muscle-growth Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

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Part 1

Here's the first part of a story I quickly decided to whip up. It's mostly setup for later parts, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. As always, feedback is always appreciated.

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"Do you know how much it sucks losing your dream job? I poured my heart and soul into that company!" I say, words slurred by alcohol. My complaints are directed to the bartender behind the counter as I stare at my drink.

"Hell, I moved to this city just for this job, I don't know anyone here."  I look up at the bartender who is polishing a mug nonchalantly. His bearded face shows a hint of a smile as he raises a single eyebrow. I've been coming to this bar weekly since I moved here in the summer, but more recently I've been coming daily. I just barely notice as I slowly begin swaying from side to side in my chair.

"Fine, I guess I know you now, but that's not the point! The point is that after just 3 months they tell me that they need to downsize AND I just so happen to be on the cut list! What am I going to do-" I'm cut off by the sensation of stomach acid coming up my throat. I cover my mouth with a hand and sit still waiting for the feeling to pass.

Joe, the bartender, just laughs. "I think you've had too much to drink... again. You've been complaining about this for five days in a row now. As for what you're going to do now, that's simple. Get a new job. Luckily," Joe walks a few steps behind him to the bar wall and points to a Help Wanted sign on the wall, "we just so happen to be hiring."

I begin shaking my head in protest, but quickly realize that sudden movements aren't doing me any favors. "I can't work in a bar, I'm a journalist! Besides the fact that I have no experience, it's not really my thing. I can't just-" I'm cut off once again by another wave of nausea. I let out a low groan. The room feels like it's spinning.

"Alright, alright, get a move on to the restroom before you make a mess of my bar. And at least give the job some thought before you flat out deny it." Joe said with a frown. He then swipes my half empty cup and pours it out. I nod slightly and jog/trip my way to the restroom.

The restroom is empty when I enter. I run over to a sink first to splash cold water on my face. I'd rather avoid vomiting all together if I can. The shock of the cold water grounds me somewhat. I stand with my hands gripping the sides of the sink for what seems like an hour, but is more likely a minute or two, until the restroom door opens. I check the sink mirror in front of me to see who just came in and my knees go weak. Walking behind me to the toilet stalls is one of the most muscular men I've ever seen. Truthfully I don't see many bodybuilder types around here, but this man was still above and beyond the norm. He was wearing a pair of jeans that barely seemed to contain his tree trunk legs, and a tailored white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone revealing his shelf-like pecs.

I don't like to admit it but I get a bit grabby when I'm intoxicated, and the more I drink the more I want to grab, and tonight I've had a lot to drink. Once the man entered his stall, my drunk brain began scheming of any way to cop a feel of those massive muscles. I stood there staring at the stall from my vantage point at the sink mirror, and began waiting for my chance to act.

As soon as I hear the creaking of the stall door opening, I turn around and wait for the mountain of a man to appear. Once he enters my sights I fake a fall towards his large body. My luck finally seems to be looking up as the man catches me in his arms. I take that moment to get a feel of any muscles I can reach, pretending to try and catch my balance. I get a hold of his back, traps, delts, biceps, and pecs before he finally pushes me off of him, his hands on my shoulders.

"Woah, what the hell man, are you ok?" The bodybuilder says in a deep gravelly voice. I am in bliss right now. Not only did I just feel up this massive man, but now he's touching me too?

Unfortunately, my happiness is short-lived as my nausea decides this is the perfect time to go into overdrive. I only managed a small, "Oh no," before spewing my dinner and copious amounts of booze onto the shirt of the man in front of me.

The man yells a string of curse words as he tosses me to the side. I try to grab onto his hand before I fall to slow my descent, but he manages to slip his hand out of my grip. The sudden prat fall knocks the wind out of me and I am forced to put my head on the ground to catch my breath. I sit up slightly to see how the large man I just puked on was doing and almost gasped as I see that he has taken his shirt off to clean it in the sink. Watching his rippling back muscles move as he scrubs his shirt distracts me for a few moments until I notice a small weight in the hand I tried grabbing the man with.

Looking down I see a leather bound journal and a black pencil in my hand. Where did this come from? The cover was blank besides a name, "Greg Carlson". I had no idea who that was, but was too drunk to think about it for too long. I flipped the journal open to random page near the middle and began reading it.

"-graduated from Anderson County High School with a full-ride sports scholarship. Soon after entering University, became interested in bodybuilding and-" I looked up from the journal and towards the man standing a few feet away from me. Could this be his journal? I doubted that someone as masculine as him would be carrying around a journal of his life stories everywhere he went. Besides, the way it was written seemed more like a third-person view rather than a personal journal.

