The new grower: Part one

[Hialmar]

PREFACE

This story is dedicated to Gunshotuk.

 

The new grower

Part 1

You shivered again, at the sight of him, and pleasure crawled delightfully inside your flat belly and your leather trousers, but you were focused enough to ask him:

"How do you afford this?"

The question wasn't unwarranted. It was dark outside, and you hadn't seen much of it, yet, but the manor was large, surrounded by a well-kept park, and expensively furnished. Two glasses of whisky-and-water stood on the glass-table, and your cigars lay in an ashtray. He caused a chirping sound, when his expensive leather-combats rubbed against the leather sofa, and he rose to a standing position, before he answered your question.

"I have an accommodation where I work. This is my workplace. Quite nice, uh?"

That playful smirk again. He was big, and he knew it, and he liked what he knew, but he also seemed to like your reaction to it all. His powerful leather-clad legs were wide apart in a confident stance. He had kept his laced boots on his feet indoors. His veiny and impossibly brawny forearms were crossed over his chest, and his head was cocked in an angle, that asserted his dominance and yet invited you to upcoming and unknown fun. 

"Work?"

"I'm a bodyguard. Don't let us talk work now, innit? I liked what you did to me in the SUV. Why don't you go on with that? Or do you need some encouragement?"

Mischief glittered in his icy blue eyes, and his cocky smile returned, revealing his perfect teeth. Your legs felt weak. If you needed encouragement? His entire presence was encouragement: His broad shoulders, protruding from his camo-patterned training-vest; His impossibly narrow waist; The hints of a six-pack through the fabric of the vest; His glossy black combat-trousers of leather; The dimple in his chin; His pug nose; His smooth shaved head with a mohawk; The scents of anti-perspirant, leather and cigars. When you kissed his tattooed shoulder, it felt like kissing a warm boulder covered by leather, and you could sense his aroused breathing envelop you with whiffs of whisky and cigar-smoke. Another wave of arousal billowed through your body, and you could feel his big, powerful hand cup your groin and squeeze you into rapture. Powerful and veiny arms lifted you, bodybuilder-sized bicepses carried you effortlessly, and, in that ecstatically aroused state, it didn't matter where he took you. Your head rested against his chest. His cheeks feeling like warm and soft sandpaper against your kissing lips. It was too good to be true: How you had found each other on a website for men who like fantasies about impossible muscle-growth, how you had met at a gay bar, south of the central part of City, how he had brought you to this luxurious manor outside town ... You shivered and moaned:

"Oh, Stud!"

Your hand was inside his vest now, its stretchy synthetic fabric against the back of your hand, your palm on Stud's impossibly firm and powerful pecs, trying to squeeze his pec, failing to squeeze his pec ... You both moaned -- he in a deeper voice than your's. His working-class pronunciation of words, and his hints at a past in The Marines, had almost driven you crazy back at the bar, and you were surprised, that he had found you worthy to worship his brawn. You both sat down somewhere else in a place dimly lit. You explored his biceps and triceps, kissing his steel-hard arms and exploring his wide back with your hands. You could sense the bulge in his leather-trousers as you sat on it. He put a band of fabric around your head, you heard a weird noise, but as you turned your head to ask him, he removed it without a word, kissing you with lush and confident masculine lips. A hint of the soft sandpaper again, as your lips touched. You understood, that, at these testosterone-levels, Stud was unable to keep a smooth shave a full 24 hours. His strong arms carried you again. Carried by the bad-boy. Carried by the ex-marine. Carried by the perfect man. Stud -- the monument of brawn. You didn't deserve to snog this ... this ... this masculine perfection, but he seemed enthusiastic about it. Oh, fuck, yes, Stud! Unreal! So good! 

Somewhere dark or dim. He returned you to the floor, but kept his embrace. His protective and comforting arms surrounded you, with the potential ability to crush you by its sheer strength and power. One of his big hands sank down to squeeze one of your buttcheeks through the leather, and press your leather-clad throbbing bulges towards each other, which caused you both to throb faster and with more power. It felt like your arousal rose forever into unknown levels of pleasure. Both of you emitted grunts and moans. Stud suddenly said a few comprehensible words in his rough and sexy drawl:

"Ready for activation. Activate!"

