to the imagination since the outline of his cock is visible. He starts to leave but not before Morris follows him. The professor yells quickly, ‘I will send you your next assignment at the end of the week Morris. Good luck!’ The young student stops the bigger man in the hall to ask him a question. ‘(shyly asks) Would you mind if…..uh…..i could talk to you some more about how you got to this size and maybe a few other things?’ Avery laughs a bit and reaches down to flex his guns in Morris’s face. The surprised student rubs the huge hairy veins traveling up each arm. He nearly forgets that he was supposed to meet Ben at the dorm as he becomes slightly hypnotized by the huge beauty in front of him. ‘Are you interested in worshipping me man? You know when I first saw you last week, I thought you were trying to spy on the professor. Now I think you are just trying to get information on him through me. You are persistent for sure and frankly that is smart. I think you want to fool around with me a little.’ ‘No…..that isn’t what I meant…..uhhh…..well maybe a little. (smiles a little)’ ‘Uh huh, I think we need to visit the gym down here and get a little MORE acquainted.’ Avery grabs his arm and pulls him into the gym and then into the back part of the shower area. Morris’s heart pounds harder as he realizes that this may go to a place he wasn’t expecting. ‘How about a little bit of wrestling man? I once trained to go into the pro ranks, but I was lured back here to work with Hardman because he offered me a great salary and…..some extra perks too.’ ‘You aren’t going to tell me anything are you Avery? Are you going to hurt me?’ ‘No Morris, but you have put me in a great mood to play around with you for a bit because you are starting to interest me. Come on strip down to your undies and let’s play. (winks)’ Morris slowly takes his shirt and pants off as well as his socks and shoes. He looks around the shower and locker area and wonders if anyone will see them. ‘Don’t pay attention to anyone else Morris. Just focus on me man. I may be able to teach you a few things.’ Morris runs towards Avery who instantly picks him up and drops him down on the ground which makes the small man yell in fright. Avery squeezes tightly as Morris tries to grab his shorts. The huge hairy stud laughs and wraps his cannons around the younger man’s chest making him lose his breath. Morris pulls Avery’s shorts down to reveal his groomed crotch and dangling cock. ‘Ahh now, you shouldn’t have done that man. Now I will have to do the same to you. (pulls Morris’s undies down and off) Now we are equal.’ Morris’s cock bounces as his wiry body flexes trying to keep up with Avery’s power. The big stud lightly moans as he looks at his younger opponent’s thick cock. ‘Ohh wow Morris, you have a nice one. I think we can have a lot of fun. Don’t let my size deter you from what you really want. Come at me runt. (laughs)’ Morris jumps on him as they fall to the ground. Avery holds him in place and flips him around to where their cocks sit along each other’s faces. They both grunt feeling their bodies tense against each other. ‘You know you want me man. We both have needs and have to satisfy them. I haven’t blown a load in days so I know I have a lot to give. I think you do too judging by how swollen you are. Let me just see how strong you are.’ Avery flips Morris around and down to his cock and gulps down the smaller man’s thick cock as it travels down his throat. He moans letting it move up and down inside his mouth. He works it with a strong steady motion making Morris grip his opponent’s incredible quads. The big stud’s cock grows bigger beside Morris’s head as he grabs the smaller man and pushes his face on top of it. Morris opens his mouth swallowing it slowly as it makes its way down inside. The juices make the smaller man moan deeply as he loses himself in the moment. He feels the thick stream flowing slowly into his stomach making him flail about for a few seconds before the big stud stops him from moving. ‘Shhh Morris just calm down man. You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. Work it over really good and you will get quite the finish.’ As he makes several gurgling sounds trying to keep from passing out from the sheer size of the huge rod, Avery works over Morris’s cock making the smaller guy hump his face voraciously. ‘NO MAN! Calm down. (laughs) Let me do the work so you can concentrate on my cock. *feels his own balls moving* Ohh that feels good, you seem to be getting somewhere now man.’ Avery savors Morris’s thick cock which surprises the young student as he stops to look up every few seconds before letting out a few deep moans and going back to massaging the big guy’s hairy brownish pole. The big bodybuilder rubs Morris’s balls and feels them swelling in his hands as he puts a few fingers inside the small student’s hole too. ‘Let me help you out a little more man.’ Avery pulls him down a little to plant his big tongue inside the young man’s hole. Morris moans loudly as he has trouble focusing on what he is doing. Avery growls hearing him in ecstasy and makes his cock jump several times. ‘Morris…..uhh yeah man…..you have a hot voice…..cum for me sexy and I guarantee I will too…..i am getting so close now as it is.’ The big stud continues rimming him making Morris hump his face. ‘I can’t, I can’t Avery. Oh shit, I have to cum, let me cum, uhhh, shit.’ ‘RAWR! Yeah man cum, shoot that hot load. Hit me right on my fucking chest. (slaps his big hairy pecs and abs with one of his hands) RIGHT THERE sexy, RIGHT THERE!’ Morris wails as his cock shoots several powerful ropes all over Avery’s powerful chest. The big man moans deeply as he feels his cock starting to swell. ‘THAT’S IT MAN! HERE IT COMES! Oh yeah, the sensation is so fucking great!’ Morris watches as Avery’s cock blasts numerous jets all over his face and neck but not before he grabs the throbbing rod and gulps it down making the big stud shutter and laugh in his deep baritone. He reaches down and rubs Morris’s back and slaps his ass before grabbing the small man’s oozing cock to lap up the juices. The bodybuilder works it slowly each time he moves up and down on it moaning deeply. ‘MMMMM MAN! You were bold to track me down after class Morris, but I think you made a wise decision too. (winks at him)’ Morris pulls Avery’s cock out of his mouth and taps on his legs to drop him. The huge man obliges and he falls to the ground. He lands on his sides and turns to sit up. He looks up at the big bodybuilder and looks exhausted. Avery smiles down at him and appears to have a glimmer in his eye. ‘Hard work right? Well you have just set yourself apart from the others too man. It is almost a guarantee that you will be one of the last two.’ Morris looks at him puzzled and wonders what he means by that. ‘How is that Avery? You mean the sex we just had?’ (smiles) ‘Uhh yeah for the most part yes. You just consumed a decent amount of my seed man. That isn’t normal sperm swimming in your body now. When the time comes, they will be activated by some unforeseen catalyst. You will know when that happens fairly soon.’ ‘What? Am I going to be really sick when this happens?’ (shakes his head no) ‘Ohh no, I wouldn’t call it that. It is a gift that was given to me as it turns out. I didn’t get this big on my own trust me. (flexes his huge bis and reaches down to pull Morris up off the ground) Come on, we need to get cleaned up and out of here before someone comes around and finds us.’ Avery carries him into the shower before putting him down and going over into his own stall. They clean up and put towels on before grabbing their clothes and rushing out the back doors of the gym. When the young student enters the dorm, Ben is sitting in the lobby on his laptop. ‘DUDE! What the hell happened to you? I tried texting you and you never responded. (sees him in only a towel) ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Did you have sex with that graduate student? (smiles) I don’t blame you at all man, I am in lust for muscle too and he is even hot to me. So…..was it good?’ Morris rolls his eyes and turns around to go upstairs. Ben jumps up from his seat and follows closely behind before they rush into their room and shut the door.
  11. The previous chapter and its counterparts are here: Chapter 1.0 & 1.1: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2085-muscle-buddies-the-powerlifter-the-bodybuilder-chapter-1-a-workout-session-chapter-11/ Chapter 1.2: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/4106-muscle-buddies-keeping-a-secret-chapter-12/ Chapter 1.3: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5090-muscle-buddies-chapter-13-getting-to-know-who-we-are/ Chapter 2.0 Jeff and Dustin entered their senior year together, but not out. Their relationship was very strong, but they didn't want to detract from their future endeavors in their sports. Dustin was in a bulking phase, something that didn't go unnoticed in school. He was relatively decent in size the previous year, but now he has grown quite a bit. Many guys have suspected that he juices, not understanding the whole process involved in bodybuilding. Jeff has remained around the same size, but he has also focused more on his training for his future in college. Jeff hasn't decided what sport he will get a scholarship in. Football would be a no-brainer, but he has wanted to play in the Rugby League for years. His hardness has dissipated slightly, but he is still immense. His small layer of fat over top of his skin and his now thick body hair gives him a much more mature appearance. Over the summer, the two men began to hang out more with Omar, their good powerlifter buddy. He has been helping Jeff with getting stronger and more prepared for his possible Rugby career. Omar himself is thick with huge rounded shoulders, a wide back, and powerful arms. He isn't ripped, and he had no intention of ever being that way either. He has always idolized Kevin Nee and wanted to follow in his footsteps. He trained hard last year, but is training even harder now that he is a year older. His relationship with Jeff has gotten more personal due to their training sessions together. The strength and power in his lifts has translated over to Jeff, who has come to love watching Omar lift and grunt and even moan at times when he lifts heavier weight. Jeff himself has gotten much stronger as he has studied Omar and how he is able to control the weight on his back and shoulders when he deadlifts. It is the strength factor that has changed Omar and Jeff's relationship too. When they started, they wore tanks and shorts, now though it isn't unusual for them to just be wearing their boxers. They don't train together until after hours and sometimes it can be tough because of school work or other things in their schedules. They both stand behind each other when they lift so that they don't hurt themselves or need help. Their hands will sometimes travel to places other than the weight bar or the weights themselves. Jeff has a tendency to place his hands on Omar's arms to feel how strong he is when he lifts the weight above his head. It gets him so excited that his cock will sometimes pop out of his boxers and touch Omar's leg. This doesn't stop Omar though. He always laughs afterwards though because he thinks it is strange that Jeff loves strength so much it gets him hard. Jeff's turn comes and Omar tries to keep his attention on Jeff's lifts. He does have a thing though for Jeff's size and has always loved how thick he was and yet have such definition. With Jeff's added width, Omar can't help but start focusing on Jeff's back rather than his lifts. When Jeff put the weight back down on the ground, Omar grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up to start licking Jeff's lower back. This excites Jeff so much that he instantly starts jerking his cock and pulls his boxers down. Omar immediately goes to town on Jeff's big ass and things really start to heat up. Still hoisted in the air, Jeff starts humping Omar's face and getting himself so hot that he cums on the ground. Omar turns Jeff around, puts him on the floor, pulls his boxers off, and starts pumping Jeff with his huge bulk inside him. Jeff can't help but yell with the big man inside him. The pumping doesn't stop for several minutes and Jeff can feel Omar getting closer as his huge balls keep hitting his backside. Jeff loves the pressure from Omar's powerful bulk so much that he is getting close to cumming again. Omar grabs Jeff's cock before he can blow because he wants to blow at the same time. Omar pulls out and starts to double jack both of them. The feeling is so intoxicating that they both start moaning loudly and cum at the same time flowing cum on to both of their cocks. Omar then motions Jeff to try and pick him up because he wants to know how strong he is now. Jeff attempts to lift Omar and his muscles swell as he does so. Omar lets out a huge moan as he sees Jeff literally lift him up and his arms get really pumped. The feeling of lifting Omar gets Jeff so hot that he can't help but cum on Omar's leg. Omar loves it equally too and cums on to Jeff's chest. The two of them realize that they may actually have a thing for each other’s strength and power. Jeff's training time with Omar led to them having sex, but he has talked to Dustin about it too. Dustin is a friend of Omar from way back and wasn't that upset with Jeff being intimate with him. Omar's relationship with Dustin is different because they grew up in the same neighborhood. Their sexual chemistry was not really there. Dustin's physicality is not the same as Jeff's. He has bulked up, but his strength is not in the same arena as Jeff. Chapter 2.1 Jeff knows that his strength obsession will become a problem with him and Dustin, but he can't stop seeing Omar either. Their training is necessary because they both get so motivated when they are together. One of Jeff's Rugby teammates is West, a flirty guy with a goofy sense of humor. Jeff has always been friendly with him and has never been threatened by West's very 'suggestive' nature. West is a very athletic guy with symmetrical features and a chiseled face. He is not afraid to admit that he is gay and prefers to be acquainted with the straight boys because he has always identified with them. West's humor has a tendency to go overboard at times, but he makes Jeff laugh quite a bit. What also makes West different though is the fact that he is also close to Dustin, due to his relationship with Jeff. West and Dustin have spent more time together recently because Jeff isn't around as much. Dustin's workouts have involved a lot of cardio since he has stopped bulking and his diet has gone back to being much stricter. West has been helping Dustin with his portions since he himself is on a strict diet. The two of them have had great talks and frankly have bonded quite well. Their parents are always fairly busy and are usually not home so the two of them spend time together at each other’s houses. They aren't afraid to be too close to each other either. West has started to show his affection for Dustin lately and will sometimes jump on to his back just to be playful. Dustin is not as liberal as Jeff is, but he has become more comfortable since he got involved with him. West normally wants to wrestle with Dustin just to get him riled up and it usually happens. West isn't no slouch when it comes to being strong so there is times when he accidentally rips Dustin's shorts. Dustin gets a little irritated when this happens but West always knows how to cheer him up too. He will crack a silly joke and put a smile on Dustin's face. While Jeff was at the gym training with Omar one day, Dustin and West spent an evening by themselves at Dustin's house. A wrestling match ensued and once again West accidentally ripped one of Dustin's pairs of shorts. He ripped it so bad that the bottom half of the shorts fell to the floor exposing Dustin's posers that he wore. West would of course make fun of him for wearing posers, but Dustin liked the way they looked on his body. West would start rubbing Dustin's thighs just to get him riled up again. This time though, Dustin flipped him over and straddled him because he knew that West would react. West moaned and motioned for Dustin to pull his pants down. He obliged and started to lick West's bubble butt covered in sweat. The taste did excite Dustin quite a bit so he started to tease West's hole. This was not something Dustin intended on doing, but he really liked West a lot and wanted to pleasure him. He placed his hands on West's butt and continued to tongue his hole. He felt West relax it and plunged his tongue inside. The feeling was unreal for West who pushed his butt even further into Dustin's face. The two of them then took their clothes off. West asked Dustin if he would pose for him so he could admire his hard work. It didn't take much because Dustin started to flex his still bulky biceps and thick chest. West was very delicate and didn't want to make Dustin feel uncomfortable. He started to feel around on Dustin's bulky upper body and slowly kiss his bouncy pecs. The feeling was so good that Dustin pressed West's face into his pecs. West moaned really loud and could feel Dustin pushing himself onto him. Unlike Jeff, West was definitely a power bottom and was involuntarily humping Dustin. His grinding was just above Dustin's growing dick. It wasn't long before West moved himself to where Dustin could penetrate him. Dustin's hulking thighs were now straddling him and West's impeccable core was ready for the pounding. Dustin moved West's legs back so he could see him penetrate him. He did it ever so slowly so West could feel every inch go in. Dustin's cock made West squeal with pleasure as he watched his hole get stretched. The two guys stayed in that position for quite some time because it felt so good. Dustin finally pulled out so he wouldn't cum inside him. West turned to start sucking Dustin off. He rubbed Dustin's gut as well as grabbing his immense butt. West was intent on making Dustin cum and wasn't going to stop. He would massage his balls and try to deep throat him just to make him give up, but Dustin wouldn't budge. Dustin was enjoying the sex, but he had anxiety too. He was in love with Jeff, but he wasn't around that much so West was basically a substitute for Jeff. He started to rub his chest and his arms thinking about Jeff sucking him off and this would prompt him to finally give his load up. The sucking sped up and West could feel Dustin's cock start to stiffen up. It wasn't long before Dustin sprayed cum all over West's face. Luckily, West didn't swallow it as Dustin didn't want him to. They smiled at each other and hugged afterwards. After the each of them took separate showers, they went back to working on their diet plans.