I looked back at the journal and flipped to the first page. Instead of seeing more life events, I saw what seemed like in depth statistics of a person's body. The stats didn't stop with just weight and height however, they went super specific like individual finger lengths. Who keeps track of that? Another thing I noticed was a category for sexual orientation, which was filled in as straight. I barely had time to register my disappointment before I saw something far more interesting, a penis category. With a length of 4 inches and a girth of 3 inches, I felt kind of bad for the guy. If the muscle beast in front of me really was the owner of this journal and it was accurate, his dick, while not horribly small, would look ridiculously tiny in comparison to his massive body. Feeling naughty and a bit horny, I erased the numbers with the black pencil that I found with the journal and replaced them with 10 inches long and 8 inches in girth. Hopefully if he notices what I wrote he'll have a good laugh about it.

I got up quickly and placed the journal and pencil down near the man while apologizing quietly. He glared at me as I rushed out of the restroom. Outside of the restroom, I let out a heavy sigh and walked back to the bar, head hung.

"Have a bad time in there or something?" Joe asked, noticing my sullen return.

"I... I may or may not have puked all over a dude in the restroom." I said, not making eye contact with Joe. Joe was silent for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. His laugh was infectious, and I couldn't help but join in. It was too ridiculous not too.

"Shit, man, I'm not going to clean that up." Joe finally said after we stopped laughing.

"Ha, luckily I think it pretty much all ended up on the guy and not the floor." I chuckled again before finally looking up at Joe with a grin. "Also, would this be a bad time to ask for that job?"

"That was a quick change of heart, but I guess It's a good of a time as any. I can set you up a quick interview this week with the boss. Don't worry though, I'll be there too. You're basically guaranteed the job."

As we continue discussing the job and the work it entailed, I notice the bathroom door opening and the man I had met in it exiting from within. He was wearing his shirt once again but now it was wet and basically see-through and his sculpted body was on display. At the very least there was no sign of the vomit I had covered him in. With a distressed look on his face the man kept adjusting his crotch. It was bulging a surprising amount for 4 inches, but I suppose it's all about how you display it. The man speed-walked his way past me without a second glance and left the bar. Joe didn't seem to notice as he continued his spiel on bartender etiquette.

Unbeknownst to me, the journal I had found had completely disappeared without the man taking it. Things would soon start to get a bit hectic around here for me.

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Nice start, interesting premise. More please!

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for a moment i thought the man he puked on was the boss.

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I think that our protagonist will be able to change the bodybuilder's weight, height, penis length, sexual orientation etc... with the journal

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Great start! *Writes 'MuskyMuscle will write more of this story' in the journal and closes it.*

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On 6/5/2018 at 7:44 PM, cutlerfan said:

Great start! *Writes 'MuskyMuscle will write more of this story' in the journal and closes it.*

I suddenly feel like I should finish off the next chapter soon! Hmm...

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Part 2

Here's the second part of the story. This one scratches some dark subjects, but only for a little bit. I like to read stories that I can get emotionally involved in, so that's what I tend to write. If you guys don't really enjoy that style, tell me so I can mix it up for next time. Also, this one is way longer than the previous part. I kept writing and writing, I just couldn't stop! If you can make it through the whole part, hopefully you'll enjoy what comes at the end ;D

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Halfway through my first shift as a bartender and I was already feeling overwhelmed. After breezing through the interview last week, I was fairly confident that I'd be able to handle the job, but that confidence was quickly dashed when the hordes of patrons started appearing and ordered drink after drink. Luckily, I wasn't alone. Joe was behind the bar with me and he was doing most of the work. Handling orders, making small talk, and keeping the peace, Joe somehow made doing all that at the same time look easy.

"What a doozy of a first day, huh?" Joe said, turning to me when we finally hit a lull. "We're not usually this busy, but apparently the bar has been gaining popularity through some online reviews and blogs or something."

"How in the hell did you manage that crowd so well?" I ask, astonished.

"How? Well, practice, obviously." Joe replied as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders near his chest and began to pull outwards, "Practice, and a sprinkle of bartender charm." He let his suspenders snap back and with a wry grin he gave me a wink.

"Right, about that," I say while rolling my eyes, "Why do you wear such a cliche outfit?"