You felt confused. 

"What did you say?"

"Sorry I haven't been entirely honest with you. You have been recruited."

"Recruited?"

"By our little team."

"Team?"

Felt so good. You weren't in an investigative mood right now. You just wanted to feel more of Stud. Recruited. Sounded like some of the stories and role-plays you and Stud had discussed online on that website. Pity that such things couldn't happen in real life. Stud, on the other hand, continued to speak:

"My friend, Swag, is going to join us."

Join us? You felt a sting of jealousy, but then you felt several things at the same time.

An unknown, but pleasant, feeling stirred inside you. It swiftly filled your entire body -- torso, arms, legs -- and mixed with your arousal. You moaned again. Join us? If that Swag was a quarter of what Stud was, it would still be an awesome threesome: Average you with two musclemen. Perhaps not a bad idea, after all. And that new, unknown feeling again. Spreading. It almost felt like after a workout. Your muscles felt pumped. Felt good. And where was that 'Swag' fellow Stud was talking about? The feeling of pump and pleasure felt stronger now. You yelped.

"You see, the formula I put in your beer back at the bar must have begun to work now. I took a third dose myself. You are going to become like me."

Become like Stud? Impossible! Utterly few men would be able to reach the level of masculine perfection of Stud ...

You felt how your short-sleeve shirt began to feel uncomfortably tight around your neck and around your chest.

Someone moved in the shadows and the dim light. Wow. Felt so good. You felt more physically present. Heavy, strong, light at the same time. And warm. Uncomfortable shirt.

"Is he a grower?" Stud directed his question out in the dark corners of the indistinct basement room. A voice even deeper, than Stud's replied:

"He is a grower. He might even be a better grower than me."

The shape, that must be Swag, emerged from the shadows. He was even taller than Stud, way beyond two metres tall, and broad shouldered as a bear. He was clean-shaven and his head was smoothly shaved, too. His eyes were playful like Stud's, but there was steel in them, and confidence, and courage, and a latent wrath resting in them, ready to flare into unstoppable destructive action, if needed. There was also protectiveness, and loyalty. Swag was a mound of impossible brawn and masculine power. Your eyes widened. Swag stood with his legs widely apart in a confident stance, put some sort of head-band around his head, and said:

"Intensify"

And it did. The nameless feeling inside you intensified, you felt yourself widen, harden and expand, and you could feel Stud's chest expand, pressed against your widening and hardening back. Stud's growing, hard leather-clad bulge rubbed against your hardening, growing leather-clad glutes, and you both moaned. Stud moaned:

"YES! Allow me next step in my evolution!"

Stud's big palms explored your growing pecs, and his soft lips explored the stubble on your cheeks.

"Oh. Yes. Grow with me, recruit! I love to feel you grow with me, and see you grow with me, and the feeling of your hard, manly torso pressed to mine as we grow beyond ... beyond ..." He moaned louder now, and you could feel  his leather-clad bulge grow even harder and bigger now, rubbing against your trousers. The scents of anti-perspirant, male sweat, warm leather, whisky, pre-cum and cigar-smoke were very intense now.

Swag watched you, and let out a moan. His veiny and hairy forearms ended in big paws of hands, and he let one of them cup his own leather-clad bulge, and squeeze, as he felt the power affect him, and as he watched you and Stud erupt into monuments of engorged muscle-mass. You could feel the seems of your shirt and your trousers lose the struggle against your ... your ... OH FUCK, YES! Against your bulging brawn. Every trace of subcutaneous fat you may have had before had disappeared, and your bulging brawn had ripped your shirt apart. Your eyes widened at the sensation of your monster quads forcing themselves out of your tight leather-trousers. You could feel the sensation of room-tempered air to your naked skin, as you stood in the midpoint of the room, only dressed in your boots and your jockstrap. You mumbled to yourself:

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. It's too good to be real. It's SO GOOD. Fuck! What's HAPPENING TO ME?"

Sweat trickled from your brow, from your back and your veiny pecs.

Stud's hand and arms were around you: Supporting you, admiring you, caressing you, and his whisky-breath -- manly stubble to manly stubble -- whispering in your ear:

"The Power-field need direction. Human brain-activity directs the power-field. The headband on Swag's head ... He's good at directing the power ... OH FUCK! Really good at it ... Can you feel it? He's a grower. Swag's big like that, because he could force the power to change him like that, though he was big already before all this, but not like now. WOW! Did you feel that?"