  12. Chapter 1.0 Jeff was a great athlete in high school. He was bigger than most of the kids in his class and loved to play all kinds of sports. He would sign up for as many as he could because he liked the feeling of his muscles pushing against his clothes and the sensation of them tensing and bouncing. He would spend more time in the gym than most of the guys that went there. The pumps he would get would be outrageous. Some days he couldn't get the shirts to stay down on his chest so he would have to go shirtless sometimes. The ladies could not stop staring at him. His chest would heave to the people that he would chafe if he didn't wear something over top of it. He wasn't a virgin past his freshman year. Most of the guys didn't like him because he was so young, yet so advanced physically. There were times when he would be in the locker room in the buff and just stare in the mirrors at all of the curves and bumps in his muscles and would flex them to see how they looked. He wasn't the only big guy on the football team though. There were two other guys that were quite developed, but in different ways. One was more a powerlifter type with a gut and the other was a big lifter himself with huge arms and giant legs. He was a competitive bodybuilder too and would talk to Jeff about your genetics. He wasn't interested in ever competing because you didn't want to do all of the bulking/cutting that was required. The bodybuilding teen would also stare in the mirrors and check out his body, but he would always wear shorts whereas Jeff just stood naked. Jeff figured out that he was an exhibitionist because he liked it when the other guys would check him out. One of the guys always smacked Jeff's butt when he would walk by and then wink. He didn't know what to think because this guy seemed like he was flirting. For the next couple of years, Jeff maintained his size and even tried to get fuller by changing up parts of his diet to make his chest bulge even more. He wanted pecs so big they would come up to his chin. He was only a junior and his body was outlandish. Everybody suspected that he was juicing and he was tested all the time only to find out that he was naturally big. He had a few girlfriends and didn't know how he was going to juggle them. He didn't really have time to hang out with them so he broke up with them. His bodybuilder teammate was actually a little leaner then he was a few years before. He really wanted to know how Jeff's body could be so developed and full and yet be natural. Jeff was close to this guy because he could talk to him about training tips and whatever food he needed to eat. The other guy named Dustin was actually quite fond of Jeff and asked if he could feel Jeff's body just to see what bigger muscle felt like. Jeff was very interested in what Dustin was saying and walked straight up to him and flexed his muscles. Dustin gave out a slight moan and started to rub Jeff's arms and chest. The two guys view themselves as straight, but were obviously weak for muscle. Jeff started to lick Dustin's sweaty chest and kiss his nipples. It wasn't long before they started to worship each other and kiss each other. They would try to overpower each other and talk tough trying to get the other one to give in. Their inhibitions could not be contained. Jeff started to suck Dustin's cock because he wanted to feel empowered. Women couldn't satisfy him because he needed to feel strength. Dustin thrust into Jeff's mouth and made him feel tingly. Jeff couldn't help but moan really loud because he loved feeling Dustin's muscles push against him. Dustin then made Jeff get up and sit on his chest to flex in front of him. Dustin started to rub Jeff's huge chest and stroke his cock. He wanted Jeff's cum so badly that he wouldn't stop stroking him. Jeff could hold back well with women, but with Dustin it didn't take much effort because he loved it so much. With his mouth open, Dustin gobbled up Jeff's huge load and started to moan again. Jeff started to sit on top of Dustin's cock because he wanted him so bad. He had never been fucked before but it just went straight into his head to go for it. Dustin started pounding Jeff and making him moan loudly. Jeff had never felt so much pressure, but he loved to feel Dustin's abs rubbing against his bum. Dustin went to pull out, but Jeff made him keep it in because he wanted to feel cum shoot inside. Jeff was amazed at how far up cum went because he felt Dustin's cock move deeper once cum started shooting. The two guys were very close buddies from that point on. They never had sex with other men, just each other. Both were muscular, but Jeff was considerably bigger than Dustin. The story doesn't end here. Chapter 1.1 After spending a little more time together through their junior years, Dustin and Jeff have become a little more acquainted with each other’s bodies. Both have different ideas in how they want to look and even how to train, but they agree that they just want to look better than everyone else. Jeff is more interested in looking powerful and massive while Dustin is into the whole aesthetics principle especially since he plans on competing someday in the near future. They knew they had the perfect chemistry together when they spent an evening together at the end of the school year inside the football weight room. Jeff is always notorious for pumping himself up and making his muscles strain to the point that his clothes just barely hold on. His tight t-shirt hangs on for dear life over his heaving pecs as his nipples press against the material. Dustin sits not far away working on his legs as he watches his close friend grunt a bit as he does his deadlifts. He makes a moaning sound a few times to get Jeff’s attention which works beautifully as the huge 16 year old gets a bit flustered pushing the huge load back up to the rack. He glares over at his ripped buddy and gives him a nasty look. Dustin smiles really big at him before he gets up to walk over to where he is. The only other guy in the gym is the powerlifting coach and he is currently in the locker area. Dustin gets behind his sweaty friend and starts rubbing down his shoulders slowly feeling each and every curve of muscle. Jeff turns his head slightly and lets out a low growl as he feels his lover kneading the fibers on both muscle bulbs. Dustin then runs his hands down the big teen’s sides touching his incredible lats and squeezes them feeling their power inside. Jeff lightly moans before turning his head back to its original position again to go back to his deadlifting. Dustin moves right along with him as he moves his body down close to the floor with the huge load on his back. Knowing that Jeff needs his concentration, he lets him go after watching the strongman do several lifts before he begins to show signs of straining and struggling. The ripped teen helps him get the weight bar back to its original position and turns him around to get a good view of Jeff’s pumped body. Now dripping with perspiration, his huge pecs completely show through his shirt. Dustin looks into Jeff’s eyes before leaning in to kiss and lick his massive neck. The powerful guy pulls him in to squeeze him in his arms and smother him in his chest and moans as Dustin begins to feel his insane back under his shirt. The mountains of muscle are nearly too much for his it as Dustin feels a slight tug at the top behind his neck. He finds a tiny rip that has begun to form and pulls on it as it makes a really muffled sound. It shreds all the way down his back as Jeff laughs flexing his back and delts. Dustin can’t help but to reach around and do the same thing to the front as he rips the shirt right down the middle in two exposing the big guy’s engorged bouncing pecs. Dustin leans down to place his lips on Jeff’s nipples making him growl as he buries his lover in them. They both fall down on the ground below the machine as the smaller bodybuilder continues to worship his huge buddy’s pecs chewing and licking each nipple over and over again. Jeff quickly pulls his own gym shorts off showing his huge beefy ass as his cock springs into action rubbing against Dustin’s right leg. After a minute of massaging Jeff’s melons, the two teens lock lips and play tonsil hockey with their tongues. Jeff pulls the ripped teen’s shorts off immediately as their cocks meet pressing up against each other. Their pre mixes together as they continue to kiss longingly. Jeff then returns the favor on Dustin running his lips and tongue along the bodybuilder’s chest and abs. Each ab is massaged slowly with Jeff’s tongue as his lightly colored chest hair is slurped slowly making him moan lightly. Before long the two secret lovers lay beside each other rubbing each other’s quads and cocks lovingly stroking as they switch hands back and forth trying not to make so much noise that the coach comes out. Now leaning their heads against each other, they pick up speed on their cocks as they edge over and over again building their loads up. Their balls swell bigger with each round that goes by. The pre flows so much that they are able to lube their cocks completely before they eventually erupt. Wanting to come together, they rub their muscled bodies together while they stroke to get the maximum effect. Instead of using their hands to jack off, they grind each other as they cover each other’s mouths with their free hands. Feeling it moving through them quickly now, they start to shake the gym floor as both cocks shoot volcanic ropes all over each other. They squeal as their bodies flex at the same time feeling the power emanating from each other. Their nipples meet as Dustin smiles into Jeff’s blue eyes. He winks before sliding his ass on top of Jeff’s thick cock. The big stud moans feeling it being swallowed up as Dustin leans down to lay on his chest. Feeling another surge of power rushing through him, Jeff starts to fuck Dustin faster as he completely buries himself inside him. The smaller guy runs his hands all over Jeff’s huge beefy guns leaning in to run his tongue on the gargantuan masses. They both moan a bit louder now and seem less concerned about being seen than they did before. Another load quickly builds inside Jeff’s balls as he pounds Dustin harder. They both yell in ecstasy as the huge stud finally shoots his second load inside his lover making him have trouble breathing for a few seconds. It is at that moment that they both realize they have been watched the whole time. The coach makes a quick comment which immediately gets the two teens to jump up and go racing into the locker room. The powerlifter laughs at them as he lets go of his own cock and watches it jump up and down for a few instances. He turns to walk out into the area where the weights are and starts doing a few curls taking in his reflection. Dustin and Jeff appear to be out with at least one person that they know of now, but in order to keep it secret, they may have to make a pact with him someway or somehow. Check out the follow-ups here: Chapter 1.2: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/4106-muscle-buddies-keeping-a-secret-chapter-12/ Chapter 1.3: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5090-muscle-buddies-chapter-13-getting-to-know-who-we-are/ Chapter 2.0 & 2.1: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2102-muscle-buddies-chapters-2-3/
  13. So sorry for the long wait between "VIALS" I had a very busy almost two weeks... Enjoy all my pups, cubs, and muscle brothers! {VIAL 3} I woke up the next day for school and got out another vial from the side of my night stand drawer. I got my things together and thought to myself, maybe I should try out this vial a bit earlier in the day instead of waiting until lunch or after school. I went down the stairs after my backpack was filled with the day’s books for my classes, where I headed to the kitchen. My biological father had already left for work again, so thank god I didn't have to run into him. On days where he had off of work, I would be ridiculed for being a pain in his side and then he’d make me do all the household chores and told me if I didn't he would use all the social security money he received from the state in order to buy himself more booze and other luxuries that didn't benefit my young child needs for nourishment and growth. I went to the kitchen and made my way to the fridge to see if I had anything I could mix the powder into this time. Luckily there was some orange juice. I found an empty water bottle on the counter, which I popped the top off and poured the 3rd vial of powder into it and stuffed the empty bottle into my pocket, followed by me filling up the rest of the bottle with orange juice. I shook the contents up, making sure the entire bottle was mixed before I put the remaining orange juice back into the fridge and I headed out the door. As I closed the door, Andrew startled me by already standing on the porch. “Hi Seth!” his voice cracked a bit as he spoke. “I thought I would meet you here instead of having to just run into you on our usual walk to school.” I was a bit giddy with excitement. “Thanks, bud. Well I already have the drink prepared for you.” We started to make our way to school as we walked down the sidewalk. “I think I want you to drink it before class starts Seth. What do you say about that?” Seth beamed up at me with his happy go lucky smile. “Well sure that sounds like a good idea. However do you think it’s wise? Each one has caused something in me that was pretty noticeable. Who knows what each vial will do.” He had a point. I remembered the empty vial I had stuffed in my pants pocket and pulled it out to see if at least any of the words or letters were readable, since the last vial was pretty much illegible. Sure enough the words on this bottle were entirely intact. I smiled, very relieved. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I handed over the empty vial and the bottle of orange juice and powder to my smaller friend. He read it and then looked at me a bit nervous. “Seth, you do realize that once I drink this, it is going to change a huge dynamic in our relationship.” I stopped walking for a minute, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and looked up at me as well. “I know it will, Andrew. But this is something that I have actually always wanted in a person that I know.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle giving me a huge grin. “Well, I guess its bottoms up!” He put the bottle to his lips and chugged it down as if it was liquid courage. Well, if you guys really want to know what it was he just drank, it pretty much was courage in a bottle. Andrew made sure not to leave a single drop of it left We continued to walk our way to school and I swear, the kid stood taller, prouder then I have ever seen anyone stand before. As we got to the gates, Andrew turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder, something I don’t remember him ever doing before. “Meet me behind the gym. Let’s eat our lunch quick and maybe try to squeeze in a workout, Seth.” I gulped. “Um sure…” “Awesome! I know football season is almost practically over right now and how you have always wanted to try out for the sport. So maybe if the two of us work out together, we can motivate you to join the team next year.” “A-Alright Andrew,” my heart almost jumped out of my chest from his words. Andrew actually is trying to push me like an adult role-model should do. He released my shoulder, giving me a wink, before running up the steps of the school. Classes went by faster than normal today as I couldn't wait for the bell to ring for lunch. When it finally did I practically ran to our usual lunch meeting spot. Andrew was standing against the wall with his backpack strap around one shoulder. He looked really damn cool. “Hey Seth! I already ate lunch during my last period. Hurry up and eat, I want to show you a few things to help you in your workouts.” I didn't know what to say so I just nodded and pulled out my lunch, quickly tearing into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Andrew laughed a bit, “don’t eat so fast, bud! It’s not healthy for you to do that.” So I slowed down a bit and finished my lunch normally. I’m already starting to see a huge change in our dynamic. Before this morning it was me who was the one to make decisions and give advice. Andrew grabbed the door at the back of the gym and pulled it open, holding it for me to enter first. I walked inside with him following right behind me, and then he started to quicken his pace as he walked over to a weight bench loaded with 20 lbs on each side. Something told me that he was in here a bit before the lunch period started. Andrew walked to the back of the weights and grabbed a pair of lifting gloves from the floor and tossed them to me. “Put those on and have a seat.” I did as I was told and slipped the gloves onto each hand and adjusted the strap before I sat down on the bench and then laid under the bar. He bent down, put his hands on my upper arms, and guided my hands gently to the bar. I gripped the bar tightly. “Now before you lift, you want to make sure each of your arms and hands are straight. Also make sure they are at a good distance apart. If you lift incorrectly you can injure yourself.” As he guided me with his voice, he also guided me with his hands, as the bar slowly lifted and went down to my chest. “Remember to Inhale when you lower the bar to your chest, and exhale when you push the bar up.” I did as he told me and I began to learn how to weightlift for the first time in my life. The rush of testosterone and adrenaline filled me, as this was new and exciting! We did this until the end of our lunch, when the bell rang. “I’ll see you after school, Seth! I’m going to do my homework and then I will meet up with you at your house later tonight.” “Sounds awesome, Andrew!” We both parted ways again as we went to our own classes. After school I went right home, where I found myself greeted with the loud noise of auto-racing on the television. My Father was home. “Hi…” I walked past the living room heading for the stairs. Hoping he wouldn’t respond to me. “Home from school, faggot?” He blurted out, belching from the beer and chips he consumed. I cringed at that word. “Yeah, I’m going to go do my homework.” “Nah you’re not. Go grab me another beer and then I want you to clean the kitchen and the garage. They are a fucking mess.” “OK, sir.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled a beer out bringing it over to him. I placed the beer on the table and began to walk away when he stuck his foot out and tripped me. As I fell, I knocked over his bowl of chips, spilling them all over the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you dumb fuck?!” He chuckled. “Clean this shit up too now!” “Sorry, sir!” I stooped down and began to pick the chips up off the floor when the doorbell rang. “Go answer that, if people are selling candy, use your allowance and buy me some!” I got up and made my way to the front door. I opened it to be greeted by Andrew. “How’s it going, Seth!” He smiled up at me. “It’s not a good time, Andrew.” I tried to close the door of fear of what my father might do, but Andrew pushed his way inside. “Hi Mr. Davis!” He said walking into the house. My father looked at Andrew with disgust before turning at me with a snarl, “Tell your girlfriend to go home, faggot!” “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Davis,” I never heard anyone go up against my father before. “I’m here to help Seth get his work done. And then my family and I are going on a little trip this weekend, and I’m here to invite Seth along.” My father was a bit shocked from this little challenge set forth by my small friend “Whatever, as long as you two little shits are out of my hair for the weekend its fine.” “I have a name, sir.” Andrew spoke up again. “It’s Andrew. And your son has one as well.” My father started to laugh again. “Whatever! Seth, get your little fag friend out of here before I put a boot in his ass myself!” I grabbed Andrew by the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Andrew. And then we can go on this family campout.” As we were now out of earshot from my father, Andrew grinned up at me. “Sure thing. Remember to pack a bottle for the morning. And one last thing. The family “Trip,” it’s going to be just some Dad and Son bonding time. He gave me his big smile and a soft pat on the back before I watched him walk back across the lawn and into his house. NEXT UP - VIAL 4 VIAL 1 – HYPER-TEST – Initiate Puberty / Hyper-Testosterone Booster VIAL 2 – 400 INTELIGENT QUOTIENT – 400 IQ / Hyper-Intelligence VIAL 3 – HYPER-CONFIDENCE VIAL 4 - ??? VIAL 5 - ??? VIAL 6 - ??? VIAL 7 - ???
  14. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed Chapter 3: White Cap Training At the beginning, Zaftig had believed that the perfect man was Rod Moster. Now, 18 other enhanced candidates approached the successful muscular development levels Moster had already achieved. Moster’s edge was waning. On training days, the men could eat whatever they wished, as long as their diets included 5,000 daily grams of pure animal protein. After a “light” morning workout, a day of classes and small arms training, and between regularly scheduled sessions of long distance swimming, bicycling, sparring, wrestling, karate, tae kwon do, yoga, kickboxing, and extreme fighting technique skills, the men were set loose in the gym at 1730 hours. By then, of course, they were wild to lift heavy and lift hard. On muscle recovery days, the men were commanded to remain in or near their private quarters and barred from stressful activities. Maintaining proper diet in all six daily meals remained in effect, socializing was strictly limited, and long hours of meditation were advised. It was understood that their finely honed mechanisms required fresh air, a little light running, a mile-long swim or two, and long, stress-free, leisurely walks along the many compound park trails. Lights out on muscle recovery days was 2000 hours. The rest day protocols were strictly enforced. These rest days were always the dullest days imaginable for the energized squad of musclemen. Early morning the day after rest, they were filled once again with blinding zeal and unfettered ambition for the hours of brutal, strictly regimented workouts. Lately Sergeant Moster was even more vigilant than usual, making sure that the men stayed on point throughout the session. Once every few weeks, the men eagerly anticipated a ‘White Cap’ training session. White Cap Nights meant one thing - no holds barred. They were scheduled generally as an incentive following of long periods of recorded ‘good team behavior.’ The men ached for them. White Caps contained traces of concentrated undiluted P21 granules, blended carefully with powerfully lab-enhanced homeopathic supplements and pure, powdered oxygen. It was like muscle heroin, mainstreamed. Zaftig’s researchers had found that this compound powder form of P21, when taken orally, produced short-term jolts of strength stamina, and unrestrained energy that were, unlike the injectable form, only temporarily enjoyed. The workouts performed after a white cap had been consumed boasted over-the-top performance levels, which always resulted in new personal bests. The gains the men made on these nights, whether lifting, swimming, running, or fighting, provided benchmarks for future optimal training. There was a drawback. The few remaining social restraints the men still had from their former lives had all but faded to nothingness. Just as the men were moved to achieve new highs on the workout floor, the few remaining inhibitors they did still maintain all but vanished. While scheduling White Cap nights was becoming an increasing necessity in order to keep the men focused on pure muscle growth, Dr. Zaftig had become highly concerned that as the team continued to surpass previously-considered “impossible” training goals, the squad’s standards of good behavior, or even basic societal standards of decency, were becoming increasingly rare. And while Zaftig continued to allow Moster control the group, he was aware of his probable own long-term foolishness in this decision. For under Moster’s direction, the squad was separating itself little by little from standards of common social boundaries. To say nothing of military discipline. How could Zaftig hope to impress the brass if his muscle monsters, for all of their nearly inhuman development, were out of control? And how could Project Herculaneum continue if the military removed its nearly decade-long support? Moreover, a Joint Chiefs review was scheduled for November. Zaftig was worried. In effect, his chief inmate was now running the asylum. It made for fantastic achievements in muscle size, strength, and accomplishment. It did little or nothing to contain the burgeoning sexual psyches of musclemen who craved to exhibit, show-off, pose, tease, and flex with abandon. Three years before, when the Nineteen were still the Twelve, a White Cap night had been introduced as a lab experiment. The men ended up in such a muscles-entangled in a spectacularly muscle-flexing, cum-spurting locker room orgy after the workout that the program was almost abandoned. Sheepish and humiliated the next day, the Twelve went back to the gym to set new benchmarks in strength, endurance, and lifting. With some persuasion, Moster argued to Zaftig that occasional white cap nights, strongly regulated and following firm procedures might inspire the men further to new heights. Distributed in the wrong hands, White Caps could be dangerous, and perhaps lethal. They were highly stimulating drugs, and the enlarged pupils, deep breathing, increased body heat and volumes of sweat they produced required careful monitoring. For the Project Herculaneum men, white caps were like crack. Zaftig had been against them from the start, until over time it became apparent that no organic harm had ever resulted, nor certifiable addiction issues. Moreover, the men remained inspired by White Cap workouts in the months to come. And they understood that for them to be most effective, these nights could come only 4 or 5 times a year. Zaftig reluctantly agreed, on the condition that the nights were videotaped by no less than six cameras. The tapes would be closely reviewed for infractions and sexually aggressive behavior. In exchange, Moster bargained that during shower time, they men could indulge as they wished. Zaftig, sincerely hoping no long-term hospitalizations would result, gave the go-ahead for periodic white cap nights. And so they began. On these nights, for two hours, it was only Moster’s grim domination of the men that prevent them from brutally fucking each other right there on the workout floor. That would wait, as he faithfully promised them all, for the shower room afterwards, when, fuck each other, they did, and with relish. Of late, however, not a little of the sexual acting out had made its way to the gym floor. One by one, the video cameras were shut down and put away, leaving no record. And the men grew more unrestrained. October 19th had been a required rest and muscle recovery day, for October 20th‘s workout was scheduled as a White Cap Night. After all, later that night in the mess, the men were scheduled to meet the so-called young ‘muscle genius’ Casey Rockland for the first time. Another recruit from Miles Donovan’s San Jose hardcore gym Raw Weight. Just a kid, really. Only 18. But with real promise, or so it seemed. Moster determined to think about Casey Rockland a little later. He couldn’t afford to have split attention when the men were on the floor and under the influence of the pure, undiluted stuff. And it was too late to turn back now. As long as P21 continued to produce almost miraculous results, and the men grew exponentially large and become stronger beyond all projected imagining, and Project Herculaneum approached its 10-year anniversary, Zaftig had finally been forced to turn a blind eye to both the benefits of White Cap Nights, and the now-nightly after-hours sexual behavior. Moster distributed the capsules personally to the men as they filed onto the floor. The bodybuilders gobbled them down immediately, already chuckling and winking at one another. Then Moster stood back and allowed their raging hormones their full force. Watchful and ever ready to impose his strict discipline as needed, he nevertheless understood the basic benefits of weight-room bonding. He let them go. He did not take one himself. He stood watchfully to one side. He was dressed, as he generally was, in his spotless oversized white sweats. He had completed his own workout privately an hour before while his squad was going through their abs training in the enclosed hot room just next to the workout floor. It was generally unnecessary for him to display his physical superiority to his squad of muscle freaks, except privately, and only when warranted. And tonight in particular, he chose to remain fully covered as if to encourage the men to pay attention to their own bodies. Upon occasion, however, he would strip down to his jock and join the men in their training to maintain bonding, and supply ongoing inspiration, however he determined