While on shift, Joe always wears the same stereotypical bartender getup: black jeans, white dress shirt, and suspenders. The only thing that varies from day to day is the bow ties he wears. Today's bow tie was brown with speckled white dots.

"Don't knock my style," Joe said with a feigned look of hurt. "If you must know, I wear it for the customers. I find that people tend to respond better when I wear something predictable and easily recognizable. The outfit is pretty comfy too."

Besides his final comment, I was actually pretty surprised by his sincere response. I was expecting something more along the lines of picking up dates or-

"Also, the ladies say my butt looks good in these pants which makes them tip more."

I let out a long sigh and shook my head. I did have to admit that fact was true though, his butt did look pretty good in those pants.

"What? You asked!" Joe said, an amused look on his face. As he began absentmindedly twisting his mustache with one hand, he continued, "The next wave of people will be coming soon, so get ready. Don't worry about the orders, I'll take care of that, just focus on keeping the customers happy for now. Talk to them, ask how there day was, that kind of stuff." As a few more people began entering the bar, we went back to work.


"Hey, do you mind taking care of the bar solo for a few minutes? I need to finish up some paperwork and prep our shipment orders." Joe asked me. It was the end of the night and there were very few people left.

"Very funny. I think I can manage." I nodded towards the large, now mostly empty room.

"Alright, don't burn the place down while I'm gone!" Joe said, giving me a double thumbs up as he walked away.

Once Joe was out of sight I did a quick survey of the remaining bar-goers. I quickly realized that there were roughly two types of people still here. Those out late partying with their pals, and those drinking alone because they had nothing else to do. A man in a suit and tie who clearly belonged in the second category sat quietly with a drink at the counter near me.

The man did little besides stare forwards and take small sips out of his glass or scratch his disheveled beard scruff, but for some reason I felt strongly compelled to go over to him and strike up a conversation. It took me a few moments to understand why, he was drinking alone at the bar with a sad look on his face. He reminded me of myself just a week ago. There was one big difference between us however, I had Joe to talk to. I began the short walk towards the man. I would be his Joe. If I could be even slightly as helpful as Joe I would be satisfied.

It took the man a few seconds to notice me once I walked into his view. Once he looked my way I said, "How's it going?"

He seemed surprised that I was talking to him. His previously glossy eyes began to clear up somewhat. "What me?" He asked. I nodded in reply.

"I'm..." he noticeably hesitated and his eyes clouded over again before he continued, "I'm fine."

The man was clearly not fine. I didn't want to force him to say anything he didn't want to say, so I changed the subject.

"Nice drink choice." I said, motioning to his drink. His eyes followed my gesture to his drink. He abruptly looked up at me, his eyes much more focused now.

"Are you a whiskey guy too? Most guys tend to go for beers nowadays." He asked excitedly.

"Totally," I was just trying to start up a conversation and didn't actually know much if anything about whiskey, but not wanting to disappoint the man, I continued, "my favorite is..." I darted my eyes below the bar counter and saw the label to one of the whiskey bottles, "Highland Park."

"No way, that's mine too. That's what I'm drinking right now!" The man's face broke into a smile.

Worried that he'd ask more whiskey questions I quickly changed the subject again.

"So what plans do you have for the rest of the night?" I asked.

"I was planning on..." His face tenses for a moment before he looks me in the eyes and smiles, "It doesn't really matter. If you don't mind I think I'm gonna stay here for a while longer."

We talked for a few minutes more until Joe returned. After checking back in with Joe and tidying up, I went back to conversing with the man at the bar.

While we talked I found out that the man was an office worker for a big time business firm that deals with real estate. He explained the cutthroat culture of the office workers trying to outperform each other in what essentially amounted to popularity contests to acquire large projects, most of which he would lose out on. While I listened to this man's woes, I felt a growing connection to him. His struggles were very close to how it was at my previous job. I continued to get to know the man until it was nearly time to close the bar for the night.

"Thanks," The man said to me.

"For what?" I asked, somewhat confused.

"For listening." He said, a sincere look on his face. "Oh, and I can't believe I spent all that time talking and didn't even introduce myself!" He thrust out his right hand, "My name is Grant."

"And I'm Dan." I took Grant's hand and shook it. His hand was warm and softer than I was expecting. "It was nice meeting you."

"If, uh, if you, um," Grant suddenly began stuttering over his words. He took a second to gather his thoughts, reached into his jacket inner pocket, and took out a business card. "Here's my number. If you want it." He placed the card on the counter in front of me. His face was getting redder by the second. "I'll be going now." He said with a quick smile and a wave before heading out of the bar.