Your low body-fat was now unable to hide the definition of your swiftly growing muscles. You let your right hand explore the impossible physique you had developed in a matter of ... You were uncertain about time now. It could have been minutes. Or hours. You looked like Stud, now. Like Stud had looked back at the bar. Now, Stud had grown further. Even more. More. Into something ... Impossible. Closer to Swag's level. And Swag was growing into ... Into something impossible. Impossibly magnetic. And attractive. And masculine. And huge. Like a sexy shaved Hulk. You moaned again. Stud moaned again. Swag bellowed. You were becoming what Swag wanted you and Stud to become. Become the masculine fantasies of a masculine mind. Become... So good. So big. So huge. Yeah, look at you. Look at all three of you! Perfect symmetry beyond elite bodybuilders. Size beyond Strongman competitors. Your mind... So confident. Felt so ... Wow. All that rage and lust inside ... transforming into a physical shape ... Into ... Fuck, yes! Built of boulders! Steel-hard! Growing into what Swag want you to be ...

Swag approached you. He had got a second headband in his hand. He put it on your head. You could feel tiny electronic equipment inside it. You could sense Swag's imagination. Imagination about what he dreamed to become. What he dreamed you and Stud to become. Your boner spasmed. Yes, you longed to become THAT, but what if all three of you became ... became THIS? Swag bellowed again, as he sensed your fantasy about his and your future physique. Both his mind and your mind were nurtured by decades of action heroes, of game characters, of famous bodybuilders and wrestlers, of super heroes. Your imaginations blurred together into a shared fantasy about perfect muscles, perfect male handsomeness, perfect masculinity. You bellowed together, and you could hear Stud grunt in your ear:

"FUCK! Can't believe it! Can't believe this feeling pumping inside me! The power-field! So much more intense now! The effect on me! And its effect on you two! Can't ..." He swallowed. "Can't believe ... So ... Uhnnnnnn! Boss promised me the next step in my evolution, but this is..." Stud panted. Stud swallowed. "This is more than next step. This is ... Oh fuck! This is ... WOW. We are all turning into ... YES, MORE! MORE!!!!!!!" Stud ripped his clothes apart, as his brawn erupted out of the tatters.

You were drifting into an unknown state. Your imagination and your body began to blur. Your physical surroundings felt like it was brimming and buzzing of a voluptious empowering force. You and the towering, hulkish, bearish Swag were creating yourself and Stud into ... into ... UH! UHNNNN! Yes, Stud was right. It all felt so good. But who was Boss? Did he mean Swag? With sadistic glee, you pushed Swag into the next level of muscle-pleasure, and it caused Swag to drown your imagination with the next level of masculine perfection. Your fertile imagination added to it, fine-tuned it, boosted it, and sent your minds into the power-field, directing your growth further. Growth. Empowerment. Evolution. Super-human strength. Super-masculine mass. You ... YES! Felt so good. Swag growing into what you wanted him to be. You, growing into what Swag wanted you to be. Stud, growing into what you and Swag wanted him to be. All of you. Together. Becoming heavier, brawnier.

"YES! Next level! BEYOND next level! Look at these fucking Hulk-muscles! Look at you, lads! We are ... Can't believe ... Boulders upon boulders of mass ... Mega-mass ... And the power streaming into me ... Can't take anymore! Can't take ... But don't stop, for fuck's sake! Don't stop! Need more! Crave more! The urge... THE URGE!!!"

Stud's aroused and excited voice turned you and Swag on, and added to the force of your combined minds. You entered a state of prolonged orgasmic reveries of ultra-masculine perfection, and you didn't know for how long your unrestrained anabolic hypertrophy had went on, when you came to your senses, and found that your thoughts had become flesh, and that you were three impossibly powerful men standing in a dimly lit room. The door opened, and Boss entered.

Edited March 17, 2018 by Hialmar
dedication

[arpeejay]

Nice! I look forward to seeing how this one progresses.

A note about colloquial English with respect to the following sentence:

Don't let us talk about work now, innit?