it might be needed. Those nights had become increasingly rare, however, as the complicated, competitive reactions of the men to Moster’s detailed muscularity had begun to inhibit the workflow. From the sidelines, watching his squad’s training with laser focus, he made sure his men strictly maintained dead-on correct form with each grueling lift. Moster made careful notes in the margins of the evening training session report filled out in advance for him daily by meek, balding little Dr. Irving, Zaftig’s nearly silent civilian lab assistant. Never disappointed at either their stamina or their passion during normal workouts, the results achieved on white cap nights amazed even him. The effects always began gradually. Divided into their usual smaller training teams of 2 and 3 men each, the soldier-bodybuilders of Project Herculaneum took turns spotting one another and blasting alternate muscle groups. Tonight, teams one and two were working back and lats, teams three and four delts, traps and triceps, teams five and six legs, team seven chest and biceps. An hour of punishing abdominal work preceded the heavy lifting. The men grimaced, grunted, spat, cursed, shouted and groaned with ecstatic agony as, all around the room, each man pumped his super-sized, vein-exploding muscles to their greatest potential. Their dirty army regulation wife-beater t-shirts were grimy with dirt and drenched with water and sweat. Beneath the t-shirts, each man displayed blinding, awesomely ripped physiques, packed with dense, intricate, vascular cables of tendons, ligaments, river-thick veins and mountainously large, round, popping muscle bellies. Abs rippled with cobblestone washboard 8-packs on waistlines that grew no larger than 32 inches. Lats flared. Pecs pumped. Biceps bulged ferociously as the men aggressively lifted and posed for one another in between sets, each man confident that he was bigger than his training partner. Some of the men kept their bodies shaved. Others let their body hair grow. Moster demanded shaved physiques only once a month for company inspection, and over time he had come to respect the fact that some of the furrier musclemen were proud of their sprouting masses of thick, healthy chest, asshole, and pubic hair. Short, regulation haircuts were required, though some of the older men were allowed beards and mustaches. After all, personal vanity, as long as it didn’t supplant regulations, was to be encouraged. It also kept the men unique from one another. While they were all extraordinarily developed bodybuilders, Moster knew the value of each man maintaining his own identity and special tastes. It was all part of his plan. Moster's vision, if you will. After all, later on, new cadet Casey would be presented to the group. For it appeared that Casey Rockland might possess the rare organic gifts that were even more sympathetic. Moster wanted the men to be aching with rage and pain from their blazingly cruel workout when they first encountered Muscle Cadet Casey Rockland at precisely 2200 hours. He wished he could also prevent the men from the usual hardcore White Cap Night after-workout showers free-for-all, but he knew that was impossible. Then again, P21 worked in mysterious ways. Maybe the men would be feeling replenished and reloaded? White Cap Night workouts were tougher, true, but the floor activity and the post-show group release in the showers meant the men would be drained. So maybe not quite as spot-on impassioned (envious? turned on?) at their first meeting of the impressively swole 18-year muscle monster. In any event, Moster would enforce no-touch rules on Casey for the first few weeks. At least. Zaftig had recently confided in Moster that Rockland might indeed be that long-sought P21 perfect recipient. The men already sensed that Rockland was different. For almost two years, they’d all glimpsed the fully-covered teenage cadet Rockland periodically training with the program’s other young cadets in their own, smaller gym in an auxiliary building in the compound. He was unaccountably huge, and the cadets were increasingly intimidated by his size and strength. It was way past time to move him up into the ranks. Most of the cadets still lived off-campus in discreetly rented apartments in nearby San Jose. Vans picked them up early each morning and returned them to their front doors each early evening. There was no socializing with The Nineteen. A few of the more promising cadets were assigned cadet housing in the facility’s dormitory. And Rockland had been moved into the dorm at the outset. And from what the men could tell from a distance, he was mammoth beyond imaging for a teenager. Rockland was said to be a genetic marvel, even amongst these men, though none of them had yet had the occasion to closely inspect the young man’s physique. Zaftig had made sure of that. Even Sergeant Moster had not yet interviewed the young man. He was amused (if just a little irritated) that Zaftig had purposefully held back on presenting Rockland to him, instead encouraging Rockland to bond with the other cadets in their own comparatively unsupervised weight training. The point was to see what the teen cadets would do on their own recognizance. Junior to Moster, but reporting only to Zaftig, Casey’s handlers were required to keep their notes confidential – that is to say, away from Moster. So far, Rockland had little inkling of the plans that were in place for his future. In time, Moster had come to accept the set up. In the 10 years since he first began to assemble the men of Project Herculaneum, Zaftig had always been successful in presenting a finely honed candidate worthy of the grueling responsibilities of membership. He had an eye for talent, Moster had to acknowledge, finding gold in a man he himself might have passed on. Moster assumed, correctly as it happened, that at this very moment in another part of the compound, Zaftig was preparing young Casey Rockland for his first presentation to The Nineteen. For it was only after long-term study of the effects on a so-called control “perfect specimen” that the kinks of the formula could finally be identified, and eliminated. After that, it would be ready for general release to the public – and ready to earn billions for Zaftig. For even in the true believer Zaftig, at the end of the day, it was still all about the money. What Moster didn’t know was that Zaftig, sure of Rockland’s gifts and unparalleled fast-track progress, had been injecting him from day one as a cadet with P21. It was possible that young Casey Rockland was the man that Zaftig had long been searching for. He’d been on the protocol for two years now, ever since that night Zaftig found him, lonely and alone, and prompted by a hurried call from Miles Donovan, in the San Jose Greyhound bus station. Chapter 4: A Brief History of Casey Rockland 2002-2021 Even as a baby, he was unusually large and healthy. He had appeared one night in Fall, 2002, delivered anonymously just inside chilly porticoes of City Hall. He was carefully tucked in a battered little crib, which had been wheeled and abandoned in the shadows of the Rockland Avenue entrance. Snugly covered with a warm blanket, the baby had a bottle that he sucked on pensively. A note pinned to the cradle read: Take care of our boy. He is a good boy even if he is big. We just cant feed him no more. PS His birthday is April 23. He is six months old today. We call him Casey. Goodbye and thank u and God bless u. No one knew who his parents were. And now he was no more than just another foundling in the city system. City social services responded quickly. Baby Casey’s birth certificate being untraceable, his social worker hurriedly gave him the surname ‘Rockland’, and the smiling, big-eyed, big-bodied baby went directly into foster care. Passed from home to home, prospective parents seemed to give up very quickly. At first charmed by his beauty, sweetness, clear eyes and blond hair, all gave up rather promptly after discovering just how much baby Casey ate. In time he was transferred into the San Jose Catholic Boys’ Home. There he was looked after by a small platoon of the devoted nuns of the Benedictine Order. Something about him touched the normally cold-hearted sisters, and in short order, they began to feed him as much as he required. Which was a lot. Baby Casey was growing before their eyes. Casey didn’t start to talk until he was nearly 3 years old. His vocabulary consisted of “Yes”, “No”, “Okay”, “Please”, “I’m hungry”, and “I’m still hungry.” By the time he was 4, the sisters sadly noted that Casey was slower than the other boys his age, if much bigger, and generally in need of twice as much food. By age 5, he was already as big and strong as a 10-year old, which required some special clothing and a certain amount of care that he didn’t accidently break things. Even so, Casey was shy and sweet natured, if withdrawn. He always tried to do the right thing and not worry the nuns. The boy had an uncommonly beautiful face, with long, thick lustrous blond hair, and deep set violet eyes with heavy black eyebrows and eyelashes. The kind-hearted Sisters told him quietly about what a handsome man he was going to be when he grew up. “Just be patient,” said Sister Mary Christopher. “Your day will come.” His day hadn’t come yet. The other boys didn’t like him. By the time Casey was 11, his blend of dopey sweetness and a rapidly maturing pre-adolescent body forced unwanted attention onto him. Still the favorite of the sisters, he got the biggest dinners and seemed to receive the most privileges. Even his relative slowness in class didn’t daunt the Sisters’ devotion. He never asked for any special treatment. It just came to him. His size added to his troubles. He knew he could hurt the other boys without meaning to, unless he was very careful, and soon enough, the older, meaner gangs in the home learned that in spite of his size and superior strength, he wouldn’t fight back. The sisters, after all, told him not to. It was more blessed to turn the other cheek. In fact, as Casey grew, it became apparent that he had four cheeks that he could turn. Four of the bigger boys loved to pin him down and administer bare-bottom spankings. And Casey’s supple little butt was nice and ripe for such punishment. In fact, he could take any punishment, feeling somehow that it was his due. And he never told tales. In spite of his increasing size and strength, he was open season for bullies. Over the years, he became a punching bag, a repository for the other boys’ fears and anger. The years passed. Casey went into puberty early. He grew exponentially fast, and the other boys became more wary of him. His strength was already an issue, and often the nuns would catch him testing his strength by lifting tables and bending the iron bars that lined the dank little playground. A bigger problem, however, developed out of the group showers in gym class. Casey’s penis was growing fast, even faster than his strong body. His pants never seemed to fit any more, and it grew harder to hide the developing bulge. To make matters worse, when he was 9 he had started having erections and wet dreams, and sometimes would get excited in class or on the playground or at mess hall. The other boys stared at the growing bulge in his pants, whispered, and pointed, secretly unsure and intimidated. Casey was always baffled by their snickering, half-heard, never-understood jokes. One day one of the older boys had an inspiration on the playground. Staring at Casey’s looming young fly, he called out. “Hey. Banana Man! You getting’ another hard-on?” The other boys roared nastily. “Seems you’re always gittin’ hard-ons, Banana Man! You queer or somethin’?” The name stuck. That was the worst. Casey was now ashamed of his penis. Ashamed and embarrassed. He was always getting hard at the wrong times. He was always being called out by the other boys. It was too big. He couldn’t hide it. And he certainly couldn’t discuss this with the nuns. “Banana Man, Banana Man!” Casey knew they were mocking him, mocking his embarrassingly oversized manhood. He was ashamed and tried to hide himself. And that made the boys laugh even more. When Casey was 12, he had had enough. He was too big, too pretty, ungainly, awkward, lonely, slow-witted and alone. Although he never let the other boys see it, he cried a lot, usually under his bed sheets late at night, stifling his sobs so that the other boys in the dorm room wouldn’t hear him. One night he thumbed through a community free handout magazine he picked up at the corner market to see if he could find – well, anything. The sisters never let the boys use the office computers for mere webs surfing, but he was desperate, and he knew there had to be a place – somewhere – where he could go to vent his frustrations, anxiety, and deep loneliness. He knew he was a freak, but he suspected there might be a place where there were other freaks, like him, where he could find some comfort. There it was. The ad that changed everything. The ad that changed his life. MILES DONOVAN’S RAW WEIGHT GYM HARDCORE BODYBUILDING REASONABLE RATES COME TRAIN WITH THE CHAMPIONS And there was a picture, too, an old one of bodybuilder Lee Labrada. It was enough for Casey. This is what he wanted to look like. This was what he wanted to be. The next morning he begged Sister Mary Alice for extra yard work duty so that he could earn the money to join Raw Weight Gym. He worked all fall late into the evening washing dishes, sweeping floors, emptying the teeming garbage pails in the kitchen. The sisters saw to it that he was paid $125 weekly for his work. “He’s learning responsibility,” said Sister Mary Alice. “He’s preparing to jump the wall,” said Sister Agatha. “Freak….teacher’s pet…..queer,” said the boys. And on day in the spring of 2016, after classes were over for the day at precisely 2:30 PM, he took a bus downtown to join Raw Weight Gym, the hardcore gym owned by the 50-year old retired pro bodybuilder legend Miles Donovan. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. The nuns knew he was venturing out, however. They trusted that wherever Casey was bound to go, as long as he was quiet, stuck to his chores, was well behaved and responsible, and was back at the rectory in time for dinner, they were not about to get involved. He would be on his own in a few years anyway, the sisters reasoned. Better he began to learn the world now. And secretly, he remained the favorite of all in the order. Chapter 5: Raw Weight Gym Once upon a time, retired pro bodybuilder Miles Donovan might have qualified as one of The Nineteen. But at 55 years of age, with almost 40 years spent in the ranks of competitive bodybuilding, Miles had seen too much the world of competitive muscle up close and personal for way too long. He was done with the competitive end of the iron game. Handsome, cleft-chinned, grey-haired and grizzled with an ever-present two-day growth of beard, and sporting the powerfully thick musculature of a superheavyweight competitor, Miles was still a national phenomenon. His big, hard body was graced with a half dozen fading 1970s-era tattoos, and at 255 pounds, the man proudly boasted the rocky 34-inch waist of a 20-year old. His veined, iron super-abs still served as impressive midsection body armor, his hard pecs still loomed with impressive cuts, and his oversized nipples still sported the brass nipple rings he’d first put on when he hung up his posing trunks for the last time, 15 years before. Better still, Miles had long since stopped shaving his body, and his hardcore daddy physique was lined with a matting of soft black body hair. Miles was stronger than all of the men at his gym, effortlessly curling 225 pounds, squatting 600 and benching 500. His bodyfat index never got much higher than 3%. No, he’d never stop lifting, never stop training as if the contest of his life was just next week. But Miles knew all about the favoritism of the judges and alpha-male insecurities of most other pro bodybuilders. He had been through the health problems, the staggering personal toll taken on most competitive bodybuilders with their litanies of failed relationships, bad business decisions, drugs and violence. A survivor of three scorched-earth divorces, Miles had long since turned his back on blissful domesticity. Now, it was all about his gym – and the private sex games his muscles could still inspire. Always a hustler, Miles had a different magic formula for his survival in the world of muscle. Why not let the muscle fans work for him, he reasoned to himself. Miles was all too familiar with the viciousness of the confidence-challenged muscle worshippers, whose mean-spirited online backstabbing masked profound, unfixable fears, physical inferiority, and personal emotional agonies. He’d seen too many talented, hapless, dog-dumb young musclemen, eager for fame and recognition in the world of competitive muscle, get their hopes and dreams dashed on the rocks of life, their fine physiques spiraling into decay as the years of being used and abused caught up with them and the despair of association with the seedier elements of bodybuilding began to take its inexorable toll. Not for him this downward spiral. And he had no inclination of spending his retirement years in a lab complex headed up by his crazy old friend, Dr. Ira Zaftig, inspiring muscle project or not. After all, he could still get the better any man on the workout floor or take him down in the free-for-all boxing ring; he was known to have a mighty punch. And below the belt he was nicely endowed with a 9-inch penis that liked to come out to play often, for he was well known to particularly enjoy the discreet worship of his teen members. There wasn’t much Miles liked better than when a handsome 18-year old muscletwink pulled down the man’s outward poling sweatpants and enveloped his always-tumescent, thick member between pouty teenage lips. Miles’ Gym, Raw Weight, was cavernous. It sprawled over three floors in a large former warehouse located at the end of an alley in downtown San Jose. Plate glass windows on floors one and two showed lines of cardio machines and stacks of weights. Raw Weight was his baby. He’d carved it out of the world and made it all his own. He had bought the building for a song 20 years before, in 1997, where it had stood, a nearly forgotten emblem to bodybuilding history for nearly 40 years. In it, some of the greats of bodybuilding had once trained at the beginning of their careers. Most had long since retired or moved on to the slick strip mall gym chains that had cropped up across the country since the early 1980s, which now catered to the legends and the weekend bodybuilding hopefuls alike. The steroided goons that had dominated the competition stages for more than three decades may have created their own little scattered fiefdoms, but all the same most who had survived returned (quietly) once or twice a year to the rarefied muscle environment that was Raw Weight Gym. For the first few years he was in business, Miles was always barely one step away from creditors, foreclosure, IRS audits. Then one afternoon, while grimly watching an annoying old gym rat hitting on an unresponsive 22-year old Mexican muscleboy, he hit on a marketing strategy that was, for inner sanctum muscle lovers, just about flawless. All were welcome at Miles’ gym – at least on the first two floors. There, at all hours of the day and night were the teens, the rock-solid gay guys, the strapping young executives, the boxers and the runners and the middle-aged and the muscle wannabes and the flabby former high school athletes and even the merely curious. The vast gym floor clanged with the sound of weights and the whirring of the treadmills, and the house music echoed resoundingly throughout its depths. The showers were always hot, the equipment was dust-free, the machines were new and shiny and well tended, and the floor mats were scrubbed and clean. From a clerestory row at the height of the 16-foot walls large, lines of faded color posters of the bodybuilding legends of the 20th and 21st centuries promised the results of years of muscle-building dedication and discipline. Few lifters on these two floors could ever hope to achieve anything like the muscle density and mass of the gods that beamed down upon them with smug superiority, but spirits were undaunted, and the air was charged with the serious endeavors of those who trained beneath the glare of the merciless fluorescent lights. And then there was the 3rd floor. It was an exclusive and private membership-only club, and it was Miles’ own world of muscle, where he was the unchallenged director and Chairman of the Board. Miles Donovan A passkey, only issued by Miles personally, was available to a very few elite members. The 3rd floor was resolutely men-only. It too was clean and scrubbed, but it was quiet, music-less, and unadorned by the posters of proudly flexing past contest winners. No more than five men trained there at any given time. There was a private entrance through an unmarked door on the street level with an elevator that went directly to 3, so the passkey members didn’t have to be bothered by the stares and curiosity of the comparative plebes found on floors 1 and 2. The rules were clear. The Men of 3, as Miles called them, were required to train, at least during business hours, in tight posing trunks. After hours, they could train naked if they chose. They were even allowed to bring in occasional training partners and visitors of their own choosing, as long as they either a) kept up with the grueling training, or, their non-training guests remained silent, respectful, discreet, observed the rules, remained dressed in a suitable sweatsuit and gym shoes, and paid appropriately. But that wasn’t all. Miles also admitted floor access to a few privately selected well-heeled subscribers. They paid dearly for the privilege. For a few thousand dollars a shot, the subscribing visitors were allowed to indulge in discreet muscle worship while the bodybuilders trained. The rules were clear here, as well. The full-time muscle members who were worshipped were required to train past their pain thresholds on a regular basis. Their progress was reported in weekly time sheets that listed current dimensions, gains, possible injuries, and reported income earned while on the floor. The money was 90% theirs to keep: Miles took the rest of his cut from the paying guests. As keys and membership could be revoked at any time, both musclemen and muscle worshippers were all conscientiously engaged in maintaining their good standing. The specs of the muscle members were clearly understood. All had to have superior muscular development for their weight – Miles did not discriminate in favor of age or the super-huge, and several of the men were either older or bantams. A few men were silver daddies well into their sixties, who looked as if they might have another decade of solid growth ahead of them. The only area where Miles had to lay down a firm law of size requirement was relative to penis length, girth, and weight. Only the well hung were admitted, and although it wasn’t spelled out per se in any charter, the Men of 3 all knew that any new member was unquestionably packing – and talented. Butt fucking was generally discouraged on the workout floor on 3, although there were no active rules against it. Butt fucking tended to be louder and distracting to the men at work, and besides, few had the inclination to offer their well-honed glutes for the pleasure of the visitors – at least, during training hours. What the men did after hours was, of course, their own business, but Miles suspected few wanted to be known as available butt buddies, and that alone kept actual fucking to a minimum. Butt worship, however, wasn’t uncommon, and once or twice a week some lucky guest might be spotted on his knees near the squat rack, his face pressed into the hardened musclebutt of a seasoned member, who might appear to a casual observer to be completely ignoring him. Once Miles was amused to see two muscle members deeply engaged in a serious conversation about quad training while, beneath them and on either side, two eager visitors had their faces deeply buried in their well-rounded glutes. The men were ignoring them. After all, they expected no less. Overall, the system worked surprisingly well. The ranks of the Men of 3 were few, but well chosen. It was also an urban legend to the scores of gay guys on 1 and 2 who might hope and dream, but did not yet have the money or tact to be considered for the occasional foray upstairs. Only the longtime muscle members themselves were allowed in the 3rd floor locker room and showers. The locker room, of course, was a different story, for there the naked musclemen were free to take their pleasure of one another as often as they liked, sucking cock, fucking butt, worshipping the muscles of their training partners, and even engaging in water sports, as long as they mopped up after themselves. Muscle members were not allowed to exchange favors with one another on the floor at any time during the gym’s open hours, but late at night after all visitors had departed for the day, muscle members could train naked if they liked, or in leather, or thongs, or wearing masks – or whatever they preferred. Generally the newer members, once initiated, made use of the free-for-all spirit of after hours, finding other like-minded newbies overwhelmed with personal pride over the honor of having been accepted. However, all the men of 3 made frequent use of the locker room. It was strictly observed that at no time were water sports acceptable on the gym floor, but it wasn’t uncommon to see a smiling, exhausted, fulfilled muscle member pissing a powerful jet stream onto the face and pecs of another satisfied muscle member kneeling before him while they showered. Miles auditioned the men of the 3rd floor himself. He rarely sucked cock – he’d had enough of all that years before, although for a particularly gifted candidate he’d loosen up his own rules, if he happened to be in the mood. His test was far more cut and dried, and, in effect, far more exclusive, even to the point of cruelty. Applicants were subjected to a simple test: Miles would put a bodybuilder through an after-hours grueling workout, and stopping it short without warning just as the man appeared about to drop from pain and exhaustion, demand he immediately drop his shorts. Miles would then measure the flaccid penis, and if it passed the dimension test, take it in his tough, calloused palm and, with a stopwatch in hand, determine the time it took the man to get fully hard. Then, he would measure again to see the full erection length, and demand an ejaculation on the spot. Only one in ten men might make it, although the candidates who displayed promising size and ability, if not able to make the full distance on the first audition, were free to come back and try again whenever they felt up to it. If the men were big enough and hung enough, Miles didn’t mind testing and retesting. If not, no further audition was available, although Miles saw to it that the flunkees were treated with respect and discretion. After all, upon occasion, a hopeful 4F might gain access as a visitor, although he would not be allowed into the ranks of the talented muscle beneficiaries. Of course, he’d also have to pay for access privileges. And the muscle hopefuls, wannabes, worshippers, trainers, pros and future pros came from all over the world just to get a shot at membership at that 3rd floor exclusive aerie of muscle and muscle lovers. And years later, it would have the added notoriety of being the gym where the legendary muscle giant Casey Rockland got his start. -- To be continued --
  15. I am hoping there are other fans of the IFNB out there… It is, in my opinion, one of the best, consistent and intensely erotic muscle fiction series out there! I have been VERY in to the ongoing muscle fiction of the IFNB for a few years. It is a unique work, because it is not told like a traditional story but is told via "reports" from the world of the IFNB (International Federation of Naked Bodybuilding). Every post is coverage of a contest, backstage or personal profile of huge, hung, alpha-aggressive athletes. Over the course of the short posts, story lines and themes emerge and it becomes VERY hot. The creator(s?) clearly know the real world of competitive bodybuilding yet also have broad-ranging imaginations. Everything from vanilla muscle worship to hardcore gang rape and everything in between! Old-young, coach-jock, hetero and homo, extreme sex and basic showing off . . . it all seems to happen in this world. The cool part is that they acknowledge in clever ways how this has been going on in real life and why none of us are familiar. They are tethered to real life (even if the muscle growth stuff is sometimes pure science fiction), so it makes it hotter. I also like how they RESPOND TO OUR COMMENTS and the storyline follows the fans' interests. The hot discussions and sub-fantasies that emerge are sometimes as hot as the posts themselves. I really get into chatting IFNB with other fans, so thought I'd post here and see who else loves these stories?