Once Grant had left, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Well that was fucking adorable." I turned to see Joe grinning at me.

"So what?" I said, grabbing the card and shoving it in my pocket.

"Nothing. Just little Dan, making friends already. They grow up so fast!" Joe laughed. He then looked down at my other hand. "New journal?"

"Huh?" I look down and notice a black and white checkered journal in my hand as well as a plain mechanical pencil. When did this get here? In silver lettering the name "Grant Witt" is the only thing on the cover. I vaguely remember something similar to this happening last week.

"Oh this, yeah, just a journal of mine" I don't know why I lied, but I didn't feel like I should share the journal, at least not yet. 

"Alright," Joe raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well it's time to go home. Do you need a ride?"

"I'm good, I drove today." I replied.

After saying our goodbyes Joe and I parted ways for the night.


Once I arrive back at my apartment, I take the journal out and place it on my kitchen table.

"Grant Witt, that can't be the same guy, could it?"

I reach into my pocket and take out the business card. I inspect it for the name, and my suspicions are confirmed. The card also reads "Grant Witt". I slowly reach for the journal. If this journal is anything like the last one... I flip to the first page and see a plethora of familiar stats. The layout is nearly identical to the last journal except for the font and the specific stat inputs.

At a quick glance I see that Grant is gay, overweight, and has an average dick. Is it rude of me to be looking at this info? Probably, but I can't stop myself. I flip through the journal skipping pages here and there. The way the journal is written is eerily similar to the one from before. With a more in-depth look than last time, I find that there are several other types of pages besides stats and life events, including wishes, regrets, likes, dislikes, and more. I continue through the journal until I reach the most recent entry.

"Went to The Mirror & Banner Bar for a 'final drink'. Met a man named Dan who renewed his well-being. Gave Dan his number in hopes he'd call him. Went home and wrote a to-do list-"

There was absolutely no way Grant had written this. Besides the fact that I hadn't seen him write anything while I was talking to him, this journal detailed things he apparently had done while nowhere near the journal. This journal was getting more confusing the longer I read it. I flipped back through the pages until I noticed something on the wishes section and saw something stranger. A new entry was being added before my eyes.

"Get fit to impress Dan."

I was shocked at what I just saw and flattered by what I read. I could feel my eyes widen from how unbelievable what I just saw was. The journal just filled itself in. Could this journal really somehow be connected to Grant? If he thinks and experiences things and they end up in the journal, does the opposite also apply? I needed to know the answer, but I didn't want to risk unknowingly harming Grant, so I had to be careful.

I picked up the mechanical pencil I found with the journal, and flipped to a new section titled, "Attributes". I thought for a few minutes, wanting to be as careful as I could be on what I would decide to add. Finally, I started writing.

"Gains five times the effects from exercise than normal."

I chose something that would help him fulfill his new wish, even if that was a bit self-centered of me. It was a simple addition. I had to make sure there was no adverse effects before trying anything more extreme.

I closed the journal and put the pencil down. I was getting jittery from excitement. The implications of something like this were amazing. I couldn't handle standing around any longer, so to pass the time I went to take a long hot shower.

When I got out of the shower, I immediately headed back to the journal to read more. When I got to the kitchen table again, however, the journal had disappeared. I searched everywhere in my apartment but the journal was nowhere to be found. Had I just hallucinated the whole experience? I doubted it, but to be sure, I needed to meet with Grant again.

I found Grant's cellphone number on the card he gave me and decided to text him.

"Hey Grant, this is Dan. How's it going?"

"Hi Dan, I can't believe you actually texted me! I'm so sorry for how awkward I got." It took Grant less than a minute to reply to my text.

"Ha, no problem. Are you free this weekend?"

"Completely and totally."

"Would you be willing to be my workout partner? I'm trying out a new gym and having a partner always helps."

After a few minutes of silence I was worried I had messed up my chance, but Grant finally replied.

"Sure. When and where?"

After a few more texts we decided on the details. A few more minutes of idle chatter followed, until we both decided it was finally time to sleep.

The week passed by quickly. I was learning the ropes of bartending from Joe, all the while fantasizing about the potential of the journals. Where had they come from? Did my writing in it actually affect anything? My meeting with Grant couldn't come soon enough.


Finally the day of the meeting, I rushed to the gym, arriving a few minutes early. I decided to wait in the lobby for Grant. As I waited, I thought of how this meeting was killing two birds with one stone. The first being if I could get a hold of the journal again, the second being if what I wrote did anything to Grant. I was so deep in thought I didn't notice as Grant walked right up to me.

