Muscle Worshippers: Chapter 8 of 14

[LJackson]

Chapter 7 is here. And this is really where it gets interesting...

8

Olly

Friday, September 26th

 

Late for work again today. I know it's wrong. A month ago I would haven't dreamt of it. A month ago I was early, eager to please — god, such a good little boy. But was that bad? I love the library — I don't want to piss off Mr Bartholomew — but equally, I can't bring myself to give a fuck. Am I a bad boy now?

I'm definitely not so little these days.

No, I'm not a bad boy. God knows, I'm working harder than ever. I get up at five to get to the gym early enough for my morning session. Just me, the Beast, and a few other hardcore lads. We devotees of the iron, sweat and lift. Most of those other guys in the early morning, city types with nice pecs, are still only doing half the work that me and the Beast are putting in. We're there to do a cardio session and a few light weights. We spar a little in the changing rooms.

That's just session one. We still have our weights session scheduled for the evening.

No, that's all good. Mum and Dad and Anthony are pleased to see me taking some exercise. My parents are glad to see me becoming a man. Anthony nods encouragingly, but I can see there's something behind his eyes. Perhaps he's not sure which of us is the big brother nowadays.

Especially after his nice pale blue interview shirt got ripped up the back.

He found it on my bedroom floor. 'Jesus Christ,' he said, 'What happened to this?'

I wasn't in the mood to talk nicely about it. It was a Saturday morning and I was getting ready to go for a swim. 'I guess I happened to it, bro. I'll replace it.'

'You get in a fight?'

'What are you, deaf, blind or an idiot? I told you that I happened to it. In case you haven't noticed, I've put on some weight since you first leant it to me.'

'You mean you outgrew my shirt?' He was turning it over in his hands. 'The sleeves are all burst too.'

'Are they? Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise you cared about it so much.'

'You don't seem to remember it happening.'

'Sometimes when I've had a good session, and I'm really pumped, I guess I forget myself a bit,' I tried to explain, still packing my swim bag: towel, trunks, shake...

'I just can't believe you've put on any muscle so fast.'

'It happens when you first start at the gym. The Beast's an expert, and I've been reading up. A guy my age has the right chemical balance. He's ready to...'

'Explode?'

'If you want.'

'Show me,' he said.

I really hadn't wanted this, but he'd asked for it. I went and stood before him and pulled off my sweat top. I like it because it keeps my new physique something of a secret. It's outsize. You can't tell, at first glance, how very outsize I am.

'Oh, fuck.' He covered his mouth with his hand. 'Olly, you look like a — like a gorilla or something.'

'Do you see how I bust your shirt open now?' I balled my hands into fist, demonstrating the iron bars my forearms have become. I banged on my chest with one first. The smack and the little bounce always made me want to smile, especially thinking how little I used to look when I first struck these poses in the bathroom mirror. 'Do you see what I'm packing? Your shirt was for a normal sized guy, Anthony, and I've started to go way beyond normal.'

'I suppose you're just...' His mouth was dry, staring at the thick sinew of my arms, my hulking shoulders, my rugged six pack. 'You're growing up faster than I thought. I didn't realise you even had chest hair.'

I ran my fingertips through it. 'That's testosterone. When you're working out at my capacity, the body starts producing more of it. I'm flooded with testosterone now, and it — well...' I clapped my hands together for emphasis, and couldn't resist pulling a momentary 'most muscular' pose, so he could see the whole story. 'It makes things grow.'

He shook his head in disbelief. 'I hope you know what you're doing.'

'Don't worry, little guy,' I patted his shoulder patronisingly. 'I'm right on course.'

He looked repelled, and for some reason I loved it. I tried not to show what a turn-on it was, just pulled my sweat top back on and went out the door for that swim.

Mr Bartholomew is less than happy. Last Friday he complained that I wasn't taking the job seriously. That was at the start of the day, and I swallowed that down pretty well, but he kept on at me all day.