  16. This has been a long time coming, but I finally got to writing this part. Sorry for the delay, but I'm hoping this makes up for it. Hope you guys enjoy it, and as always, I love having comments so feel free. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 8 Football tryouts a few days later weren't as dramatic as wrestling tryouts. Kurt didn't go into those tryouts with the huge advantage that he had in wrestling, but he was still really excited to try out. There were a lot more kids trying out for football, but Kurt still made an impact. From the time he stepped on the field, he pushed himself hard to earn a spot on the team. The coach wanted to try the people who have never played before out at different positions. When he got to Kurt, judging by his size, he wanted to see how he did as a kicker and as a wide receiver. Kurt, much to his chagrin, wasn't great at kicking the ball, but he demonstrated great speed and the ability to catch the ball. The coaches explained to him a few simple routes to run, and Kurt caught on pretty quickly. They were impressed and put him on the team as a receiver. Kurt gladly accepted the spot, but told the coaches that he planned on getting a lot bigger over the years. They simply nodded and said they'd cross those bridges when they got to 'em. Unbeknownst to Kurt, Tyler was assigned the cornerback position. It wasn't until they were lined up across from each other at the end of practice that they saw each other. It had been a few days since their locker room encounter, but when their eyes met, Kurt could see a flash of dread cross Tyler's face. Kurt simply smirked back and took his position. Kurt didn't completely blow Tyler out of the water, but using his superior speed and reflexes, he did outperform Tyler on several plays. Then, near the end of tryouts, he made sure to run by Tyler and say, “I'm only going to get bigger and faster.” Angus and Kurt moved their workouts to the morning, allowing his evenings to be filled with football and wrestling practice, homework and gym work. The morning workouts tended to be even harder than his evening ones, partly because of him putting his morning sexual tension into his lifting, but mostly because of his constant drive to become better. His freshman year was interesting because he was in a new school, but wasn't concerned about making an impression on his fellow students. The only thing that mattered to him was keeping his grades up and working on his teams. But that ended up changing one day. He was walking through the halls, en route to one of his classes after stopping by his locker. He was busy wiping his mouth after chugging his green drink when he saw books flying across the floor. He quickly rounded the corner expecting to help someone up from tripping, but what he saw made him switch from sympathy to a blinding rage. A little down the hall he saw a kid around his age splayed on the floor, his books lying around. But what enraged him was the fact that Tyler was standing above him, laughing and pointing. Kurt balled his fists as his eyes narrowed at the sight and he approached Tyler menacingly. Tyler looked up just in time to see Kurt grab him by his shirt and lift him a few inches off the ground. Holding him in the air with his right arm, he turned and slammed him into the lockers. As the sound of Tyler's 200 lb body resonated through the hall, Kurt looked at the kid and said, “Are you alright?” The kid nodded before he started to scramble around for his books. Turning his attention back to Tyler, he growled. Tyler, still in shock, did nothing but look down at the arm that held him aloft. He could see the criss-cross network of veins that covered it, snaking upward to the ball of muscle in the arm. He saw Kurt's heaving chest pressing angrily against his black Underarmor shirt and the thick tree trunk legs that stood firm as Tyler wiggled in his grasp. “Dude,” Tyler grunted. Kurt lowered Tyler to the point where they could see eye to eye. Over the last few months, Tyler had continued to grow, but Kurt was growing much faster. He stared Tyler in the eyes, noting how they were the same height now, and growled, “What. The. Fuck.” Tyler meekly replied, “Dude,” before Kurt slammed him into the lockers again. Kurt leaned in and said, “You fuck. Your old punching bag went and got a little bigger, so instead of taking on someone that has a chance to fight back, you go and find someone that has no chance, huh? You fucking fuck! If you wanna fucking bully someone, come after me you fucking coward. But I swear to everything that is good and right in this world, if I even hear of you picking on someone else, I will hunt you down, drag you outside and rip. You. Apart.” He slammed Tyler once more into the locker before tossing him dismissively on the floor. “Now get the fuck out of here before I really get pissed.” Tyler simply sat on the floor in shock before Kurt balled his fists tightly and growled at him. Seeing that, Tyler quickly scampered away. Kurt turned towards the kid. He simply stood there stunned with a pile of books in his hand, jaw wide open. Kurt walked to him and waved his hand in front of his face. The kid blinked a few before practically yelling, “That was awesome!” Kurt chuckled and said, “Are you ok?” “OK? Man, I'm better than OK! That was amazing! I've never seen anyone do that before. It was so awesome!” Kurt chuckled again and said, “Well that's good. You just let me know if you or anyone else has problems with him. Tyler's an ass.” Kurt looked at the kid thoughtfully before continuing, “You know what though, I used to be a lot smaller than you and he picked on me. Then I started hitting the gym real hard and Tyler stopped. Maybe if you hit the gym too, it might help. There's one called 'Angus' Gym' where the old Brooks' building was. Go see it and tell your friends about it. It did wonders for me.” The kid nodded vigorously at Kurt before he said, “OK, we better get to class before we're late. You take care and remember what I said.” He waved and continued on his way. Kurt smiled and thought to himself how good it felt to help others, but how much he hated Tyler was still up to the same shit. The next years flew by for Kurt. By the time he was a sophomore at wrestling camp, he had grown to 5'11” and 210 lbs of extremely lean muscle. He had been growing at a steady rate all year and worked hard to lean out for camp. It was also the first time that Kurt was both bigger and taller than Tyler. It wasn't by much, but their two bodies were like polar opposites of each other. Tyler was less than an inch shorter than Kurt and only 10 lbs lighter, but while Kurt was exceptionally lean, Tyler's physique was puffy and unrefined, more bulky than defined. Tyler also noticed the difference between the two of them, and although Tyler fought the feeling that resided deep in his mind the past year, seeing Kurt at the camp cemented the change in their relationship. It was then that Tyler finally came to terms that it would never be the same. All the work he did during the summer wasn't enough to catch up with Kurt. Kurt would keep growing and growing and he wouldn't be able to catch up. It was then that Tyler felt a knot of fear deep in the pit of his stomach. He then realized that if Kurt truly wanted to get revenge for the years of abuse, Tyler wouldn't be able to do much about it. Luckily for Tyler, Kurt had no interest in revenge. Ever since the day he confronted Tyler in the hall, Kurt had no reason to worry about Tyler. News of his threat towards Tyler, and by extension all the bullies, spread quickly, to the point where no one wanted to bully any of the geekier kids in fear of retaliation by the up and coming bodybuilder. Kurt's actions that day, combined with his advice that the smaller kids join Angus' gym had an impact that he would've never guessed. Over the year, dozens of high school aged children joined the gym, mostly inspired by Kurt's transformation. After their tryouts in their sophomore year, Tyler barely crossed Kurt's mind again. He was too busy in his new roll as co-captain of the wrestling team. Coach was so impressed by Kurt's work over the summer; his growth, conditioning, and increase in skill, that he made him a captain. While Tyler was practicing more with his fellow sophomores, Kurt was assigned with the juniors and seniors. Kurt didn't shy away from his new position though. In fact, he relished it. His position on the football team also changed. Coach saw how much bigger he was and how he still maintained his speed and moved him to the tight end position. He took the transition in stride, learning his new position, the plays that came with it and the interaction with the rest of his team, all the while focusing on getting even bigger and stronger. Which is what he and Angus did as the school years went on. Kurt continued to grow bigger and bigger with every week, and as he grew in size, he also grew in strength. And while he grew stronger, Angus revealed more and more of his strength, seeing as how Kurt could spot him better. Each workout saw Kurt lifting more and Angus' fatherly gaze looking on him in pride before he did his workout, shocking Kurt with how much he could lift. His junior year saw him grow to 6'4” and 240 lbs. His strength continued to grow by leaps and bounds, to the point where no one at practice could successfully take him on the mats, or in his new roll as a dominant running back. It was that year that he became a captain on the football team as both the football team and wrestling team went and won the state championships. His ripped physique and uncanny strength became a mainstay of the school. News organizations from the bigger cities started to come to town to try and get interviews with this kid phenom and colleges who were following his progress with great interest started to make offers to him. It was also that year that he started to see how strong Angus really was. In their summer workouts, Kurt was benching close to 500 lbs and squatting 800 lbs. Angus had weighed himself at 320 lbs and he was starting to lift heavy again. Kurt was shocked when Angus first loaded 700 lbs on the bench press as a warm up. Angus chuckled when he saw Kurt's face and said, “Aye laddie, it's time for me to be working out for real again.” Kurt's face lit up as he knew that he hit a milestone. The favor then popped into his mind and he asked Angus if he was ready, but Angus responded, “I'll tell ye after ye graduate next year.” Kurt was slightly dejected, but he knew Angus knew best. Kurt grew to 6'7” and 285 lbs during his senior year. He could have grown more in his opinion, but that would've put him over the limit for the heavyweight class. But not having that extra strength and size didn't impact him negatively. He went undefeated his entire season, and even broke a state record by not giving up a single point. His wrestling performance was closely matched by his football performance, where he broke the state running and scoring records. Throughout the year, he was pressed from several sides by pro and college teams to join, but he had his mind already set on going to State College and wrestling under Coach Washington and playing for their football team. Several pro teams offered him extraordinary amounts of money, but he told them that it was more important for him to get his college degree than play professional football. But that wasn't the best thing that happened to him in Kurt's opinion. The best thing that happened was the day that Tyler came up to him after practice and humbly asked for some workout tips. Kurt could see the trepidation in Tyler's face, but even with their history, he felt no malice, anger or spite towards the smaller kid. He could only feel a small sense of accomplishment and a little bit of pity. As he towered over Kurt, he simply put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Remember a long time ago, I told you that you had to want to get huge. You have to want it more than anything. Once you find that drive, the rest will fall into place.” He felt Tyler relax a bit. Kurt smiled, thinking to himself how Tyler must have been so scared. But in Kurt's mind, that was all in the past and didn't matter any more. Near graduation, Kurt formally announced his intentions to attend State. He was shocked at how many people were at his school for his announcement, and even more surprised at how much it was ran on the local and state news. Many people questioned his choice to not go straight to the NFL, but his mother was exceptionally proud of his maturity, and Angus backed them and his decision. In fact, most days his mother and him went to Angus' house to avoid the mobs of reporters. Angus' fiery red beard and chest hair was the only thing most of the reporters saw when they tried to get interviews, and no one was going to get through the massive man. His mother's pride was overly evident when his graduation came. Kurt ended up being valedictorian of his class, not surprising anyone. At graduation, as he stood in front of his classmates and the assembly in his custom tailored cap and gown, he delivered his speech dedicated to his mother and the man who became more than a father to him, Angus. Tears flowed from his mother's eyes as she gripped Angus' arm and the big man had to brush a few tears away himself at the beauty of Kurt's words. After graduation, Kurt was shocked to find that waiting for him was a brand new full sized truck. Angus and his mother went in together to buy a man sized truck for their huge boy as a combination 18th birthday and graduation present. He was so excited that he nearly tossed his mother in the air out of joy and ran around to his teammates and classmates bragging about how his mom and “dad” bought him a truck. Angus eventually calmed him down and pulled him aside. “Ok laddie, I know yer excited to go and have some fun, but remember ye still got ta work out tomarra. Just 'cause yer done with school doesn't mean yer done with me,” he said with a chuckle. Kurt replied, “Oh don't worry big man. The last thing I'm going to do is stop working out. I'll be there bright and early at the same time. Just going to hang out with the guys tonight for a little, then it's back to normal summer workouts.” Angus looked around before pulling Kurt in for a hug. Kurt smiled and melted into the massive bear hug as Angus whispered, “Keep Friday night open laddie. I think it's time fer ye to know what the favor is.” Kurt burst into a wide grin as Angus let him go. “Ok ye crazy lad, go off and have yerself a good night!” Kurt waved and turned to head to his friends, all the while beaming on the inside in anticipation of the weekend. Friday couldn't come quick enough for the young muscleman. He didn't have much on his schedule now that school was over. He did his workouts with Angus as normal, but Angus wouldn't hear of him working the locker rooms for the first few days after graduation. He needed to, as Angus said, take a few days to let it all hang out at the pool. So, he spent the afternoons at the pool, but his mind kept anticipating what was going to happen Friday. He swam, did push-ups, anything he could to try and keep his mind off of it. He was sometimes distracted by the girls and guys who wanted to see or touch him as he hung around the pool in his custom fit speedos. Kurt was used to the random attention he got and the interacting with people helped him pass the time. Finally, Friday had arrived and the first thing he asked when he got to the gym that morning was what the favor was. Angus simply chuckled and told him, “Not quite yet laddie. But what I do want ye to do is be here around midnight.” Kurt tried to get some more information out of him, but Angus simply rebuffed every attempt with a coy smile and a chuckle saying, “No laddie, yer gunna haffa wait till then.” Kurt arrived at the gym around ten minutes before midnight. To his surprise, he wasn't the only one there. Along with Angus' big truck, he saw a dozen other cars along with Coach Washington's vehicle. Kurt didn't know what was going on, but he guessed that it was a party for him. He smiled and got out the truck as Angus walked up. Once Kurt was out of his truck, he could see the big man in the dim glow of the moon. Immediately, his cock started to harden in his jean shorts. Before him was the big man, clad in a black singlet with gold trim. Kurt had never seen Angus wear anything like that before, but he knew that vision would be burned in his memory for a while. The straps barely held over his immense shoulders and thick pecs. Tufts of red hair sprouted from every opening and one could see how tightly it hugged his midsection and the defined bricks that were his abdominals. As he looked lower, he could see the bulging package of meat that Angus had and the whole picture was capped off by the massive thighs that were barely contained by the Lycra. Angus walled up and grabbed Kurt in another huge bear hug and said, “Yer a bit early laddie.” Kurt chuckled and said, “Well, I couldn't wait to see what the surprise was. I see Coach Washington is here. Is it a party for me?” Angus laughed and said, “Good guess there laddie, but no. There's no party. You'll see though.” Kurt cocked his head sideways as Angus led him towards the gym. They walked in and Kurt noticed that all the lights were off except some in the very back of the gym where the wrestling classes were held. Angus slowly walked to the room with Kurt in tow and when they turned the corner, Kurt's jaw hit the floor. In the room he saw fifteen guys, all in various types of singlets. He recognized Coach Washington, one of his former wrestlers, and four other guys that frequented the gym the past few years. But that's not what surprised him the most. The surprising things were the fact that some of the guys were wearing assless singlets, some had singlets on that had nothing covering their hard cocks, and finally, the fact that one guy was on the mat being fucked by another guy. Angus put his arm around Kurt and pulled him a bit into the room, “I couldn't share this with ye until yer were eighteen, so I figured this would be a good surprise for ya,” he said to Kurt. Then he turned to the room and bellowed, “'Ey you guys, look who's here. Remember though, he's off limits for tonight.” The activities in the room stopped for a moment as everyone yelled hello at Kurt. Kurt waved, still in shock as the youngest person in the room came over to them and held out his hand. “Hey Kurt, glad to see you're finally here,” he said as they shook. Kurt replied, “Hey Matt, it's good to see you. Granted, I don't know what's going on yet, but I have to admit I'm surprised as hell.” Matt chuckled and said, “Don't worry, I'll tell ya the rules of the Zangief club.” Kurt cocked his head to the side as Angus was called away and said, “Zangief club?” Matt smiled and said, “Yeah. You know Zangief from the street fighter games?” Kurt nodded as Matt continued, “Well, to train, he wrestled bears. That's what we do down here every other week. We wrestle 'bears'. But instead of grizzlies, our bears are beefy gay men, called bears and cubs.” Kurt chuckled, “Ok, but that doesn't look like sanctioned wrestling to me.” He pointed to the pair on the floor. The two were going at it, the top pumping away hard as the bottom moaned in pleasure. Matt laughed and said, “Yeah, that's one of the rules. The winner has the right to dominate the loser in whatever way they want. Usually, the loser has to suck the winner's cock or get fucked. Don't worry, it's all safe and no one here does anything they don't want to do. It's actually a lot of fun. It's....primal. A lot of these guys wrestled in their day, and they got really horny when they wrestled with other guys, but you couldn't do anything about it, ya know?” Kurt nodded his head as Matt continued, “I know it was the same for me. Wrestling against someone just as big and strong as you, then beating them gave me such a rush, I usually had to jack off later thinking about it. Coach Washington guessed that, so after I graduated, Angus let me join. The gang is up to about 30-40 guys.” Kurt leaned against the wall as the pair finished up. “Ok, who's up next?” Coach Washington said. One of the guys Kurt didn't know stepped up and said, “I'm up and I'm challenging Angus.” The gang chuckled a bit as Angus disengaged from his conversation. Matt turned to Kurt and said, “Basically, you can challenge anyone you want. Then you go at it until one person submits, then whatever the dominate wants, goes. We usually have ten to twenty matches a night, every other week.” Kurt's eyes were fixated on the match before him. The guy who challenged Angus was at most two years older than Matt, but was giving up at least a foot in height and what Kurt guess was around 100-150 lbs. As Angus approached the mat, he asked the smaller man, “Aye there, you sure you wanna take me on?” He nodded vigorously and Angus said as he took up a wrestling stance, “Ok then, ready whenever you are.” Matt whispered to Kurt, “I haven't seen Angus refuse a challenge ever. Granted, I have only been in the club for two years, but I've heard that Angus has been leading this for over ten years. And people challenge him a lot, but he's never lost.” Kurt nodded his head and someone said “Fight”. The smaller man quickly rushed Angus and got around behind him. Kurt cocked his head to the side as he saw a small smirk form on the big man's face. Angus' opponent quickly hopped on his back and went to wrap his arm around Angus' bull-like neck into a mock sleeper hold. Angus simply stood there motionless as the smaller man tried to get a good lock on him and tried to use his weight to bring Angus down to the mat. Kurt smiled when he realized what Angus was doing. And it took his opponent a few moments to realize how ineffective he was being. But he continued to try and get a good hold on Angus as he stood there. Then, after a couple of minutes of the man trying to bring Angus down, Angus said, “Are ye done yet?” The guy on his back growled and said “Fuck you!” Angus chuckled and said, “Not today laddie.” He reached up and behind him, his arms bulging as he got a hold of the guy trying to latch on. He then lifted him off of his back and over his head. Then, he positioned him into an overhead press and did twenty reps with the lighter man as he wiggled in defiance. Then abruptly, he tossed him to the ground and sat on his chest, knees on his shoulders and placed his enormous bulge right on top of his mouth. “Now submit to me,” Angus playfully growled. Angus' opponent grunted a no as he tried his best to wiggle out from under Angus, but made no progress. Angus simply laughed as he reached behind him to rub the younger man's bulge. Kurt could see from where he was standing how as his struggles slowed down, the bulge in his singlet started to swell, and how Angus' huge bulge was starting to strain against his. Finally, the guy stuck his tongue out and gave the Lycra encased cock a gentle lick and said, “Ok, I give.” Angus chuckled and stood up before reaching down and picking up the smaller man. He then said, “Ok there man, you can suck this meat for a while.” Angus went to the corner of the room with the defeated man in tow and pulled out his swelling cock. Kurt could see the surprise the smaller guy's eyes as he saw the thirteen inch tube of Angus' thick cock in full display. Angus put his hand on top of the guy's head as he led him to his knees, “Don't try to take it all there mate, just give it a good working over.” A few more matches happened, but they didn't have Kurt's attention. Kurt was overly enthralled by the interactions Angus was having with everyone. The loser was on his knees focusing heavily on the massive cock before him, trying his best to savor the thirteen inches of beef in front of him. Angus would occasionally give him an instruction or two, but most of his time was spent watching the matches or chatting with the other guys around the room. This all amazed Kurt. He was still a virgin himself, but the unbridled sexuality of the entire situation was getting to him. All around here were men that were just as much into wrestling as he was. Some were as big as him, some were smaller, but they all had a love of the primal essence that encompassed the game of domination that was wrestling. He could feel his hand going lower, slowly stroking himself through his pants as pairs of people around the edge of the room engaged in their various acts of dominance and submission. Kurt enjoyed himself openly as Matt stood next to him doing the same. Then, one of the guys that hadn't wrestled the entire time stepped forward and said, “Ok Angus, I'm taking you down.” Kurt looked at the guy and noticed that he was a pretty hefty man. He stood around 6' tall and was pretty beefy. He wasn't as huge as Kurt or Angus, but he could tell that the man was pretty solid and probably strong. Kurt found himself getting a bit harder; this man would probably give Angus a challenge. Kurt didn't understand why that excited him, but he was anxious to see the match. Angus gently pushed his submissive off of his cock and looked at the guy currently on the mat. “So, ye think ye can take me down this time, eh Joe?” Angus walked over to the mat, his hard, wet cock bobbing back and forth as he approached. Joe crouched into his stance and growled, “Fuck yeah, I do.” The two men locked up and he continued, “You may be undefeated all these years, but I'm going to take you down, make you submit, then take that cherry for my own.” The two moved around as they clashed, both jockeying for position. The dance went on for a few minutes, but Kurt noticed that Angus wasn't trying as hard as Joe was. His suspicions were verified when Angus lowly said, “Nay Joe, here's what'll be happening. I'm going to slam ye to the ground and pin you on your stomach. Then, I'm going to slide this thick beef stick 'ere along your ass while you struggle. Then, after you realize you've lost and I've won, I'm going to take this ol' pipe here, and line it right up to that hole of yours. And after you feel this swollen head poke right at your rosebud, I'm going to bite down on your ear right as I shove this hard cock in you and you're going to moan so loud that everyone will know how it feels to be stuff with Angus cock.” Kurt saw the effect of Angus' words. As he spoke, he could see Joe's eyes glaze over by Angus' steamy talk. Angus' descriptions were too hot for Joe to resist, and right when Angus finished, Joe's eyes rolled back and he gasped out loud. Angus smirked and took advantage of Joe's loss of focus. With a speed that surprised Kurt, Angus quickly whipped himself around Joe. Then, in one smooth motion, he grabbed Joe in a full nelson hold and lifted him up. Then with one twist, he slammed the smaller man into the mat and applied his larger bulk to his back and locked in the hold tightly. Joe was jarred for a moment, but quickly started to struggle to escape. But Kurt knew immediately that there was no chance that he was escaping. He knew Angus was a lot stronger than most people realized, and the man that could easily bench almost 900 lbs and curled the 150 lbs dumbbells as a warm up had a perfect full nelson locked in. Kurt even wondered to himself if he was in that hold, would he be able to escape. Joe writhed in anger and fury, trying his best to escape Angus' grasp. He wiggled back and forth, trying to move in any direction, but it seemed futile. Angus leaned towards the smaller man's ear and growled, “Submit.” When Joe responded by increasing his struggles, Angus chuckled and said, “That's it, give me all you got. I want you to know completely that I've dominated you. That there was nothing more you could do to escape my strength. And know body and soul that your ass belongs to me.” Angus then turned his head to the guy that was sucking him off earlier and said, “Steve. Move his singlet over so my cock can get in there.” Steve immediately jumped up and did as he was told, all the while Joe was wiggling as much as he could. Kurt felt a little sorry for Joe. He could see him struggling as hard as he could, but the mountain of muscle on top of him barely moved despite his efforts. And Kurt could see that even though he was protesting it, Joe was getting hard from all Angus' talk. Kurt couldn't blame him either. He was painfully hard himself. And judging by the other men in the room, Angus' words had more than a small effect on everyone else. After Steve exposed Joe's ass, Angus slowly slipped his throbbing tool into the trench and slid it up and down as Joe struggled. There were guys openly masturbating as this was going on, and soon Joe's struggles slowed down as he tired himself out. Angus simply smiled and tightened his hold on Joe before leaning in and growling, “That's it, you've finally realized it. Now say it.” Joe grunted one last time in defiance as Angus tightened his hold. Then he completely relaxed and said, “I give up.” Angus smiled and said, “That's a good boy, now get ready.” Angus lifted his hips up, not breaking the hold and aimed his cock head right at Joe's hole. He rubbed the head around in a circular motion and cooed into his ear as Joe relaxed, preparing himself for the entry of Angus' thick tool. Then suddenly, Angus bit down on his earlobe and thrust into Joe. If anyone else were in the gym, they would've heard Joe's deafening moans of pleasure as he was penetrated by the huge man and his thick cock. The look of pain and pleasure were so vivid on Joe's face that a few of the guys around came from the first powerful thrust. Angus didn't shove the entirety of his cock into Joe, but it didn't take long before he was moaning for more. Angus gladly complied and started to fuck him in earnest. Kurt didn't want to whip his cock out and start jerking with the others, but watching Angus forcefully and expertly fuck Joe was breathtaking. He could feel himself becoming breathless and he could tell that Matt standing next to him was feeling the same way. Everyone in the room focused their attention to the show that was playing on the mats in front of them. Even the submissives that had lost earlier slowed down their work to enjoy Angus' expertise. They watched for over twenty minutes as Angus fucked more and more of his cock into Joe. Finally, Angus was deep thrusting his entire member into Joe and it didn't take love before Joe yelled out in ecstasy as his orgasm overtook him. Shot after shot of cum came from Joe's cock as Angus continued to pump away in him. He moaned in delight as his prostate continued to be pummeled by Angus' fat cock. Then when Joe had finished cumming, Angus stopped. He slowly stood up, his red cock bouncing up and down, and went to the corner to grab a towel. He wiped the beads of sweat that shone against his skin before cleaning his cock and stuffed it back into his singlet. “Ok lads, that's enough for me tonight. I gotta get this laddie out of here and get ready fer tomrra. Ye guys can clean up and lock up when yer done.” He then walked over to Kurt and said, “Ok laddie, let's go. I haffa talk to ye before ye head home.” Kurt nodded, turned to Matt and said, “Ok man, take care.” Matt smiled and waved. “I hope to see you again. Hopefully really soon.” He winked and Kurt grinned. Kurt smiled back as the two of them left the room. When Angus and Kurt got to the front of the gym, Angus stopped Kurt and said, “So laddie, what did ye think of the surprise?” Kurt laughed and said, “What did I think? I'm hard as a fucking rock, about to explode from what I saw. I LOVED IT! I mean, I never even began to think of a group like that, but the thought of wrestling and domination like that makes me so hard right now. It was great! I really wanna join the next time you do it. You'll let me join right?” Kurt practically bounced with excitement as Angus chuckled. “I'm glad to hear that me boyyo. I can tell ye what I want my favor ta be now. I know you will do everything possible to fulfill my wish, am I right, laddie?” Kurt nodded vigorously and was close to exploding with anticipation as Angus looked him square in the eyes. Angus lowered his voice and placed his beefy hand on the younger man's shoulder. “I want ye to beat me.”