"I hope you didn't have to wait to long." Grant said, apologizing. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a large jacket.

The sudden realization that Grant was right in front of me shook me out of my thoughts. "Oh, no, not long at all. I just got here."

When we got to the locker room and I got changed into my workout clothes, I noticed Grant hadn't even started getting changed yet.

"Did you forget something?" I asked.

"Ah, no, don't worry, I'll be out in a bit. Don't wait for me." Grant said, not making eye contact.

Piecing together what I had read in the journal and how he was acting, I got the impression he was too embarrassed by his physique to change in front of me.

"Alright, I'll be waiting just outside of the locker room." I said. I then walked out of the room and onto the gym floor.

I did a few stretches until Grant finally came out. Now in his workout clothes, Grant wore a grey t-shirt that was several sizes too large with shorts to match.

The first station we went to was the squat rack. I decided to go first and loaded the bar up with a modest 150 lbs. I finished my set and swapped out with Grant who took a few plates off, setting the weight at 120 lbs. Halfway through his set, his legs began to tremble, and he was losing his breath. Grant tried getting one more rep in but couldn't without my help. Grant placed the weight back on the rack and turned towards me.

"I'm so embarrassed. I can usually do twice that much, but for some reason I'm already tired."

"Don't worry about it, it's probably just an off day." I said, trying to reassure him. In the back of my mind I was considering if this somehow was a product of what I wrote.

The next station was the bench press. Grant insisted on going first, probably in an attempt at trying to redeem himself. He loaded up 110 lbs on the bar and got into position.

The first few reps went smoothly, but just like the squats, Grant was losing his energy around the halfway point. While Grant began to struggle with his next reps, I was getting distracted by the results of Grant's workout. His shirt was already soaked with sweat resulting in the material clinging to his body. without the bagginess of the shirt to hide his body, I could now see that Grant had a hefty beer belly that jiggled while he strained with the weight. What was impressive however was the pump that Grant seemed to have going. While not very built at all, what he did have was being pushed to the max. His veins were visibly pulsing and becoming more visible with each rep. We had only been working out for about 10 minutes, but looking at Grant, one would assume he'd been here for a full workout already. If that wasn't enough, I looked down towards his legs and almost gasped from surprise. Grant had a raging hard-on.

"H-Help" I finally heard Grant say.

I looked down to see that Grant was barely keeping the bar off of his chest.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" I said as I grabbed the bar to help him.

Grant gasped for air as he sat up. He then stood up to stretch himself out, but noticed he was at full-mast and quickly hunched over to try and hide it.

"Are you alright?" I asked Grant, already knowing the answer.

"I-I-I." Grant couldn't even finish his sentence he was so embarrassed.

"Hey, it's alright, it happens all the time when you have an intense workout."

"No, you don't understand." Grant said, shaking his head. "It's not just... that. It's my nipples too. They're so sensitive right now. I'm so horny right now, I can barely handle it. It's like I just got flooded with testosterone, everything feels like it'll set me off.

This must be happening because of what I wrote. Grant is getting five times the amount of testosterone than normal from this workout, his body can't process it.

"You know what, let's cut this workout short." I suggest to Grant. He just nods in response.

In the locker room, we decide to just grab our stuff and go, rather than getting changed and showering. I can't put Grant through any more mental stress. We walk to the parking lot and Grant begins walking to his car.

"Woah, Grant, where are you going?" I ask before he gets very far.

"Home. There's no way someone as lame as me should be hanging out with someone as nice as you." Grant says, clearly upset.

"Sure, the workout didn't really go too well, but we don't have to split up yet, do we? I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like to come over to your place." I suggest.

Grant's mouth opens and shuts several times as he tries to say a response. "Are you serious? After how embarrassing I was, you'd still want to be seen with me, let alone come to my house?"

"Of course, I'm not so shallow that something like that would bother me."

"I guess if you really want to, then you can follow me." Grant says, an incredulous look on his face.

A few minutes later I'm in my car following behind Grant to his place.


When I pull up to Grant's house in the suburbs, all I can think of is that the journal is the real deal, whatever that entails. Grant steps out of his car and I notice that he hasn't gotten any softer since the gym. I pretend not to notice as he leads me through the front door of his house.

His house is well decorated, with several paintings on the walls, and tasteful decor in each room. Grant continues taking me through the house until we reach the kitchen.