I told him how I was carrying three times the number of books about now, and could reach the higher shelves without standing on a step ladder. He said that was all very well, but that it was attitude that was the thing, and I had a bad one.

That afternoon the ex-policeman came in for a chat. Well, I've written about him in here before. It's the highlight of my week. At first I thought it was just because he's a tough like me, and in some ways more so than the Beast. He doesn't lift or anything, but he's army-fit, and fucking tall. He towers over the Beast and has to stoop a little just to come in at the door. He's been in some hard situations, he told me. He said he chased down drug dealers and smacked their heads together. He's been in situations where he's carried a gun, and others where he's had to wrestle a bloke to the floor and pin him. That takes strength, sure, but it takes something more: self-belief. Yeah, he's a tough guy, a real man, the sort of guy my brother would be shy of talking to.

Not sure why he quit the force. Reading between the lines, I think it was something to do with addiction.

The first time we talked, he wanted to know about gym stuff. I got a real buzz when I realised he'd noticed the little changes in my body, the output of all my input. It's nice to be admired. Of course, I like it from girls most of all. I like to see that look in their eyes that their pussy is melting, that they want me inside it, that they're dreaming of my cock. But when I get it from guys it's worth three times as much, because I know they're saying they put themselves beneath me. I am the dominant one, the alpha male, for once.

And then when he was asking again last week, the penny dropped. He's gay. A little — or rather, six foot something — poof. And I realised, as I was talking, that his eyes kept going down to my arms, my chest, my packet. He couldn't stop staring, and then I could see a look come over his face. The look that meant he wanted me to come over his face. I folded my arms before him, and he had to actually take a step back. His eyes boggled.

'So, where do you work out?' he asked me.

'Uranus,' I told him. 'It's just down that way.' I pointed past his shoulder so that my massive arm was right in his face. He stared at it like a hungry man looking at steak. 'Maybe you should come along.'

'I'd like to,' he said.

'You'd like to what?' I said, leaning in conspiratorially.

'I'd like to come,' he said.

'With me?' I said.

'If you're interested,' he said.

I gave a big laugh then, put out a big hand and pushed him away playfully. He almost stumbled.

'You've changed since I first came in here, if you don't mind me saying so,' he said, and I've been puzzling over what he meant exactly.

But later that day, when the last customer had gone and we were locking up, Mr B. cornered me by the photocopier and said I needed to spend less time chatting and more time doing what I was paid for, or perhaps they'd decide my presence was not required.

After a whole day of being baited, that's when the red mist finally came down. I turned and shoved the guy, less playfully then I did the ex-police officer. He went down right away.

'Please don't hurt me,' he whimpered.

'Please don't hurt me,' I parroted.

'I didn't mean to be rude,' he said, 'but -'

'But you're used to being a bully,' I said. 'I'm not. But I could get a taste for this.'

I went and stood over him. He looked up at me in horror but also in desire. He didn't know what he wanted, but I did. I slowly undid the top button on my chinos.

'I thought you were a different sort of boy when I employed you,' he said.

'The sort you could push around,' I said, slowly unzipping my fly.

'You were so polite, so sweet-natured.'

'I was littler then,' I said, reaching into my trousers and pulling out my junk, still wrapped in my clean white briefs. I cradled it in my hand, letting him take it in. 'I've grown up a bit.'

'That's a nice size,' he said greedily, getting up onto his knees.

'It's certainly more than I'm used to,' I laughed.

'Do you want — do you want me to suck you?' he asked. More worldly wise than I'd have thought.

'Open wide,' I said, and pulled out my dick.

He looked up, uncomprehending, then turned back to my big soft cock, hanging like a piece of ripe fruit from a big, solid tree. He opened his mouth.

I caught the back of his throat with a stream of golden piss.

He gasped, but I grabbed his curly, grey-white-black hair, and after a second or two he relaxed, and took it like a man.

'Say thank you,' I said.

'Thank you, sir,' he said.