I can't speak to dialects other than American English but no American speaker would ever say this sentence. 

 "Innit," in American English , is a slang / borderline baby talk shortening of "isn't it?"

 As in:

 "Innit lovely out today?'"

 Or...

 "About time for us to leave, innit?"

 In your sentence, an American would end it with "Okay?" or "how about?" or something of that ilk. A Canadian might end it with "eh?" the Canadian verbal tic that more or less translates as " right? " or "yes?" in American English .

Sorry for the pedantry but I know you try very very hard in this department and your results are uniformly topnotch. I figured you would want to know how it parses for an American reader. And I would be very interested if it parses differently for non-American English speakers.

Richard

[sithspawn]

.

[Hialmar]

Thank you, Richard. You are entirely correct about how seriously I take matters of language, and how irritated I become, when I spot an error of mine, after posting a story. As a non-native speaker/writer, I may even take these things more seriously, than some of those, who are native speakers. Sometimes, I have corrected stories afterwards, sometimes not.

In this particular case, however, the choice of 'innit' is intentional. Though drilled in Received Pronunciation and official British spelling at school, I am now trying to learn Estuary, Mancunian, Scouse, Geordie and British slang in general. I might have misunderstood something, but I am under the impression, that in some -- comparatively widespread -- forms of colloquial British English, the short form of 'isn't it' is used indiscriminately instead of 'should we?', 'does it?', 'has it?', 'have we?' and similar expressions -- and even used as a reinforcement (though frowned upon by the upper classes, of course). I wanted to subtly hint at Stud's social background -- this unpolished diamond of a man.

Now, when you bring the matter up, I politely ask British readers to correct or confirm the impression I have got of British working-class English. Now, when I think about it, lots of the more heroic of my (already posted or planned) characters speak like Stud, or in an even heavier dialect. When I travelled as a tourist in UK, I got a very positive impression of Northerners, and lots of popular music -- known even on this side of the North Sea -- come from Liverpool (The Beatles, The Dead 60s), Coventry (The Specials), Manchester (Buzzcocks, The Smiths, Oasis, Blackout Crew) and similar places.

[Hialmar]

35 minutes ago, sithspawn said:

Unfortunately in the UK Innit is used in many weird ways.  Young people tend to use it as an agreement for example, and a lot of people from the Asian (Indian and Pakistani) tend to use it in random ways as well..

"I can't believe that just happened!"

"Innit!!"

and I heard a girl on her phone once say

"I'm at the station innit"

So if he's been watching anything from the UK, especially programmes about younger people then he's possibly picked it up from there.  Frankly I hate the way the word is used over here but unfortunately it's becoming more commonplace. 

 

Thank you, sithspawn, for confirming my impression. I love British English. All forms of British English. Irish English is very nice, too.

[Hialmar]

When I am at comparing cultures, it is interesting to notice, how UK manage to spread both 'serious' culture and popular culture. While France is know abroad for its 'serious' or 'high' culture (such as Montaigne, Proust, Zola, Hugo et cetera), and while USA is know abroad for 'popular' culture (like Hollywood films, cartoons and superhero comics), UK manage to export both 'high' and 'low', and thus spreading a more balanced impression of itself abroad. UK is the home of William Shakespeare AND Doctor Who, of Edward Burne-Jones AND Banksy, of Edward Elgar AND Sex Pistols, of high tea AND toad in a hole. That's rather endearing.

[arpeejay]

Cool beans! Glad I brought it up ! Now I know a tiny bit more about contemporary Brit speak. And you all know it wouldn't fly if the characters were North American (I wasn't reading closely enough to determine your characters' nationality, I'm afraid.)

[Ro20316]

This was prety amazing for a first chater.

So damn good

[Bjort]

Outstanding!  ???

[Hialmar]

13 hours ago, arpeejay said:

Cool beans! Glad I brought it up ! Now I know a tiny bit more about contemporary Brit speak. And you all know it wouldn't fly if the characters were North American (I wasn't reading closely enough to determine your characters' nationality, I'm afraid.)

With a few exceptions, I usually keep the geographical setting vague, but, though I mix in American vocabulary by mistake, I mainly write in British English. US doesn't have old manor houses, does it, because US wasn't feudal?