The caretaker

[Hialmar]

Dedication

The one who inspired this story know who he is. I want to thank him. Writing a shorter story in-between the multi-chapter sagas in my pipeline, keep my creative flow returning. Thank you. This was fun: The basics of MG stories, without any attempts to be original.

The caretaker

Nat was lucky. He'd got an employment immediately after high school, and now, four years later, he could afford a small flat. No day was like another, but each week was similar to the last one. Work as a caretaker fell somewhere between the repetitive and the variable. He had no idea about the exact purpose of the experiments going on in the labs of the company, but he didn't need to know, in order to fulfil his duties properly. He had signed a handful of documents about professional secrecy, when he accepted the job, but, as far as he understood, he hadn't seen or heard anything anyone would be interested of. Lorries or couriers delivered boxes, equipment or canisters, he signed the receipts, and he wheeled each thing to its place in the warehouse. The many labs upstairs requested one or another gadget, and he brought them there. Lightbulbs or other illumination broke, and he replaced them with new ones. The bathrooms usually worked as they should, and so did the fume hoods. He didn't have much in common with the boffins upstairs, but most of them seemed grateful for his work. He usually spent lunchbreak in a small subterraneous room close to the lockers, together with the two other caretakers. Twice or thrice, he had seen uniformed officers from the armed forces, or what seemed like athletes accompanied by persons from marketing companies or nutritional supplement companies, which puzzled him, since they didn't seem to fit in among the regular work staff. The wage was more than decent.

Nat had given weight training a try in the past, but now only worked out infrequently, because of lack of gains. He was of average build, and at a height of 5'7''.

He stirred in his sleep. Something was weird.

The alarm clock hadn't beeped. Nor had his mobile phone. Usually, he didn't wake, before his technical equipment woke him up. He felt warm. His bedsheets were damp, because of sweat. His sweat had an unusual scent: Not bad, not good, just different than usual. He opened his eyes. It was still dark outside the window, but streetlights caused a dim light to fall into his bedchamber. Strange.

Then he remembered. The accident!

It had been about closing time, and one of the lorries were delayed by half an hour. His supervisor scheduled Nat for overtime, appointed him to receive the delivery, and went home. Nat could see researchers, lab assistants and office clerks leave the ground, when the lorry approached, and most windows on the facade of the main building were already dark. The guards at the gates let the lorry inside, and Nat signed the receipt as usual. A few large canisters had to be transported to the assigned shelves, and it took some time. Nat had prepared to turn the lights out and lock the building, when he had heard the strange sound further away in the labyrinthic system of subterraneous passageways. He turned around a corner, became aware of the pungent smell of some sort of gas or vapour, and then the bright, blue light exploded before him, and everything turned black.

What had happened? And how had he ended up at his own flat?

He felt sweaty, tired and hungry. He moved his fingers and toes. Legs and arms. Probably nothing broken. He tried to rise, and felt slightly dizzy. Time? His phone told him it was 5.20. a.m. He hadn't eaten since the accident, and felt more hungry than usual. His feet touched the floor, and he went to the kitchen. The cold, white light of streetlights projected a square of light on the kitchen floor. He peeked into the refrigerator: Two hardboiled eggs left from yesterday's breakfast. A package of cottage cheese. Salami. A bottle of milk. He peeked into the cupboard: Bread, three bananas. His headache didn't feel like it would appreciate more light, so he devoured the food without turning the light on. He finished his night meal with three  pints of non-fizzy mineral water. The headache decreased, but he felt sore in all his muscles. He needed more sleep, and returned to bed.

Sleep returned, but not the black unconsciousness of the past hours of night: Now he dreamed. The memory of the smell and the bright blue light returned and was repeated in his dreams, again and again, but he also felt heavy in a pleasant way – a feeling of being physically present in a way he never had been before: Anchored in the present, occupying more space than before, some sort of calm, joyful confidence. The pleasant state of the dream continued. Heavy. Present. Occupying space. He woke up with morning wood.

The sun had risen. He felt hungry. It must have been only a few hours since his night meal, but he felt intense and ravenous hunger. Drowsily, he walked to the kitchen, but it felt like his legs didn't want to obey him. His balance was different than usual, His arms fluttered unfamiliarly in the air, when he regained his balance. Still drowsily, he ransacked the refrigerator and the cupboard for food. Silly: His tiredness caused him to imagine his hands to be bigger than usual. He boiled all the eggs left and made a porridge of oat flakes. An old jar of whey protein stood on a shelf, still unused because of his irregular and scattered gym routine. He mixed a protein drink and drank it all.

After the unusually early breakfast, he returned to bed. He felt satisfied, warm, surrounded by the bedsheets and his sleepiness returned. A comfortable heat spread in his body. He smiled and relaxed, close to sleep. Then the comfortable heat intensified, and the feeling of soreness returned to his muscles. Half asleep, he flexed his arms, his legs and his glutes. His muscles felt unusually hard. Strange. He was probably still dreaming. The pleasure intensified. He emitted a little yelp, and returned to dream-sleep: He dreamed, that he grew, and that he outgrew the surrounding buildings, towering over the city and then floating out into outer space, becoming big as a planet with enormous muscles. It felt great.

His alarm clock and his mobile phone woke him up. Workday ahead. Shit. He felt strange after that accident. Tired. Needed more sleep to recover. He had to call his supervisor and tell what happened. Perhaps a doctor needed to examine him. Strange feeling. Tired and energetic at the same time. Powerful even. But sore. Sleep overwhelmed him, and he returned to sleep. He couldn't remember his dreams.