  17. ‘Why are you calling me so late dad? I have to get up in a couple of hours to go workout. This is fucking bullshit.’ ‘You can’t talk to me like that Dale. I helped make you and I can talk to you any damn time of day I want. Besides you don’t want to get really upset now do you? You know what happens when you do.’ ‘I’m not that upset Keith. Seriously though, could this not wait until later today.’ ‘No, I want you to get back with your last boyfriend. He was a great influence on you and quite easy on the eyes too. He is the reason why you got into lifting in the first place. I’m sure he enjoyed it when your stronger half came out.’ Dale shrugs as he listens to his father talk to him. Then he rolls his eyes a few times. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Glenn had no idea about my other personality. He only knew me and loved me. You just want me to be that other guy because he is more sociable. I’m not getting back with him so you can stop talking now.’ Dale slams the phone down on the ground as he goes into the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and stares at his slim body. While he is in shape, he is in no way a huge guy. In many ways, he is a nerdy jock that occasionally wears glasses just for the heck of it because they make him feel comfortable. His dark colored hair and green eyes pretty much make him look no different than any other guy. His relationship with his ex, Glenn, is still pretty strong since they still talk quite often. His dad Keith grew fond of Glenn when they were dating. Dale’s dislike for his father grew only recently because he always tries to intrude on his life mainly because he wants his son to fulfill his destiny and let his inner beast come out. The small man has in fact let him out a couple of times before and even felt some of his other half’s emotions. Whenever these instances come about, he always wakes up in a strange place and even feels a little violated. He knows this other part of him goes by the name of Dallas because he has found pieces of paper in his favorite jacket with that name on them. After getting back into bed, Dale sleeps for a brief time before he gets up to go to the gym. He picks his phone up off the floor and slides it into his gym shorts. When he goes out to his car, he is greeted by one of his neighbors. ‘Hey there Dale, you are up extra early this morning aren’t you?’ Despite sighing a little, he answers the man. ‘Hi Bryan, yeah this is my back day, I need to get moving so I don’t miss my meeting later today.’ ‘Ohh alright, maybe we can talk later when you are not so pressed for time.’ ‘Goodbye Bryan.’ Dale’s neighbor is a beefy guy. He used to play football and only a few years ago had to stop because of his concussions. He has shown a real interest in Dale recently which he has noticed. As he gets into his car, he remembers that his brother Drew is supposed to meet him at the gym today. He quickly dials him up before he drives out of his driveway to see if he is on his way. ‘Hey Drew, are you coming down today?’ His brother answers enthusiastically. ‘Yeah dude, are you ready to get pumped up lol?’ Dale says with some reservation, ‘I suppose so, as much as I can.’ Drew tries to reassure him. ‘We all have to start somewhere Dale. You will get bigger in no time trust me.’ His brother Drew though has no idea that he is not normal. Somehow Drew avoided the shifts, but he did inherit the genetics. He grew at a very early age and was quite muscular by the time he entered high school. Before he was 17, he became a personal trainer and started his own training service right out of his own apartment. At this point, he was living on his own because he also didn’t like the way his dad was treating him. He tried to get Dale out of their dad’s custody, but failed several times, but he was always able to keep up with him. Keith finds Drew too boring to even bother with so they don’t talk at all. Dale loves his older brother quite a bit, but wants to keep his secret hidden. ‘I’ll be there in a little bit bro, I have to make a stop and then I will be ready to get pumped for sure.’ ‘Alright, I may get a few sets in then while I wait. I will talk to you soon Dale, goodbye little bro.’ They end their conversation as Dale starts up his vehicle and pulls out of his driveway. He gets another call on his Bluetooth not long after his chat with Drew. It is his dad Keith again but he tries to avoid answering. After several minutes of his dad dialing him he finally pushes the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel and his dad immediately starts talking to him. ‘You can try to ignore it all you want Dale, but you know that he will come out again soon. Oh and I think I have decided to try and pursue Glenn since you are ‘over’ him. What do you think about that?’ Dale stops the car at an intersection in the middle of the city and grips the steering wheel. His skin turns beet red as he begins to fume. His dad can hear him grumbling to himself as he continues to speak. ‘Ah ah now now boy, you don’t want to get really upset now do you? You never know what might happen as you grovel. I think that Glenn is a very sexy man that deserves to have someone service him the way he should be serviced. Maybe I will even show him my good side.’ Dale’s breathing increases as he attempts to compose himself, but not before he warns Keith. ‘You stay the fuck away from him Keith, DO YOU HEAR ME? Ahhh shit…..(feels pain moving throughout his body)…..what the fuck…..gawd…..(breathes heavier)……must calm…..down…..(feels it slowly dissipate)…..uhhh’ Keith laughs hysterically listening to Dale wince as he struggles to control his anger. ‘HA! You almost lost it there didn’t you? I don’t think I have ever changed because of anger myself, but with you who knows. That gift of yours could be very special Dale. You should embrace it fully.’ ‘I don’t want this ability. You know this and yet you keep trying to push me over the edge.’ Keith laughs again. ‘Ohh son, I know how to make you lose it trust me.’ Dale calms down slightly before uttering, ‘I’m hanging up on you now asshole.’ Keith answers sarcastically. ‘HA, fine boy. Just know this though, I will get Glenn, wine him and dine him, and then there won’t be anything you can do about it.’ Dale hangs up and feels his blood pressure building again. This time though there doesn’t seem to be anything stopping him from losing control. He feels his pulse racing as the sweat pours down his thin chest. ‘ACK SHIT! (feels something stirring inside him) GAWD NO…..NOT NOW NOT HERE…..FUCK WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN……(feels his body tense)……TO ME……(he can hear popping sounds)……DAMNIT…..’ Dale’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that he breaks it as his hands start growing. The knuckles and fingers expand as a thick forest of hair begins to sprout up his forearms. ‘OH FUCK…..(intense popping and stretching sounds)…..I don’t think this is Dallas……(arms swelling)……it doesn’t (stretch)……quite AHH……feel the…..(seam pop)……same?’ Dale’s small arms begin to stretch bigger and wider as the muscles shred his t-shirt sleeves. He turns his head to see both biceps thicken to twice their size. The pain is so extreme they feel numb. ‘AHHHH…..(more pops)…..OH GAWD IT IS MOVING ALL THROUGH ME…..(crack)…..FUCK MY BACK…..(stretch)…..(voice changes)……SHIT…..HUH?.....OH SHIT…..’ Dale’s shirt strains before it shreds on both sides as his back grows rapidly making his seat creak. His seat belt snaps against his emerging shoulders and traps. He can feel himself rising in his seat now as his head begins to shift its position on his body. ‘UHHH…..(pop)…..my mind is getting fuzzy…..(unconscious)…..(reawakens)…..FUCK YEAH……(stretch)…..I FEEL FUCKING AMAZING!’ Dale’s personality disappears inside his growing body as his face begins to slightly change its appearance. His thin face thickens up as his facial hair begins to cover it with a nicely formed beard. His eyes change to a brownish hazel color as his hair thins out. His head stretches pulling itself wider as the muscles swell. He growls as he reaches down to rip his shirt off exposing his growing pecs which have begun to blow up. The small pancake shaped muscles are filling out rapidly swelling up to form huge balloon shaped muscles. His nipples nearly disappear underneath as they point towards his quads. His pec shelf finally reaches his chin before it stops expanding. His neck pops a few times as the veins blow up to twice their size. His abs reform to resemble small floor tiles as his chest heaves up and down profusely. He laughs hysterically as he feels his quads swelling up and pushing their way forward into the dashboard. He can no longer fit into his car as his ass raises him up towards the windshield. Before he nearly goes through the glass, he pushes his car door open and falls out. His shorts cling to the top of his quads as he gets up but not before his cock peers out from the side. His jock from inside makes a snapping sound as his ass breaks free from it. It falls to the ground as the giant mounds of muscle on his backside nearly rip the seams on the back of his shorts completely open. As cars honk all around him to get out of the way, he runs for the other side of the street while holding his ass in his ripped shorts. He smiles a bit as goes rushing down the sidewalk towards the gym. By the time he finally arrives there, he is dripping with sweat and a bit gassed from the trip. He goes inside and is met by the male receptionist standing at the front desk. They look quite surprised at the huge man standing in front of them. ‘WOW! Hello man. I don’t recall ever seeing you here before. Are you sure you have come to the right place? *looks over the desk and sees him holding his shorts while his arms flexes* And it also appears that your shorts are not the right size for you.’ The behemoth looks down and laughs a bit. ‘OH YEAH, you’re right. I keep forgetting that I have grown quite a bit since the last time I wore these. The damn things ripped on me in the back and now I have to hold my cheeks in. Actually, this is the right gym, I just haven’t been here for a few days.’ The receptionist seems a bit confused. ‘Uhhh I don’t recognize you at all. You are probably the biggest guy I have seen walk in here in probably uhh ever. What is your name so I can look it up on the logs?’ The hulk pauses for a few moments and then speaks. ‘Heh, it’s Dalton actually. Dalton Brennan. I will need another pair of shorts if you don’t mind showing me where they are.’ The receptionist doesn’t waste another second and motions for him to follow. ‘Okay follow me big man and I will get you another pair.’ Dalton winks back at him and trails close behind as other men in the gym start muttering to each other.
  18. Monster Maker Part 1 I should have stopped but the kid responded so well to the juice, did whatever I told him, and was so damn cute. But no, I just had to see what I could do to him if I bumped up the injections and the gym candy, bumped them up to the next level, and then the next level, and then... all that crazy experimental shit. When it became real noticeable, how he was growing, every muscle-addicted fuck in the gym came to me and wanted me to coach them. When he "came out of nowhere" and won his very first contest and scored a pro card at the same time, every pro level meathead began contacting me, harassing me. All those freaks, with their attitudes and their raisin-sized balls, would do anything to win the Olympia, anything to win the Arnold. They wanted to get the magazine covers, get the supplement company sponsorships, get it all. The dudes without any money were willing to double mortgage their homes. Hell, they'd even sell their first-born if it was legal. There were rich guys who offered to fly me to Dubai and other "exotic" places, "just to talk." There were the straight guys, totally straight guys I swear, willing to suck my cock and some would offer to let me butt fuck them, not just once, but butt fuck them on a regular basis. There were the two guys, already huge motherfuckers, who notoriously hated each other, who said they'd let me watch the two of them fuck each other and then have a three way with me. Shit, there was a guy who pulled a gun on me. But I told all of them: "No." See, I was going to make Bobby the freak to end all freaks, the contest decimator, the "Holy fuck!" of bodybuilding. I was going to be "the monster maker." That was the dream. Yeah, that was the goddamn fucking dream. **** I don't remember when they started photoshopping the big guys in the magazines, morphing them up just enough to be a little more monstrous than they are in real life. When they did that it really pushed the aspiration bar high. It upped the game for everyone: the little boys getting excited thumbing through the rags at the magazine stands; the guys pumping iron in their basements; the dudes walking into their first hardcore gym; the hungry amateur competitors; the newly minted professionals; and, especially, the seasoned, seen-it-all, pros. Yeah, all the losers and all the winners. Messing with the pics is unnecessary, ridiculous, and damn hot. Hell, the guys who have their bodies spread across the glossy pages of the thickest of the thick muscle magazine do double takes of themselves. The body on the page is always more pumped up than what they see in the mirror. They must get hard-ons looking at their beefier, better selves. It's like how they start get stiff when flexing on stage and then it's "boing!" full-on erection. Yeah, I bet in private they take their stage oil and jerk off to their altered pics, shoot loads of cum all over their own two-dimensional faces. And it makes them want, want it even more, want themselves encased in it, encased in even more muscle. What did I want? I wanted Bobby. And not just Bobby as he was, but as he could be, as the way I would make him: a living testament to those monthly bibles of muscle. I wanted him to actually look like the images in them, then go beyond them. I wanted him to be the ultimate mountain of bulging, nuggetty, veiny muscle. A beautiful walking, talking hard-on. And god was Bobby beautiful. The day he first walked into the gym, I couldn't stop looking at him, he had the face of one of those models from the old Abercrombie & Fitch catalogs. The perfect face. He wanted "abs," he said. "Sure," I said. "I can help you with that. I can help you with a lot of things." **** Part 2 in July
  19. Norris lived in the country for years and frequented a local run-down gym he loved so much he would have bought stakes in it probably. Unfortunately, the economy took its toll on it since the memberships dried up. It ended up closing and it left him without a place to pump iron on a daily basis. He was beginning to make huge gains there too, but alas he was left stranded. His friend, Asa, went searching for another gym close to them that could have the same type of appeal and thinks that maybe he has found one. He tells him to prepare for the neighborhood though because it will surprise him. He is alarmed at the size of the men coming out of this gym and can't help but to feel great about his chances of liking it. He enters the lobby and sees how rusty and run down it is. Some guys at that moment would have turned around and left, but this is exactly what he is looking for. Asa has a similar way of thinking so they both decide to go and look around. A manager gives them both a tour and it doesn't take long for the two gymrats to sign on the dotted line to join. Instead of going back to their apartment to get their gear which is several miles from the gym, they decide to just wing it and take their shirts off and to start pumping some iron. They go to different parts of the gym so they can focus on different routines. Norris places the same amount of plates on the bar that he always did at the other gym and starts repping the weight. The sound of the weights gets him so hyped up and he does another set. He notices that his brain gets quite stimulated when he pushes the weight up and down onto his chest. He feels his pecs swell larger the more he reps. He finds this intriguing so he goes over to do some dumbbell curls and they pump up higher too. He squeezes each dumbbell and watches the biceps grow into huge softballs. It gets his cock excited to the point that he can feel his balls filling up with cum. He can’t believe how much gratification he is getting from each part of his routine. Normally, he would only work one or two body parts per day, but this place makes him want to work all of them. He decides to go work legs next. He moans as he attempts leg lifts as his quads grow bigger with each set. His quads now appear to be pushing his shorts up to his waist. His cock is beginning to snake its way out of his shorts. He looks over in the corner where Asa is working out and sees the same thing happening to him. His back is wider and his butt is pushing its way out of his pants. He turns around as Norris’s eyes go straight to his massive chest, where he is met with enormous pecs with huge silver dollar nipples. He rubs the thick body hair sitting on them. He grins as he sees him looking and starts licking his lips. He motions for him to come over and help him with something. It is fairly late so it is just the two of them in the gym. Norris takes his shorts off to expose his new foot long which dangles hard in front of him. Asa follows suit as his 10-incher also dangles. Both men start stroking each other and licking each other’s growing muscles. Asa’s tongue travels its way down to Norris’s thickly muscled hairy abs before finding his wet cock. It has been dribbling its goo all over a bench in front of him. He slowly licks the side of his foot long and is working his way up to the head. He moans in his deep manly voice as he puts his hands behind Asa’s head to move down on him. He gulps down on his mammoth member before pushing it all the way in. Norris can feel Asa’s rod leaking heavily on his feet now. He quickly shoots ropes of cum down his eager gullet as it makes his servicer’s balls swell bigger making more additional cum for him. Norris pulls out of him and gets down on his knees to service Asa’s cock. He manages to go all the way down too as he sucks vigorously. His enormous amount of seed goes down without a hitch as his energy level goes through the roof. The two growing studs can't help stop thinking about throwing around more weight on all the racks and machines. Norris goes back to the other side of the gym still nude with his hard-on and starts doing reps on the pec deck. He feels the muscle fibers in both pecs stretching the skin and slowly filling up the space between him and the arms on the machine. He is so jacked up that his giant cock is oozing its spunk onto the floor and his thick quads. Asa is putting every plate on the leg press and goes to pump out a few reps. Each individual rep is making his quads react in a way that he can hear the muscles contracting and expanding. His huge cock is lying on his slab shaped abs and spilling its jelly all over his bouncing pecs. He rubs his fingers in it and spreads it all over his chest making it look all greased up. He even takes a little bit and dribbles it on his tongue. He growls as he tastes the sweet and sourness of it. He gets up to go over to the Preacher machine to do a few curls. The instant he picks up the stacked bar, his veins and blood vessels swell and grow in size along with the muscles stretching his forearms. He grunts loudly and sexually as he pumps his arms up with each rep. His biceps are thicker and denser now than they were before. He is feeling amazing as a result and realizes that he is able to arch his back to the point that he lean down and lick the head of his engorged cock. He manages to stick the entire head in his mouth and starts sucking it putting himself close to the edge. He squeezes his aching balls while he does this to make them move. Norris can hear the sucking sound of his mouth on his cock and it makes him moan in his deep voice. Asa picks up the pace as he gets louder and the cum starts to leave his huge balls. He feels his load rushing into his mouth and stops moving to feel his balls contracting. The loud gulping sounds coming from Asa makes Norris want to cum too. He moves from the pec deck over to a Smith machine and starts doing lunges. This exercise makes him feel like he is stroking his cock as it bounces with every rep. As the barbell sits on his back, he feels his shoulders thicken up as back grows wider. His ass and quads start reacting to the exercise and it makes him have to readjust as they grow. His grunts get louder as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. Asa is watching this occur the entire time he is sitting across the gym. He knows that his training partner is getting ready to blow so he jumps up really quick to race over to him to catch his seed. He manages to find an area underneath Norris to catch whatever he loses. The standing lifter slows his pace down to make each lunge more erotic than the last. His loud moans make Asa growl as the anticipation makes his cock leak again. His thick neck grows wider as well as his throat to accommodate Norris’s massive cock which is going deeper inside. He is deep throating him now as he awaits the huge load. He does one last prolonged lunge to blast his load inside his stomach. The excitement makes Asa shoot another load spontaneously on to his own body. Rather than being spent though, the two giants feel as if they could do this forever. Their bodies never seem to run out of sperm since every load they shoot is thick and powerful. They have grown quite considerably since they walked into that gym. It doesn't seem like it will stop anytime soon either. Asa remains on the ground as Norris slowly pulls his cock out of his mouth. They smile at each other as the cum is still oozing out of their cockheads. They both eventually embrace and kiss each other. Without making any decisions about what to do next, they both look around the gym again and wonder if they should stop lifting. They turn to look back at each other and just wink. Part 2 is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/2353-gym-equipment-part-2-mystery-man-among-us/