'No more complaints from you, I hope.'

'I only want what's best for the library,' he said, wiping his mouth. 'And all of us,' he added quickly.

No, I don't think I'll have any more trouble from him. And I don't think my work out regime is affecting going to the library. I'm always finished in plenty of time to reach the door for opening time, especially now I can run faster than ever before, and it's only a couple of streets away.

None of that is so wrong. But when I've finished my morning session, then comes the shower. The Beast and I still shower in adjacent cubicles, just like that first day when  could barely lift 10kg. Back when I was a shrimp next to him. I'm nowhere hear his weight and size yet, of course, or his definition — he's still bigger than me, and has five years' advantage on me. I'm still nowhere near the point where I can live my dream. Take his place. Have Estelle tell him how much more she likes my dick. Have him grovel in front of me and call me his master.

I'm still too weak for that. And crazy enough that my dick is growing with my muscle, I'm not even half as hung as he is.

And we're still pals.

We go into our showers together, and I take my bar of Coal Tar soap, and I turn on the water. Jets of red hot water hit my shoulder blades and run down the crevice of my arse, into my arse hole, and down my newly engorged thighs.

I take the soap and rub it in circles on my shoulders, around the burning ridges of my trapezius muscles, inside my stinking, furry armpits, over the hard ridges of my stomach, round my dick and balls, up and down my thighs, and up inside my chocolate starfish. And this is where I start to go wrong. This is where I am able to take stock of how my biceps have swelled and my triceps have swelled, as I raise my arms to scrub away beneath them; I can appreciate, in this silence of the water hissing, how much harder and wider my lats are than last week. I soap up my pecs and I take note of how much broader they have grown, and how much further they stand from shoulders and my thick, vascular neck.

This is when my dick becomes solid, and I can practically feel my heart beating in it. It seems to stand a little longer and flare a little wider every time I get it hard, and then I soak away at it, marvelling at how it's grown, adoring it with the caress of my bar of Coal Tar.

Now I am able to flex and pose and feel how much the muscle has sprouted on and within me. I love feeling the extra mass that I've grown, sometimes overnight. I have to feel the new thickness and solidity of my thick cock, as I pump my big fist on it.

I go into a reverie where all I am conscious of is the size of my muscle and how it has grown. I think about the stares I've got from girls and from guys. I think about how I bust Anthony's shirt and how he looked at me with such envy. I think of the jeans I was wearing last week that ripped at the seams because my thighs are so big now. I think of how I accidentally snapped a door handle off the door at the library. I reach down and feel my balls, now big juicy orbs full of spunk. I reach around and feel the tightness and roundness of my glutes. I  twist and look down at my tree trunk thighs, grown from hairless saplings. I look at how my body hair has grown wild across the chest and arms and stomach that were completely smooth a week ago. I think of the tiny physique that stood in this cubicle stall once before, half the size of me at least.

Fuck, what's happening to me? I feel I'm becoming obsessed. I've got the physique of a true bodybuilder now, but it's not enough — it's really not enough. I've got it in my sights now. Another couple of years and there'll be a beast in that shower stall.

Okay, I'm going to have to sneak into the bathroom and have another wank now. I need to do more than get my boss to drink my piss in the library after hours. I need to get some sex soon. I reckon the police officer would go down on me, given half the chance. That's what we were really talking about, last Friday.

I made sure of it. 'Come with me?' I said. 'I'm flattered, big guy, but I'm afraid I don't fuck guys. This big mister -' I grabbed my bulge and squeezed it to show him how it crammed my y-fronts ' — is strictly girls allowed.'

God, he looked humiliated, though he tried to smile. Fucking queer, after my body.

That reminds me. Sophie replied to my text. She's coming tomorrow. I'd better save that wank tonight.

I'm going to give her everything I've got.

 

[panama]

Really great story and writing.

[Ro20316]

Another great installment. The change in attitude is eviden and i wonder if all those sudden changes are because of the ebs and the Gym they are going....