It was thirst that awoke him. The sun shone from zenith, and Nat's mouth was dry as sandpaper. His throat felt weird and thick, like he had acquired an infection. Shit! The work! He should have been at work hours ago! He stumbled out to the kitchen, still unable to find his proper balance, and rank two pints of water. An unopened bottle of milk stood hidden behind a jar of pickled vegetables. He opened it and gulped it down. What was wrong with him?

Then he felt the pressure in his bladder, and relieved himself in the bathroom. He turned around to face the bathroom mirror, jumped at the sight of a muscular gigantic man who had broke into his home, and almost fell to the floor. The big man jumped too. Nate arose and looked himself around. No man. Imagination. He faced the mirror, which seemed to have been moved, and hanged at a lower position than usual. He stared. He moved his right palm to his cheek, his brow and his temple, and continued to stare. He moved his palm to hhis chest, and explored his pecs. The giant in the mirror followed his movements. The giant in the mirror was himself. A feeling of pleasure arose, and spread in his entire body. There was a lot of brawn to spread into, and Nat liked the feeling. He watched himself in the mirror, squeezed his beefy pecs and continued to stare in disbelief. Yesterday evening, he had been of average build and 5'7''. Now, a tall bodybuilder stared back at him in the mirror, probably around 6'3''.

Nat felt dizzy again. He knelt at the bathroom floor. The soreness of all his muscles returned again, and intensified into something that was close to pain, but was also accompanied with a feeling of power throbbing in his temples and in his ears. His breathing became more frequent. Waves of pleasure engulfed him. He couldn't concentrate. He could feel his bone structure re-arrange itself, but the pleasure took the brunt of the growth pains. Scraping sounds of bone tissue and a sickening wet sound of muscle fibres caused a brief wave of nausea, but then the waves of pleasure returned again, more intense now. He could feel himself expand in every direction: His chest deeper, his spine taller, his legs, arms and shoulders rounder and fuller – able to lift weights of powerlifters or strongman competitors. An empowering and encouraging feeling of confidence grew in his chest and in his throat, and spread in his entire physical extention. He shivered and shuddered under the process, and felt weak of hunger. He knew his cupboard and refrigerator were empty now. He crawled to the kitchen and made a phone call to a super-market with home delivery, and he was mildly shocked by the deep timbre of his booming voice.

He received the grocery delivery dressed in bedsheets, but his lack of clothes in the right size was still a future problem. He needed to eat. Eat more. Food. More food. Feed his muscles. Feed this muscle machine. Two omelettes. Two roasted chickens. A loaf of bread and three cans of tuna.

He returned to the bathroom. He could watch himself grow at a visible rate, and it didn't matter, that he now only could think about his strength, his muscles, his power. 6'7''! 397 lbs! His quads were impressive, both in sheer mass and when it came to definition. An Apollo's belt was impossible to ignore under the six building blocks that were his abs, and drew attention to the V-shape formed by his narrow waist, steel-hard lats and wide shoulders. The sight of himself flexing his football sized biceps caused him to lose his mind in ecstatic rapture. His traps were cartoonish, and his shoulders like volley balls. A big protein drink. A BCAA soft drink. More water. Lots of water. His brawn craves food. Build more muscle. Build more. Building perfection! Yeah! 6'9''! 452 lbs! Yes! Look at me! He wanted to remove the dried sweat from last night, and took a shower. He caressed his still growing shape with shower gel, and let the warm water drizzle down his titanic back. His body convulsed in pleasure. He dried himself on a towel, which felt too small for his new size, and he returned to the mirror and the bathroom scales, mesmerized. 6'11''! 496 lbs! More! Still growing!

Lost in bliss and revelry over his incomprehensible gains, the young titan wasn't aware of the desperate knocks on his door: 

"Nat? This is Dr. MacKenzie from work. I want to ensure that you are ok. An accident happened at the lab yesterday night, and we want to run some tests."

[Jbn345]

Awesome story! Can't wait to see where this goes. Some cock growth would be cool too. 

[Hialmar]

2 hours ago, Jbn345 said:

Awesome story! Can't wait to see where this goes. Some cock growth would be cool too. 

The entire idea with this story was to not begin a multi-chapter epic. Three of my epics are left still unfinished. I might post a revised version of this story in the future, though, after listening to some input from someone. The revised version will not be much longer than this one.

As I have said before, in other threads: Some stories are best left with author and readers not knowing what will happen next, because that will allow each reader to imagine his/her/their own continuation(s) in their minds.

I don't mean write and post their own continuation, but I mean imagine their own personal continuation in their own privacy. It's bad taste to write a public continuation when the original author is still alive.

What happened to Frodo when he reached Valinor after the end of Lord of the Rings? If someone attempted to write an official continuation to Lord of the Rings several decades after Tolkien's death, it would spoil the end of the trilogy, but every reader is free to imagine in his/her/their armchair.

Some literary universes, on the other hand, are intended to be shared. Lovecraft, Howard, Smith, Kuttner and (before he changed style to conventional crime thrillers) Bloch intentionally shared ideas, and built a shared literary universe, which others have continued to expand almost a century after the initial stories were published. One of my, still unfinished, MG stories takes place in the universe Lovecraft began, because Lovecraft intended it to be shared (even if it, since his death, has expanded far beyond what he would have imagined). 

The story in this thread is not intended to become the starting point of an officially shared universe.

If it alleviates your disappointment somewhat, I can promise you, that I will write something similar but different, when I have finished some other projects.

[spacevlad]

A wonderful one-off with such a pure, distilled growth scene. Your detail in describing how the growth feels, looks, sounds is wonderful.