  20. The Edge - Part 6 - A Swoldier's Call “To feel strong, to walk amongst humans with a tremendous feeling of confidence and superiority is not at all wrong. The sense of superiority in bodily strength is borne out by the long history of mankind paying homage in folklore, song and poetry to strong men.” – Fred Hatfield I guess having someone else going through the same thing as me made it a bit easier to deal with. Even though when Eddie and I were "Eric" and "Colin", we just competed against each other, driving the other one to get even bigger. I'm still not sure if that made the situation better or worse. Except for the gym, where no one had known us before we turned into hulking behemoths, we'd kept a really low profile. Somehow we just couldn't get a cover story for how we'd managed to put on 130 lbs of muscle, each, overnight. As for the actual transformation, we'd come to the conclusion that it must have had something to do with Eddie's cold. Not that it made any logical sense, but a bodybuilder sneezed on him, he got a cold and changed into a bodybuilder, then gave me the cold and I'd changed. To be honest, we were kind of scared to go out and potentially spread the "disease". Colin and Eric didn’t care, though. I don’t think they really thought about what would happen if it spread. Colin really didn’t think period from what I could tell. It’s odd losing control of yourself like that. It’s not really that I’m not me anymore, but it’s just that all of my priorities shift around. Gym and my body come first. Second and third, really, too. It’s an urge, one I can’t ignore, that shuts out all the academic stuff that makes me, “me”. It’s not that Colin doesn’t want to think about those things, he literally can’t. The instinct for bodybuilding is way to strong, it just shuts out literally everything else. Then there’s all the knowledge that comes with building and having a professional bodybuilder’s body, I’m still not sure what all that came from, but when I am bodybuilding, it feels like that most natural thing I’ve ever experienced. My body, cumbersome, motion restricted, bulging in odd places, balanced weirdly, something I can’t control well, becomes natural to me. The muscles, the weight of them on me feels ‘right’, like I’m supposed to be like that. I am the ultimate male, and I must be like that. Once the urge has me, I can’t even conceive of being trapped in a small body like I used to be, big is the only way to go. The transformation into Colin really is like having the most passionate, wild sex you’ve ever had in your life. There’s nothing else, just the task at hand, and you’re driven with an intensity you can’t build from “normal, everyday, life”. I mean, in bed you’re still you, but you’ll do things during really really hot sex that you probably wouldn’t do out in public. I’d never go into a gym normally, but when the call hits, I don’t have a choice. It’s all I can think of, all my purpose is, all my body is built for, and I have to answer, Colin arrives, and I have to go. I guess it makes sense, though. Regardless off the differences between me and Colin, since the change, my brain has been somehow hardwired to equate sex with bodybuilding. It’s the one thing that unites us. I enjoy the workout more than the best lay I’ve ever had in my life. For a brief second, while the workout is at its most intense, I can take the enjoyment too. Then all too soon, the set’s over, and either I’m driven uncontrollably to the next set, or I regain my senses as the primal drive and Colin recedes until they need to come back out. This is my life now, I guess. It had been a couple of days since my transformation into the hulk, sans green coloring. Eddie and I were hurrying out of the gym in our usual demeanor after we “came to our senses” finishing the workout: eyes down, trying not to engage anyone, shuffling over our own quads. We still couldn't get the gait right, too much muscle on the legs to walk right. “Hold up a sec, guys!” Shit, someone had seen us. I turned around looking for the source of the voice as a gangly teen rushed up to us. He was dressed in an ill fitting oversized tank top that hung off him like a weird loose skin, a pair of what I thought were basketball shorts and I couldn't believe it: a neon green and black headband. "We're kinda in a hurry," I forced a smile to the kid as I tripped up over my quads and steadied myself. I - well Colin - had seen the kid just about every time we'd been in the gym. He was always lifting, a bit wrong on form for Colin's liking (how can you tell?), and actually looked to be getting scrawnier the more he worked out. "I was just wondering if you guys were competitors." He looked excited, a bit nervous maybe, to be talking to the huge imposing figures that my roommate and I had become. "Um.." Eddie and I exchanged a quick glance at each other under our simian brows. The transformation had left us looking more like hulked out cavemen in my estimation rather than competitors. "No, we just lift for um... Fun." The word kind of stuck in my throat. My still rather new deep bass voice not sounding quite right, rumbling the wrong way somewhere deep beneath my oversized pecs. "Oh wow! Really? I thought for sure you guys were competitors. Sorry, name's Jason. I'm trying to get big like you guys! It's a dream of mine, competition, you know, like that show coming up," he pointed over to a poster on the wall. The poster was for an upcoming local bodybuilding show. “National Qualifier” was plastered all over it, whatever that meant. I looked at the picture in the center with a huge bodybuilder in his suit on the stage doing a front lat spread (how did I know what that was?). I was bigger than him…now. For a second I wondered what it would be like to be up on that stage, flexing in front of all those people. It kind of repulsed me... at first. Eddie had lumbered over to where I was standing, transfixed at the poster. I couldn't help it. The idea really didn't appeal to me, but I couldn't shake it. I kept imagining myself being the one in the posers on the stage. I tried to clear my head, but the images kept coming back, stronger. "You guys gotta tell me your secret! How'd you get so big?" Jason was on edge, hanging on an answer that might unlock his desires for size. Trying to break the spell of the compulsion to compete that was building in me, I managed an answer, "We kinda just caught the iron bug, ya know. Kept with it and one day just looked like this." My eyes never left the poster, images of me, flexing, flashing through my mind. My voice was hollow, like there wasn't too much intellect flowing out of me. A few muscles involuntarily flexed along with the routine spinning through my head. It was weird, I couldn’t help myself. The more I saw what passed for the “example” of what should be in that show, the more I wanted to get up there and show them what a real man was like. I looked at the guy’s arms. Then I looked down at mine, the veins snaking their way across the biceps, the pump still fresh from the workout we’d just suffered through. I flexed it tentatively, watching the muscle jump up into a hard ball. Fuck, I was bigger than him, harder too. And he couldn't even fill out the posers properly! Ha! They'd have trouble finding a pouch large enough to contain me! I saw the crowd in front of me, cheering my alpha body, worshiping the perfection of male development. A burning started inside of me - I absolutely had to be on that stage. It was like I could feel the lights on me, my posers filled to the maximum, music pounding in my head, lost in a routine designed to show off every fuckin muscle and striation I had. I mean, why the fuck were Eric and I doin’ this if we weren’t gonna show off for the whole fuckin world to see. I looked down, bunched my chest and saw my pecs fighting for space on my torso, with nowhere to go they just pushed out, straining my tank top. A thread through the seem on my huge traps popped. I let out a deep guttural chuckle. Fuck yah, no one else had thickness like that. “Fuck, bro, we’re doin that fuckin show!” I looked over at Eddie with a dopey smile, holding my pose. “What?! You’re out of your mind. Why in the blue hell would I want to get up in front of all those people looking like…well, like this?” he gestured down to his vein covered, immensely bulging, chiseled bulk. “Bro, why the fuck wouldn’t you? Fuck, just think of it, showin all this shit off,” I flexed a double bi, the seams of my tank, this time down the sides, groaned with the flaring of my lats. I heard an audible gasp from Jason, that just edged me on, fuck yeah little guy, this is a real man. “Think of it, showin all those pussies that think they’re real men what a real fuckin alpha male looks like! I know you want to show off that fuckin chest, those arms, and fuck man, your quads don’t even fit in pants anymore.” I half-punched Eddie in his delt, he flexed it involuntarily. “Heh, it might be fun.” he looked down at his quads, and flexed them, testing them. “Gonna have to do more squats though,” he pulled up his workout shorts almost to his hip to show the whole leg, veins popping at every angle on the hard muscle. “Whatcha think bro?” he turned to me, quad flexed, hit a most muscular, sending his delts and traps into a deep relief. To finish it he stuck out his tongue, through a cocky big smile. He brought a meaty arm down and pulled up the bottom of his tank, exposing deep cut abs and obliques. I swear you could grate cheese on the guy. “Fuck yah! Sign me the fuck up!” Jason looked like he could probably cream his basketball shorts with the display Eric and I just gave him. Why not push him till he does. “Fuck yah!” I hit a most muscular back at Eric. We laughed a deep dopey laugh and strutted over to the counter, Jason, looking slightly red faced, hanging behind in tow. The little guy sitting at the desk looked scared. Fuck, I would be too if two gods like us walked up. I slammed a hand down on the counter, “We’re here to fuckin sign up for that!” I pointed over to the poster, “you’re fuckin lookin at the winners, little man!” Eric and I laughed and high fived. “Alphaaa!” our impossibly deep voices carried over the entire gym as we both yelled at each other, smiled and hit a crab pose, letting every vein on our chest and arms pop out. Most of the guys working out stopped to see what the loud noise was, turning our direction. Fuck yeah! Let em' look, I love showing off this alpha body. The little guy behind the counter just sort of looked at us, and put two forms in front of us. “Just fill that out and I’ll take your entry fee.” “I’m so going to that show,” I heard Jason say to himself as he walked carefully back to the locker room to clean up. Heh, this’ll be fun. We walked into the apartment. Somewhere on the drive home we’d come back to our senses. “What did we do again?” Eddie was still in shock. “I think we signed up for one of those bodybuilding shows,” I was still trying to process what happened after I saw the poster. “Um. Dude, we know less than nothing about those. What’re we supposed to do?” “_We_ don’t do anything. I think this is something Eric and Colin have down. I’m afraid we just may be along for the ride.” the panic started setting in to me.
  21. Beach Slumming by Gideon Kalve Jarvis A Commission for the Seigneur de M. http://www.furaffinity.net/user/lechevalier/ *** Disclaimer: This is a furry story featuring anthromorphic characters. Vic the rat is one of my most favorite characters, a gruff, roughed and heavily muscled rat who is - in my eyes - best depicted by the characters of Oscar Martinez (Solo). He seems to be a wanderer, as he appears in many settings, and has no sexual preferences except being dominant. I hope you will like him as I do, and you dont might fantasy characters. *** She should be happy, Margot realized. Her life was one that others would kill to obtain, and yet it was one that she had been almost handed on a silver platter, with a silver spoon for her mouth. A gorgeous husband, a fabulous body, and money on both sides of their marriage. More than enough for them to spend their lives in carefree idleness, savoring the sweetness that life has to offer. And yet, something was missing. Something raw and real that Margot knew she had never before experienced, and if things continued as they were, never would. The sleek-muscled, peach-furred feline rolled onto her stomach on the beach blanket, resting her chin on her folded arms, her eyes covered by large dark glasses, her head by a sun hat, her body more-or-less covered by a thong bikini. It wasn‟t much use for keeping sand out of the crease between her firm buns, but it certainly made the males gawk. Lounging there on the beach in the hot Florida sun, Margot felt an itch start to steadily grow between her legs, thinking of the males she‟d seduced in the past, wearing outfits similar to this one, or sometimes even more scandalous. She and Andre, her husband, were hardly closed in their relationship. Of course they felt it only polite to let each other know when they were going to bring in somebody else to satisfy one of their many wealthy whims, but so long as they each abode by that single rule, Andre and Margot were free to take lovers as they wished, of either sex. It served to keep the fire in their relationship, preserving the two felines from settling into a boredom that would surely have spelled the beginning of the end for their relationship. This day, however, Margot‟s eyes moved casually over the beach, sighing in disappointment. The men, the women, they were all beautiful, sculpted, their bodies like those of the gods of Olympus. All her life she and Andre had been among such people, the privileged ones, the ones that were beautiful because it was their right to be so, born of the best genes and the greatest fortune, their lives often planned out long before their births. What she wanted was a taste of reality, raw and harsh. It was as these dark, forbidden thoughts that were filling Margot‟s mind as her eyes fell on the Rat. She had half-risen from her repose at a sound from somewhere behind her, lowering her dark glasses from her bright blue eyes, giving her long blonde hair a toss to get stray locks from her eyes, before she spotted the source of the disturbance. At the gates to the walled-off beach, the exclusive resort of the Hotel Marseilles at Miami Beach, arguing loudly with the guard stationed there, was a creature from a world as far removed from Margot‟s as Heaven was from Hell. He was shorter than her husband by a good head and shoulders, shorter than her by a full head, but his shoulders and chest were a great deal broader. In truth, his entire body was massive in ways that Margot had never thought were possible, an obscene mass of muscle bulging beneath the tight red-and-white-striped shirt and blue jeans he was wearing. She could see everything about him, could imagine what she couldn‟t see. At the sight of this ugly creature, this devil among the angels, this slum-dwelling rodent with his prize-fighter‟s hardened face, Margot felt her mouth grow suddenly dry. Almost against her will, she rose from where she‟d been lying and walked towards the gate. “You talk to Trey,” the Rat said in a harsh, deep voice that spoke of his French birth, though the accent was almost lost in what must have been long years spent in the midst of a rich global polyglot. “He cleared me to go in there. Besides, what‟s it matter? I just want to use the gym. Not gonna bother any of these high rollers on the beach.” That voice! It was everything that her husband‟s was not: rough, uncouth, a savage snarl like broken glass on asphalt. Margot felt her legs wobble, growing weak, the wetness between her legs increasing exponentially. This beast was an untamed remnant of more primitive times, and his raw savagery spoke to her darkest, most primal desires, parts of her that she‟d never even known existed in her perfect life. She couldn‟t speak, could hardly even more closer, but couldn‟t stop herself from continuing her walk forward despite all of her common sense screaming out that it was a mistake. “Look, Vic, we don‟t allow anybody who‟s not staying at the hotel in here,” said the guard, shaking his head as he stood to bar entry, the German Shepherd‟s expression firm, dutiful. “Even if Mister Trey did vouch for you, he certainly didn‟t clear it with me. If I let you in here, I could get in a whole lot of trouble.” “That dirty so-and-so!” snapped the Rat, Margot‟s mind mentally editing out the word he actually used with automatic precision. “Look, it‟s just a workout, mister. Can‟t we figure out some sort of an arrangement…?” “It‟s all right, Mark,” said Margot before she could stop herself, stepping forward to lightly brush her fingers over the shoulder of the tall canine. “This man, Vic, is with me.” The way she‟d said his name, „Vic,‟ had been a gentle rolling of the word over her tongue, as though tasting its flavor. And if a name could have a flavor, this one would be bitter, the same sort of bitter from the lime and salt of a margarita, a bite with a kick that went straight to your head. Mark, the guard, tipped his hat to the sleek peach-furred feline with raised eyebrows. “Um, well,” he looked back to the obscenely-muscled black rat, and then back to Margot. “I guess that‟ll be all right, Miss Margot,” he said finally, shrugging. “But he‟ll need to stay with you, all right?” “Of course, Mark,” said Margot, offering her hand to the hugely-muscled rat, feeling tiny in comparison to him despite her greater height. “We‟ll be just fine.” Vic hesitated for a moment, looking first at Mark suspiciously, as though expecting a trap. Seeing no deception from the stalwart, trustworthy guard, those same suspicious eyes fell on Margot. His hard brown-eyed gaze met her flashing green eyes with confusion as he seemed to be trying to puzzle her out, to discern her true motives behind such sudden and unexpected charity. This wasn‟t a person who was used to being given free help. This was somebody who was used to being used. The thought just made Margot smile a little wider: he would be used, all right. Just not in any way he might be afraid of. “Yeah,” the Rat said finally, his huge hand dwarfing the cat‟s as he closed it around her fingers in a grip that Margot sensed instantly could have crushed her like eggshells, but stopped at a commanding firmness instead, enough so that she couldn‟t have pulled away if she‟d wanted to. “Just fine.” Margot let the rat lead the way. It was obvious he‟d been into the private gym of the Hotel Marseilles, that hallowed shrine of the gods of beauty, wealth and leisure, many times before. She never went into the free weights room, of course, but that was exactly where the massive beast of a rat went, gripping her hand tightly enough that she couldn‟t get away easily, but not so much that he hurt her. This was a male that knew his own strength, knew his own body with the deepest intimacy. As they entered through the frosted glass doors of the gym, Margot glanced around, smiling as she saw how deserted it was at that time. Andre had carefully timed their visit to Miami so that they would hit good weather while avoiding the majority of the tourist crowd. He was always so skilled in his planning, the same skills that would have made him a good hunter in a more primitive time, and made him such a captain of business now. Such a good businessman was the handsome leopard, unfortunately, that he often left his poor, needy wife alone for far too long a time. Margot had deep desires and strong passions, and if they were not so open in their relationship their marriage would surely have shattered under the strain of her desperate needs… “You look like you‟re more used to aerobics and swimming than weights,” said Vic, interrupting Margot‟s thoughts as he walked towards a rack of weights and pulled several of the more massive circles of hard steel from their places. “You just like watching guys get hot and sweaty?” “Mmm,” replied Margot, biting her littlest finger as she broke contact with the obscenely muscled rat, and then walking forward, stroking her soft fingers over his powerful arm as he locked his choice of weights into place on a nearby suspended barbell. “I much prefer to get my exercise in more exciting ways. But having a strong male get hot and sweaty for me,” she licked her lips with lusty eagerness, “yes, that pleases me quite a bit.” “Hope I can help you there,” the rat answered with a smirk, before he hefted the metal bar onto his shoulders, a long row of heavy metal cylinders on each side, so many that the bar began to bend a little under their weight. Margot watched, dry mouthed, as Vic lowered himself almost to the floor with his first squat, and then rose back up. As the muscular male slid into the zone of working out, his eyes starting to grow fiery, tense, seeing things outside of what was right before him, the peach-furred feline slowly circled Vic, her eyes playing over his body, savoring the look of every curve, every angle, every hard bump and lump and part of this gorgeous grotesquerie. On his sixth squat, Margot couldn‟t contain herself as the scent of musky male his her nostrils, tickling the more primitive parts of her brain, and she stepped up behind Vic, her hands stroking around his chest, teasing the hard nipples beneath his tightly-stretched shirt, feeling them hard in the light chill of the aid-conditioned weight room. “So hard,” she murmured in his ear as Vic slowly bent for his seventh squat, the weight wavering slightly as his focus began to slip. “Mmm, and here as well.” Those hands teased over the front of Vic‟s pants, and he gave a deep grunt of surprise and exertion combined as he used that moment of energy to thrust himself straight up, and racked the weights with a clang. “Blood is what makes muscles grow strong, Margot,” he said as he turned, one massive hand gripping the slim cat‟s waist, pulling her against him as he grinned up at her. “But you are making my blood flow into other places.” Margot‟s mouth was dry, her eyes wide, as Vic pressed forward, pulling her against his body like a gorilla hefting a baby. She couldn‟t help but whimper softly as her almost naked back was pressed against the cool surface of the wall-width mirror weight lifters used to check their form, her legs splayed on either side of the aggressive, brutish male‟s hips as he forced himself against her, the heavy weight of his manhood rubbing against the clearly-visible cameltoe at the front of her achingly moist bikini thong. His huge hands slid down, gripping her firm buns, and her toes and back arched with her moan of desperate, needy pleasure. Was she in heat? She couldn‟t tell any more, and didn‟t care. She was so horny right then she felt like she was about to burst into flames at any moment. No time for foreplay, no desire for it. Margot needed this male. Needed him now! Her hands slipped into the little purse that she‟d carried over one shoulder, her only article of clothing aside from her now-discarded hat and shades, and still worn swimsuit. A condom! She needed to get a condom on this male before… “Merde,” she exclaimed as her hands peeled open the front of Vic‟s tented trousers, the rat helping her with one hand, easily holding her up with the other. He wasn‟t that long, really – not nearly as long as her husband‟s perfect penis. But he was thick, his shaft as heavily-muscled, it seemed, as the rest of the brutish body. This was the sort of club Margot could imagine being used by cavemen to subdue their brides. It was an ugly thing, hideous, covered in veins, grotesquely swollen. It would surely split her in half. She had to have it! Her hands were trembling so badly, Margot could barely managed to roll the condom down Vic‟s shaft. It fit, of course: it was one of her husband‟s, his greater length allowing for their differences in thickness. Or so Margot hoped, at least; the condom was badly stretched, looking like an overstuffed sausage casing around that obscene piece of male flesh. As she guided the monstrous head to her quivering, soaked little cunny, knowing she was far too small and tight for such a penis, she watched, wide-eyed, as the filmy sheath of latex bulged a bit more as the rat grew even more aroused, his musky, masculine scent intoxicating her, overwhelming her reason, even with the risk of pregnancy should that flimsy condom of her husband‟s not be able to take the pressure. Vic didn‟t wait any more, didn‟t give Margot another chance for second thoughts. He rested one hand on the mirror to support himself, gripping her hip firmly with the other, supporting her entire weight as he stood there in the midst of the heavy metal all around them, before his hips lunged forward, his meaty length skewering the tight-pussied feline as she barely had time to brush her bikini bottoms aside. Otherwise he would surely have ripped right through the fabric in his eagerness! Yowling like a banshee, Margot‟s claws raked Vic‟s back, shredding his shirt and leaving thin lines of blood on the naked fur beneath. Her legs thrashed on either side of the rat‟s hips as he began to pound her without mercy, heavy thumps filling the room as he rutted her savagely, like the brutish animal he was. The snap of the condom bursting inside of her was a mere footnote to Margot‟s pleasures, the knowledge that she was now taking this male bareback in an adulterous tryst only adding additional spice to the sensations that had blasted all her sanity, the latex ring at its base serving to add additional stimulation as Vic made sure to give her his full shaft on each long thrust. She felt his balls, so swollen, so huge, slap against her well-groomed rumpfur with each heavy jerk of his hips, and reached around, stroking and fondling their deliciously full weight in her hands. They felt so bloated, probably stuffed to the brim with the sperm that would make her cheating on her husband complete. Sealed with half-breed kittens. “Slutty pussycat,” Vic growled in his deep, dominant voice, his thick neck‟s veins standing out as he hunched himself against the squirming peach-furred feline, now holding her with both hands to ensure that all her squirming and thrashing wouldn‟t make her pop off his cock by accident. “Say it,” he commanded her, burying himself to the hilt in her once more, looking into her pleasure-dazed eyes, the pupils dilated as though she were high on drugs instead of sex. “Admit you‟re a slut.” “I‟m a slut,” Margot got out, shuddering with mighty spasms of her entire body. How long had she been cumming? She‟d lost track. Perhaps ever since Vic had first speared her on that magnificent cock of his… “I‟m a filthy, dirty, needy slut, and I need your cock so badly, Vic! Please, fill me with your cum!” She would have gone on, but Vic‟s lips pressed against her own, muffling the high-pitched wail that escaped her throat as his hips started to truly pound away, moving like a piston, like the rattling of a machine gun. He was like a machine, and engine of raw, primal lust! Margot couldn‟t resist him, didn‟t even try, as he claimed her, ravished her, used her up like she was nothing but his personal whore. And she loved every moment. And when the cat in heat felt the gush of Vic‟s cum spurting straight up into her unprotected pussy, her own pleasures peaked out beyond her endurance, her eyes rolling back into her head as she blacked out. Vaguely, Margot was aware of Vic carrying her, asking her for her hotel cardkey, taking it from her purse. She felt him drying them both off with a huge towel from the locker room, doing little to take off his musky scent, which covered both of them like a blanket of unabashed animal lust. She squirmed, whimpering with need as he wedged a thick finger into the cameltoe on the front of her bikini bottoms (now back in place, though only just barely), grinding it against her aching clitoris as he carried her to an elevator, and rode it all the way up. The pleasure-dazed feline was just coming back to herself as Vic nudged the door to her huge suite open with his knee, stepping inside and dropping her on the bed. It was the feeling of bouncing on the bed after being dropped that finally revived Margot to full consciousness, and with her awakening came a full rush of realizations. She‟d cheated on her husband, violating the one rule for all such illicit, extramarital encounters that they‟d set for each other: to let the other partner of the marriage know first. She‟d allowed this male to cum inside of her without even a condom to block the full gush of his virile sperm. And what a male she‟d chosen! Her eyes watched as the burly rodent took a swig of the champagne bottle she and Andre hadn‟t finished the night before, drinking it straight from the bottle. He was an uncouth lout, a brute, a thing of the lowest, most degraded orders! And yet, as he wiped his muzzle and looked at her with eyes that looked straight into her darkest, most hidden yearnings, she knew that she didn‟t regret what she‟d done, not really. And when he peeled off his claw-tattered shirt, then shoved his jeans unceremoniously to the floor, kicking then aside before striding towards the bed, his penis jutting forward like the prow of a battleship, Margot knew that she would let him do it again, as many times as he wanted. She was his slut now, just like she‟d said, nothing but a plaything to this primal beast, an instrument for his pleasure. He grabbed her just as Margot had started to sit up on the edge of the bed, and easily tore off her bikini top, making Margot squeal in surprise at this sudden brutality. Her side-tied bikini bottoms soon followed, and she squirmed as he grabbed one of her ankles, hoisting her leg into the air before his hips lanced forward, cock spearing her once more. This time she didn‟t even bother with the illusion of a condom; her womb was his to claim as he pleased, just like all of her body. How many times had he taken her? How many times could this rat cum? It had been hours at least, maybe days for all that Margot could tell. She still had the taste of his cum and her own juices on her lips after he‟d taken her muzzle, moaning in deep, masculine pleasure as he‟d rutted her mouth, watching her beautiful eyes looking up at him in adoration. The feline goddess was the slave of the rodent demon, and she served him willingly. And now she was clutching one of the pillows to her chest, screaming in a rough mixture of agony and ecstasy, her bottom hiked into the air as Vic shafted her too-tight tailhole, the tiny pink rosette of her rear passage now so widely stretched, Margot was certain she‟d burst at any moment. It was obscene, perverse, twisted…magnificent! She yowled again, even louder this time, as Vic‟s bloated balls slapped her gushing quim with each passionate thrust, the orgasm that claimed her then making her feel dirty, used, and yet craving still more of it. This brute was an addiction, and Margot was utterly hooked. So powerful was her passion and pleasure, in fact, that she didn‟t notice her husband standing there in the doorway of the bathroom, his towel and jaw dropped to the floor as he watched his wife being claimed so wickedly by another man. Beauty and the beast. That was the first thought that had come into Andre‟s mind as he watched his wife greedily take as much of that bloated length of cum-slick ratcock into her delicate muzzle. He‟d been taking a shower to wash off the worst of the smell of his own tryst earlier in the day, being sure that Margot knew where he‟d be, and for how long like the dutiful husband that he tried to be, despite their odd and open relationship. Its openness, in truth, was mostly for her benefit, for barring this vacation, Andre found himself far from living the life of the idle rich. He was gone too often, and his wife was in need of far more attentions than he could provide under such circumstances. His only rule was that he be informed of any liaisons that his wife might have, and he extended her the same courtesy. She had bedded many of his business partners, and several of the more handsome servants around their house, while he in turn had been free to enjoy the company of secretaries and coworkers, some of them other males, just as Margot occasionally indulged herself in the company of other females. But always, up until this point, they had remained true to that one rule, and kept each other informed, if only by a quick text message or simple call left on an answering machine. Now, however, Margot was cheating on Andre for the very first time, in full view of him as he‟d stepped out of the bathroom. He‟d watched her head bobbing on the obscenely bloated length of male flesh this brutish male sported, fury at first clouding everything into a haze of red. This passed quickly, however, after a single step into the room, as the full, obscene size of the black-furred monstrosity pummeling his wife‟s chin with his weighty balls came over Andre, sending a bolt of chill fear that sank into his guts, knowing that this creature, this rat, could likely break him over one knee without pausing in his thrusting motions. But then he‟d controlled his breathing, the tall, handsome leopard never one to lose control of his emotions. His self-control was why he had succeeded so well in business, and he pushed himself away from the murder that had flashed in his mind with an effort of will. However Andre hadn‟t counted on the danger that arose as he pushed fury away: lust could so easily take its place. That is exactly what happened, as Andre continued to stand there, watching the seemingly oblivious pair, letting his towel fall, forgotten to the plush carpet as the well-endowed rat‟s cock began to gush in his wife‟s muzzle, while she desperately tried to gulp it all down, her cheeks flushed, whiskers fanned wide in the height of her desperate lust. Andre felt his shaft rising to full attention, taking an involuntary step forward as Margot gave a short squeal as the rat seized her like a rag doll around her shoulders, and easily tossed her onto the bed. He was shorter than her, Andre realized, and quite a bit shorter than himself, and yet the obscenely-sized male had to be at least twice of Andre‟s leanly-muscled, sleek mass. Then, as Andre saw the brutish male pause only long enough to pour a dollop of suntan lotion onto his wife‟s rump and his hard shaft before plowing into her, claiming her anally with more vigor and primal savagery than Andre had ever felt in his life, the tall leopard felt himself forgiving his wife. This primal creature in their room, buried to the hilt in his wife, was like Hephaestus to Aphrodite, the grotesque god of the forge bound by passion to the incomparable goddess of love. She couldn‟t have resisted the lure of opposites, of raw, primal realism, any more than those gods of yore. “How is he?” Andre asked, walking to the side of the bed to get a better view, his pink tongue flicking out as he wetted his lips, his eyes wide as he observed the savage tryst taking place. “Andre!” exclaimed Margot, starting to rise up, her eyes wide in panic…only to be roughly shoved back into place by one of the rat‟s huge hands. “Vic, please…it‟s my husband,” she pleaded with the rat. But Vic only ignored her, giving a grunt to acknowledge her words, before his hips started to speed up, his nostrils flaring as he started to climb the final peak of his orgasm. The sleek leopard stepped up onto the bed behind his thrashing wife, her shock at realizing she was being watched by the very person she was cuckolding having unloosed her ability to stave off her passions any longer, leaving her writhing and yowling on the bed like a feral feline from the alleys. She was a raw, passionate creature herself now, stripped of all her veils of seduction and romance and beauty. Now she was composed of sex at its most basic, elemental form. All else was beyond her comprehension. Kneeling behind Vic, Andre rested his chin on the rat‟s shoulder, his hands reaching around, stroking over the broad, bare chest of the brutish creature. He was solidly formed, and Andre couldn‟t help but wet his lips again as his fingertips closed on the rat‟s hard, masculine nipples, squeezing them firmly. This was the last straw, and Vic cried out, his voice deep, powerful like the bellow of a bull as he began to gush even more cum into Margot‟s quivering body, his seed spurting out as it overflowed her anal depths, dripping down her rump and legs as she slumped forward, whimpering softly at the lovely ache left behind in her rump and well-stretched cunny. It was impossible for him to help himself! As Vic pulled back, his heavy, meaty length popping free of Margot with a gush of his cum, Andre ran his tongue over the neck of the other male, tasting his full-bodied, musky essence. The leopard wanted this male, and wanted him now. “It‟s only fair,” Andre said softly in Vic‟s ear, seductively, the same tone he used on that fresh-faced gazelle intern the week before he‟d gone on vacation with his wife, his hard shaft grinding against the hip of the rat, its long, beautiful pink shaft stroking through the bristly fur there. “You‟ve had my wife, after all. Now I should have you.” “Fair enough,” Vic answered, turning as he grinned right in Andre‟s face. “Hope you enjoy what you get.” Andre was just starting to grin, the toothy, triumphant grin of a predator that is about to finish off his prey, before, suddenly, Vic‟s huge arm lifted, wrapping around Andre‟s upper body, pulling him forward. His face was squeezed up against the musclebound side of the rat, his senses reeling at the thick, heady male musk. “S-stop,” the sleek-furred leopard gasped out, his eyes growing heavy-lidded. “Please, this isn‟t…” “You want this,” said Vic in response, his other hand guiding Andre‟s for a short while, before, in a daze, Andre began to stroke the rat‟s body, exploring every ridge and curve with his fingertips. “That‟s right. Touch me everywhere. No shame in admiring what I‟ve got to show. I‟ve worked hard on it so people can enjoy it.” Margot was just starting to crawl forward then, gradually coming around. She rose up, her eyes fluttering open just as she saw her husband rasping his pink tongue along the underside of the rat‟s armpit, his expression one of pure, sultry bliss, before his attentions slowly moved down the rat‟s arm, to his bicep. The peach-furred feline couldn‟t resist a smile at this display of submission, and crept forward on all-fours towards the two, reaching out her delicate hands to wrap them around the hard shafts of the two males kneeling on the bed near her, beginning to stroke them at a steady pace. Andre‟s familiar, beautiful penis was a weight she knew well, and enjoyed still, even after the feeling of Vic‟s bludgeon inside of her. The fingers of the hand stroking Vic, however, couldn‟t reach all the way around that meaty shaft. It was just too thick! She leaned forward, and kissed Vic‟s pectoral, flicking her tongue over his hard male nipple, visible through his dark fur as a point of smooth blackness, making the rat jerk slightly in mounting pleasure. Andre‟s tongue moved to follow suit, and soon Vic was leaning back on the bed, his hips thrust out as he panted, his eyes wide as he watched the two felines stroke and lick and nibble their way down his body, until their lips finally met at the tip of his full, throbbing cock, kissing each other with his plum-shaped glans right between their lips. This tongues flicked out, French kissing with passionate, desperate need, all the while lashing and lathering his cock with their affection for each other. His heavy hands reached down, gripping the firm, tight bottoms of the two felines, his fingers teasing against wet female slit and tightly-clenched male anal ring, squeezing firmly as he bucked his hips, giving a short, barbaric cry as he came once more, with those eager mouths, husband and wife, servicing his needy shaft. Andre had certainly fellated several males in his time. He‟d also enjoyed anal sex on several occasions. But only as the one on top, never as the one receiving. But at this moment, even with a thick finger penetrating his clenching, virginal tailhole, he hardly noticed, he was so caught up in the moment of shared, shivering pleasure as Vic climaxed, his seed jetting over the faces of Margot and Andre like the spray of a fountain. Then, suddenly, Andre came to himself, and started to rise, giving his head a startled shake, trying to pull away from Vic‟s invading fingers, especially as he was trying to add a second! But the rat simply reached out, his cock still hard even after his recent orgasms, and grabbed both of Andre‟s wrists in one mighty hand as the sleek leopard tried to get away. “You‟ll love this too,” Vic said with a laugh, before he twisted Andre around, pinning him to the bed with his firm, spotty rump thrust into the air – an easy target! “No…” Andre almost whimpered, struggling feebly in the grip of the more powerful male, knowing already that it was a hopeless struggle. “Please, I‟ve never…ah!” Vic had then reached over with his other hand, and pressed Margot‟s head down, her muzzle up against Andre‟s tailhole. She knew what was wanted, her pink tongue extending, teasing over her husband‟s tailhole, making the handsome leopard squirm and moan in pleasure as he was rimmed with such expert skill. His wife had never done this for him before, and yet she did so with the experience of someone who had practiced the art. It was another facet of his wife that Andre had never before suspected, and one that he felt now that he would have to explore further when the opportunity presented itself. As Margot‟s tongue moved down, rasping over Andre‟s white-furred balls, the leopardman suddenly tensed up as he felt the huge, swollen tip of that massive ratcock squeezed firmly against his virgin pucker. Despite himself, despite knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop this, and that he was probably going to love it, whether he wanted to or not, Andre couldn‟t suppress that whimper of fear. The rat was so huge, Andre was almost certain that it would kill him, splitting him open as it went in. “Your wife took it, and she‟s half your size back there,” sneered Vic, nudging his hips forward, the pressure steadily increasing against Andre‟s snug tailhole, slowly spreading him open. “Take it like a man.” The leopard started to open his mouth, so say something – anything! – to the bad black rat, but all that came out was a kittenish mewl as, suddenly, his tailhole gave way in its resistance, and Vic‟s massive cockhead popped inside. This soon turned into a slow, long, drawn-out yowl that began almost as a whisper, and gradually increased in volume until it was a banshee‟s wail as Vic‟s cock bumped past Andre‟s prostate, making the leopard‟s whole world start to spin in raw, naked pleasure. He‟d just been deflowered by this vile beast, his last virginity robbed from him by this untamed lump of gutter trash…and it felt good. It felt wonderful! Andre‟s shaft was rock-hard, great drops of precum forming at the tip to drop onto the soft sheets beneath him, and he hadn‟t even touched it. “That‟s it, slut,” Vic growled in Andre‟s ear. “But don‟t worry: it‟s only gay if our balls tou-whups.” He chuckled deeply as his hips pressed against Andre‟s spotty rump, his massive testicles clapping gently against those of the other male. Vic began to move his hips then, starting slowly at first, but soon starting to build up his pace. With his hands pinned behind his back, Vic using them as a handle to aid in his thrusting, Andre was completely at the mercy of the brutish caveman-like rat that was now starting to nail his pristine backside with full gusto. Each hard thrust slapped against Andre‟s rump lustily, making the leopard‟s cock bounce to smack against his taut belly, and the leopard knew he couldn‟t last long like this. An eager female moan caught Andre‟s ears, and he turned his head as Vic was starting to thrust in short, jabbing motions, his tempo speeding up a lot. The leopard gasped as he saw his wife riding the arm of the rat, who held it outstretched, flexing his oversized bicep up right into Margot‟s trembling, gushing cunny like a living, hot-blooded Sybian. She was grinding against the rat‟s muscular arm, pinching her nipples, twisting them in her fingers as she neared yet another orgasm, or perhaps was already in the midst of one, Andre couldn‟t tell anymore. Too much. It was too much! Screaming like a jungle cat, Andre gave in at last to the raw, savage feeling of the rat‟s pounding hips, his thrusting cock, that sense of being overwhelmed, dominated. He couldn‟t resist it any more, couldn‟t fight off the pleasure. His head slumping to the bed, cheek grinding against the sheets, Andre started to come, his cock pulsing over and over again as Vic began to pound almost straight down into the leopard‟s orgasm-clenching tailhole, his tail wrapped around the rat‟s waist like the belt of a victorious gladiator. He was vaguely aware of his wife collapsing, face first, onto the bed by his side, only just barely able to see her sated, smiling face as she drifted off into a deeply pleasured slumber. He wasn‟t far behind her. * Margot and Andre came to themselves eventually, finding their naked bodies pressed together on the tangled sheets of the huge hotel bed. There was a sizable indentation between them, one that was still warm, indicating where a massive rodent‟s body had just been, dispelling the impression that what might have happened could just have been a dream. Both felines turned as they realized that the shower was running, and then looked back at each other, before they leaned closer together and kissed, their lips meeting with a passion that they had both almost forgotten they had for each other. When Vic stepped out of the bathroom a short time later, he was treated to the sight of two shapely feline rumps presented towards him, Andre and Margot both crouched on all-fours on the bed, presenting themselves, wiggling their long tails and lovely hineys with eager arousal. The sweet spice of horny cat hit the black rat‟s nose, making his whiskers vibrate, and he stepped forward eagerly, one massive hand gripping each of the pair of presented bottoms. “I think you two are gonna enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Vic chuckled.
  22. The original story from icsis, now here. It was a beautiful day at Camden Yards in Baltimore, one that saw the Orioles taking on the Oakland A's in a matchup of two of the sorrier teams in baseball. But the hot dogs were grilling, the beer was flowing, and the fans and players were enjoying a day at the ballpark all around. But Agent #1 wasn't there to enjoy baseball - he had a job to do. His employer had given him and fifteen other of the top guys in their field the assignment expressly because they were the best. After all, it wasn't easy to work the kind of change on a massive scale that he was about to attempt, and if he let down his concentration for even a second before the process was complete, the resulting exposure of him and his boss could be disastrous. But the agent was confident as he sipped his bottled water, then began rubbing his hard cock through his jeans, lightly touching his pecs through his gray t-shirt, and staring intensely at the infield. Brian Roberts felt it first, his stomach wrenching as he began to grow. His glove fell off his hand and disappeared into thin air as he lurched forward, his chest and arms swelling into his uniform. His hat was gone a second later, leaving his shaggy brown hair exposed. Brian was getting taller now, rising from 5’9” to 5’11”, and the muscles of his torso were really starting to develop. The cute second baseman’s chest bulged into a pair of massive pecs, fantastic mounds of power that were twice the size of Brian’s old chest. His stomach and sides were pushing out, less the deeply cut, trim, v-shaped abs and obliques he’d had before than the solid, bulging, but still-cut midsection of a man who made his living off running into people. Brian’s uniform was changing, too. His jersey tightened to his torso, making even more obvious the changes to his physique, while a collar formed around Roberts’ now bull neck. The design changed as well, now black on the sleeves and shoulders as Brian’s thickened arms and broadened shoulders swelled, and displaying a simple Oriole logo on the chest, surrounded by various corporate logos there and on the sleeves. As Brian’s jersey tightened further, so that it looked suctioned onto his utterly stacked torso, he let out a moan. That finally caught the attention of Kevin Millar, the first baseman. Kevin was feeling a little funny himself, but nothing like what he saw happening to his teammate. Brian’s uniform pants had rolled up into a pair of rugby shorts, into which Brian’s now-hulking thighs and firm, round, bouncing muscle ass bulged dangerously. In fact, Kevin could hardly believe it was Brian he was looking at, had the hot second baseman turned rugby hooker not turned and looked him in the eye. The guy staring at Kevin was definitely Brian Roberts, but a completely jacked-up, rugby-playing version of him. There were a couple final changes—Brian’s already-cute face sharpened and shaped into that of a god, which was exactly what he’d become. And next to his newly-thickened thighs was Brian’s newly-thickened cock, rock-hard as it bulged into his football shorts, throbbing at the thought and the sight of how he’d changed and how his teammates were about to change with him. Even as Brian smiled at Kevin, Millar began to transform. The hefty first baseman was already plenty big, but as he lost his own hat and glove, the size began to take a turn for the better. Kevin’s upper body changed rapidly, and within a few seconds the belly he’d grown had become something that could be termed a muscle gut, were it not for the deep definition and beauty of Millar’s stomach. His pecs lost all their extra weight and added on several pounds of muscle as they began ripping through the buttons of his jersey. Kevin looked down and saw that his pants were already rugby shorts, and he adjusted himself awkwardly as he realized his dick now pushed 10 bulging inches, and was leaking into the shorts. Kevin turned to Brian, now jacking his cock unconsciously, his fucking huge biceps pumping, and Brian grinned as he saw that Millar’s face had lost all the fat too, and the handsome forward’s features now could get even a girl scared of his size into bed. But it was clear as Kevin’s eyes drifted down to Brian’s enormous bulge, and the now-handsome rugger stud grinned widely, that girls weren’t on his mind. “How much you packin’ there, stud?” Kevin asked, his jersey still tightening against his body. Brian fondled his hard 11-inch dick and Kevin gulped. “Why don’t you find out?” The two boys came slowly together. Erik Bedard had gotten off one more pitch after Brian started changing before he too was caught up. The transformation moved faster than average with him—one second he was staring in at A’s shortstop Bobby Crosby, the next he was bent over, clutching his sides as he grew. The cute, soft-spoken Canadian pitcher’s chest exploded into his uniform, which ripped right off his back as soon as his thickening arms, massive shoulders, and broad, powerful back followed suit. All the O’s infielders watched as Erik’s ass grew and rounded and blossomed into a perfect, firm muscle butt, which bulged into the black rugby shorts he now found himself wearing. And that was all Erik wore above his cleats as the shreds of his jersey fell away. As he stood up fully, now a gorgeous second-row forward, and displayed his bronzed, ripped muscle jock body, his 10-inch-plus dickmeat making an obscene tent in his shorts, several other players sprung boners and their transformations were triggered as well. One of them was Crosby, who suddenly felt his chest and shoulders hardening and expanding, as he stared at Erik’s fantastically changed body, every beautiful striation of muscle exposed. Crosby moaned as his nipples, pushed out by his thickening and rounding pecs, brushed against his uniform, which was changing like the Baltimore guys’ into a rugby jersey, green, white, and yellow patterned with “Oakland” across the front at the stomach, clearer with each passing moment as Bobby’s abs bulged and sharpened and deepened. Bobby’s 7-inch cock was straining and growing into his gray uniform pants. His helmet and bat were gone as his neck pressed against his new collar and he felt someone grab him from behind. “What the fuck’s happening to us?” grunted Paul Bako, the O’s backstop, who’d pulled off all his catcher’s gear and now pressed hard into his black and orange jersey like all the others. Bobby couldn’t see Paul’s face, which had become that of a man 10 years younger than Bako had been, his cheekbones cut, his hair short and dark, and his features irresistibly hot. But the gorgeous fullback could feel Paul’s achingly hard rugger cock, swollen to 9.5 thick inches, pressing against his magnificent bubble butt through his new white shorts, with Paul’s huge biceps and strong muscular hands reaching around to clutch both Bobby’s mountain of a pec and his own dripping hard 10.5-inch jockpole, tenting his shorts uncontrollably. “I don’t know, buddy, but I fuckin’ love it,” Crosby answered. The rugby hunk’s shorts were coming down and his round, meaty ass was exposed to Bako’s thick loose forward cock. Crosby couldn’t imagine, as the stadium began to shift and change into an oval, the field into a rectangle, why he’d ever wanted to play baseball instead of rugby. Boys played baseball—men played rugby. And there was no doubt about the fact that Bobby Crosby was a man—a beautiful piece of hot jock ass. His arms flexed and his shoulders pumped under his tight green and white jersey as he reached back to clutch Paul’s head and felt his ass and cock under assault. Brian Roberts and Kevin Millar, now fully transformed into a hooker and a forward, were making out passionately between first and second, although the infield was rapidly covering over with grass. The two studs’ hands ran all over each other’s unbelievably muscular bodies, gripping firm ass cheeks, rubbing pec to pec, stroking biceps and lats and delts. Kevin, who’d never thought of a teammate sexually before, couldn’t believe how hot he was for Brian, and even Brian, who had, was harder and hornier than he’d ever been thinking of one of his buddies on the team. After Erik changed, the two guys playing short and third had begun to grow too, staring at their former pitcher’s fantastic ass. Aubrey Huff instantly packed 30 pounds of muscle onto his 6’4” frame, grunting loudly as his thick muscles threatened his uniform. Fortunately, it changed to a tight rugby jersey a moment later anyway, and Aubrey’s pecs, shoulders, and new guns throbbed with growth under the fabric. As Huff’s features hardened and his chin and jaw squared, Chris Gomez was undergoing an even more drastic change. A thin, kind of awkward player before, he now stood up straight, 205 pounds of muscle on his solid 6’2” body. Chris’s ass swelled into his new shorts, begging for a big cock to fuck it into submission, and Aubrey Huff’s new 10-inch beast was happy to help. As the third baseman wrapped his massive biceps around Gomez’s own newly bulked-up body, Chris couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “How’d we turn into a bunch of mega-hung rugby stud muscle fags, man?” All Aubrey Huff had in response as his dick impaled the fullback’s ass was, “Less talking, more getting your tight jock ass nailed, stud.” “Sounds good to me,” added Erik. He was now behind Aubrey, his raging hard 10.5-inch cock easing into the former third baseman’s ass too. Huff moaned in pleasure at the twin paradises of his cock in Gomez’s tight jock ass and Erik’s raging hard dick in his own thick muscle butt. Aubrey’s ass might not have been worth pausing over before, but now its fantastic bulge was enough to make even a straight guy horny. In the outfield, Nick Markakis was staring in, trying to figure out what was happening to his teammates, when he felt himself start to tense up as well. Nick was a hell of a good-looking guy already, and as his pecs started to bulge fuller, his abs cut deeper and fill out toward his obliques, his arms to thicken, swell, explode into his sleeves, and his back and shoulders to broaden several inches, packing on 20 pounds of muscle along the way, anyone observing might well have shot hard into his pants right then. He was immediately rock-hard, his 8-inch baseball stud cock rising firm and powerful into his loose uniform pants. Nick groaned as he continued to change, his pecs swelling into enormous slabs of muscle with taut nipples pushing out into his jersey and his biceps, triceps and forearms doubling in size, thickness, strength and definition. The sleeves of the jersey tightened and so did the collar, squeezing around Markakis’ fucking trunk of a neck. It was changing to a rugby shirt, as all his buddies’ jerseys had, and his now magnificent, godlike pecs, arms, and shoulders bulged into it demandingly. Nick’s hat and glove were gone as his abs began to change next—he’d always been a strong, muscular guy, with a tight waistline and a gorgeously cut eight-pack. Now, his stomach was changing into the fuller, thicker eight-pack of a hot rugger jock, still all muscle but clearly built to power through defenders rather than extend for a deep fly ball or get around on a fastball. Nick’s pants no longer fit as his thighs thickened immensely and his ass, hidden under his sagged baseball pants till now, rounded and rose to a beautiful bubble butt muscle jock ass, so hot there was almost a shelf below the hunk forward’s strong lower back. The pants were also under increasing strain from Nick’s expanded cock, which as it tented the fabric furiously rose to full hardness, over 11 inches of thick, powerful dickmeat. Fortunately, Nick soon lost the pants completely in favor of short black rugby shorts like his teammates, and his terrific cock and ass were exposed more clearly. He stood up straight with a loud groan, his beautifully muscled upper body straining the seams of his jersey, and his face become even more beautiful, his cheekbones cut like a Greek god and his gorgeous eyes piercing. Just then a moan came from a few feet away. Nick turned to see Corey Patterson, the O’s former center fielder, who had already finished his own transformation into a hot, muscle-bound winger. Corey’s thick arm was pumping as he jacked his big 9.5-inch jockpole under his black shorts and watched Nick’s body grow and swell and thicken, each new cord of muscle making the obscenely hot outfielder-turned-forward even more beautiful. The moan had been Corey’s dick finally exploding into his football shorts, creaming his pants as his own huge pecs and firm stomach flexed and shook. “Fuck, you’re hot, bud,” said Nick, staring at Corey’s impressive upper body. The guy had been small before, but there was no trace of that now. Nick grinned, making Corey’s cock go hard again, then slowly pulled his jersey off, revealing inch by inch the stunning physique he’d grown—cobblestone eight-pack, bulging obliques, round, massive pecs, large, firm nipples, and huge bowling-ball delts and biceps. “I’m hot, shit,” Corey muttered as he groped Nick’s chest. Their eyes met and soon the two jocks were kissing deeply, neither one stopping to question why they were suddenly rugby players or why they were suddenly so into other guys, especially their teammates. Fortunately no one else was in a mood to question it either. In the dugout of the A’s, which was slowly turning into a simple sideline on the rugby pitch that the stadium was becoming, guys were not immune to the wave of transformation. The A’s pitcher was Rich Harden, a muscular, good-looking kid from Canada. He, like the other Oakland players, had watched the changing of the guys on the field, including their shortstop, with a mixture of amazement and disgust. The first sign that something else might be up came when he felt his 7-inch cock rise hard and throbbing against his compression shorts under his gray uniform. Unlike his counterpart Erik, Rich changed slowly as he stared at Bobby Crosby’s newly muscle-swollen and perfectly formed ass getting fucked by a hot, built and ripped version of Paul Bako. Aubrey and Chris were now 69’ing, and Brian and Kevin had moved over to start double-teaming Erik, with Brian’s huge 11-incher filling his throat and Kevin’s massive 10-inch fuckpole railing Bedard’s tight, handsome bubble butt. In the outfield, Nick and Corey were getting more into each other as well. Corey moaned loudly as his hot, thick-muscled Greek teammate fucked him deep and long with his massive 11-inch jockmeat. Nick’s shaved head, scruffy chin and jaw, and beautiful eyes had become even more good-looking with his transformation into a stacked rugby player, and Corey, though 100% straight till this afternoon, hadn’t been able to resist surrendering his muscle stud ass, its firm, round bulges squeezing and flexing tight around Markakis’s dick. Rich Harden watched all of this, and although he knew he should be repulsed, should be turning away, he somehow couldn’t force himself to stop watching the gorgeous rugby boys out on the field, now losing their jerseys and shorts with varying degrees of urgency. And as the hunky, muscular right-hander’s own cock—now bulging 8 inches down his tight pants leg—remained rock-hard and began leaking pre-fuck into Rich’s baseball pants, he began to follow their lead. The pitcher grunted as his chest swelled suddenly and rapidly into his jersey. Its sleeves were shortening and tightening around his already-gorgeous biceps, which were only growing bigger and more cut. Rich’s pecs and shoulders immediately threatened the seams of his A’s jersey, but like the other guys he was quickly losing that jersey anyway in favor of a tight green and yellow rugby shirt just like Bobby’s. His neck became impossibly thick, his chest’s bulge rounded beautifully, and his abs became an utterly thick and fantastically defined eight-pack, clear and obvious under the jaw-droppingly tight uniform. Harden had packed on about 20 pounds of muscle, and he wasn’t done yet. Rich groaned loudly as his cap disappeared, revealing his cute, short-cut blond hair and his stubble, as thick and as hot as Markakis’s on his cut, square jaw. He was still boyishly cute, but like Bedard, his face had hardened and he was now more the statuesque, classically good-looking guy that Markakis was. Rich’s transformation to a hot rugger stud was soon complete, his already gorgeous bubble butt rounding and bulging into a firm muscle ass that would stop a straight man in his tracks, and his cock, thickened to a foot of raging hard jock dickmeat, now tented his white rugby shorts so hard that it quickly caught the attention of a couple other guys in the dugout. “Fuck, Richie, nice cock,” murmured Eric Chavez, stroking his own achingly hard 10-incher through his gray uniform pants, which were quickly changing into white football shorts too. All the guys on the bench had started changing, from Chavvy’s expanding pecs and thickening biceps and forearms, to Swisher’s rapidly hardening stomach, face, chest and ass, to Shannon Stewart’s thickening neck and softening complexion, to even Mark Ellis’s exploding torso. All of their bodies were changing incredibly, transforming each Oakland guy, whether he’d been pretty average like Ellis and Dan Johnson (who were now making out deeply), or already fucking hot like Harden and Chavez. Which is not to say that those boys didn’t go above and beyond the usual changes. Rich had turned back to inspect Eric’s new body, now standing 6’2” and 30 pounds of muscle thicker than when he’d just been sitting there watching the game a minute ago. The hunky former third baseman, now a beautifully muscled flanker, looked back up at his teammate with a face that had been handsome before but now could be worn by a model, his cheekbones and jawline cut, his eyes dark and sexy and full of lust for Rich Harden’s own transformed, massively built physique. Eric’s pecs, huge guns, thick shoulders, and powerful abs all bulged dangerously into his green and white rugby shirt, and his 10.5-inch cockbulge—grown and thickened from his old 7-inch dick—stuck full mast out into the fabric of his white shorts. Chavez’s legs had become hulking trunks of muscle, and as he stood, his powerful, bulging muscle ass was also revealed to his teammates, pressing high and hard into his shorts. “Fuck, buddy, what happened?” Eric asked, even as his strong hands slid around Rich’s tight waist and up to grip the rugger stud’s beautiful pecs. Harden’s hand was slipping past the elastic of his teammate’s shorts to grope and stroke Chavez’s new massive fuckpole, making him grunt softly. Behind them, Swish was jacking off watching the players on the field fuck, his own thick body now grown and developed into a man who could easily pose for one of those calendars. Like Millar, his extra weight all converted in a matter of seconds to layers of tight, well-defined jockstud muscle. Even the handsome cock that he now released to allow Shannon Stewart’s thick cocksucking lips to wrap around it had grown a few inches and thickened to an 11-inch beast. “I don’t know, stud,” said Rich, responding to Chavez’s dazed, lust-choked question. “I don’t really give a damn, either.” The gorgeous outside center surged forward and kissed his buddy deeply. It was funny—20 minutes ago Rich Harden would have told you he’d never had a thought about a teammate in his life, but now he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than Eric Chavez’s muscular, absolutely shredded, well-tanned body, the picture of male perfection as it tested the strength of his own rugby jersey and football shorts. Rich’s hands were feeling the new power of Chavvy’s stomach, first through the shirt’s fabric, then easing under it to stroke his flexed eight-pack and bulging obliques. The two new rugby jocks kissed like there was no tomorrow, clenching their eyes and totally losing themselves in lust for another thickly-muscled, well-hung athlete. “Unnhh,” Eric groaned. “Fuck me, Richie, fuck me with this huge fuckin’ dick.” His coarse ballplayer hand was stroking Rich’s dick faster and harder now, fucking it into his hand but begging for it in his ripped muscle ass. Harden didn’t have to be asked twice, and he put Chavez against the railing of the dugout and pulled down the shorts, revealing his beautiful, perfectly tanned, utterly muscular ass. His own shorts came down as he ran his hands over Chavez’s back, now more solidly defined with lats and delts and traps bulging into the hunk’s jersey. It turned Rich on so much that he was feeling up his teammate, and a totally ripped, rugger jock version of his teammate at that. He had no idea how or why both teams had suddenly transformed into absolutely beautiful rugby boys with a predilection for other rugby boys, but he hardly minded as he felt the incomparable pleasure of his huge cock sliding into Eric Chavez’s bubble butt ass. Chavvy took the dick like a pro, and within seconds Rich Harden was fucking his teammate full-on, his gorgeous prick pistoning in and out of the stud’s tight virgin hole. Chavez breathed hard, his enormous pecs and jacked eight-pack heaving into his strained jersey, and he felt Rich’s broad cockhead bottom out in his ass, sliding along his prostate and creating sensations in his 10.5-inch cock that he’d never felt before. Rich himself could get a guy to blow just by the way he looked, his powerful thighs and ass slamming his huge dickmeat deep into his buddy’s hole as his massive biceps and pecs held Chavez firmly in place. “Fuck me, Richie, oh holy fuck, holy fuck…” Eric moaned as Harden did just that, forcing more and more power into his buddy’s raging dick, now leaking hard into Eric’s white shorts. As Chavez kept begging for more, and Harden kept giving it, it wasn’t long before the gorgeous, well-tanned, totally shredded former third baseman’s cock exploded in his shorts, soaking the fabric with jockcream. Rich lasted only a couple seconds longer, his 12-inch monster firing 8 or 9 shots of hot rugger juice deep in his buddy’s hole with a long moan. Over in the A’s bullpen, things were going just as nicely for the formerly straight MLB boys. The closer, Huston Street, had been a cute, good-looking kid at 6’0”, 195 lbs., but he’d since blossomed into a 6’2”, 210-lb. jockstud whose 10-inch dickmeat bulged impressively into his shorts beneath his completely shredded torso. Huston had been well-defined before, but this body took that and multiplied it by 100, each striation, each cord, each groove of definition stronger, deeper, harder. It was enough to make Lenny DiNardo’s now-11.5-inch rugby jock dick rise hard into his white shorts next to his massive thighs. Len had been a bigger guy, 6’4”, 190, and he hadn’t grown much in height but his torso and legs and thick, meaty ass had bulked up with 40 pounds of muscle to push him to a sick 230. Both pitchers’ faces had changed too, their cheeks and jaws more solid, their eyes fierce and heart-stoppingly sexy, their hair rugged and stubbled. “Fuck, Len, you turned into a hell of a good-looking guy.” Huston grinned widely as he looked over DiNardo’s ripped physique. Len grinned, obviously feeling the same way about the hot closer-turned-hooker. “You sayin’ I wasn’t before, Street?” Imperceptibly, DiNardo’s hand began caressing Huston’s firm jockbutt through his shorts. “Wasn’t really lookin’ then,” Street said, his heart pumping hard beneath his huge pecs as Len’s hands groped his tight ass and huge thighs, then wrapped around his aching cock. Len was inches from Huston’s full, pretty lips, both of them staring into each other’s jaw-droppingly beautiful eyes. “You lookin’ now?” Huston clutched his teammate’s muscle ass as they kissed deeply, not even wondering how or why this had happened to them. Camden Yards was now a rugby stadium, full of thousands of hot, rowdy rugby fans who, like their idols on the field, had started to touch and explore each other’s ripped, tanned bodies, pulling off tightly-strained t-shirts and stroking massive dicks tenting form-fitting jeans and shorts. In the lower deck box seats, Agent #1 smiled and sat back to enjoy the ride. Soon Part 2
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