"Damn man, this is a nice place." I can't myself. My tiny apartment doesn't even compare to this.

"Thanks," Grant says bashfully, "Even if my work isn't the friendliest place, I guess it pays well."

Grant waves an arm around the room.

"Make yourself at home. If you need any food or drink, help yourself to the fridge. I'll be getting changed in my room upstairs, so I'll be a few minutes. If you need to use the washroom, it the first door on the left at the top of the stairs." Grant explains before leaving the room, half covering his crotch. I hear his footsteps thump off into the distance and then climb a flight of stairs.

I look around the kitchen for a moment. The kitchen itself is probably a third of the size of my whole apartment. I decide to check the fridge more out of curiosity than hunger. The fridge opens to reveal a fully stocked inventory. While it is full to the brim, most of the food is instant premade dishes. If I had to guess from the lack of ingredients, I don't think Grant is much of a cook.

After snooping around the kitchen for a minute, I decide that I should probably freshen up. I'm still wearing my workout clothes, so the least I could do is wash up. I follow the way I saw Grant walking before until I see a set of stairs leading to the second floor. Once I walk up the stairs, I see a long hallway with several doors on each side. As I'm walking to the first door to the left I hear a sound and I freeze in place. At first I'm unsure of what it was, but then I hear it again, this time clearly. It was a moan, and it sounded like it was coming from the closed room one door down from the washroom. I wait for a few more seconds until I hear the sound again and I take a step towards it.

Before I go any further I contemplate whether I should really follow through with what I'm thinking right now. In just a few steps I'll be right outside the door that the moans are coming from.

Whatever is happening in that room is probably private, that's why the door is closed.

If it was so private, would Grant really be so obvious about it?

I hear the moan again, and I feel so turned on I can't help but give my slowly rising cock a tug. That does it, I can't stand not knowing. I take the last few steps and stand directly up to the door. I grab the handle and slowly turn it. It's unlocked. I push slightly until a sliver of the room is revealed. The room is definitely a bedroom, but I can't see anything besides a bookcase. I push the door open more and more until I get a full view of the room.

Sitting at the edge of a bed with his back to the door is Grant. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards. He is completely nude and has his left hand on his left nipple and his right hand on his engorged dick. Every so often, he makes a subtle move. Ever so slightly he pinches his nipple or rubs his dick, letting out an extremely sexual moan. He's so on edge right now that the slightest touch is enough to push him closer to pure ecstasy. From my angle I can see his back tense with each moan. His back is covered in a light dusting of dark brown hair, now completely matted down by sweat.

I can't resist the allure any longer. I silently walk into Grant's room. As I enter, a strong smell of Grant's sweat mixed with pure sex invades my nostrils. I breathe the scent in deeply as I walk towards Grant. I'm within arms reach of him after a few steps and he has yet to notice me. From this close, I can finally see Grant's cock in all it's glory. Grant is cradling the shaft between his thumb and his index and middle finger. The bulbous head is so filled with blood that it's almost purple, and the veins along the shaft pulse along with his heartbeat. Grant moves his fingers down the shaft an inch before groaning in sexual pleasure. Precum oozes out of the tip, slicking up the already moist cock head.

The temptation is too much for me to resist. I lift my shirt off of my chest and toss it to the ground before I lunge head first at Grant's twitching rod. Before he has a chance to react, I've replaced his hand on his cock with my mouth. Grant screams in pleasure as his cock releases another spurt of precum. I can't even imagine how sensitive he must be to release this much precum from just a touch. I can feel the pulse of blood rushing through the cock as I push it deeper into my throat. The salty sweet taste is intoxicating and helps me relax my throat to better handle Grant's full size. While I continue to suck off Grant, I move my hands up his hairy body, exploring each nook and cranny of his pudgy body. Even with how out of shape he seems, I can feel strong muscles just underneath his fat.

I look upwards to see Grant looking down at me, mouth open slightly, face twisted in pleasure. He's letting out a constant low growl. When we make eye contact he nods to me. I face back down towards his crotch to finish the job. My hands finally reach their destination at his hard nipples. I slowly begin rubbing them, while I continue deapthroating. Grant's growl begins rising in volume as he gets closer to climaxing. Finally, I pinch his nipples between my fingers at the same time as I clench my throat around his cock.

"AAAAAAAAH YEEEEEEESSS!" Grant screams out as he reaches the peak.

His cock gets to a new level of thickness as his cum pumps into my throat and into my stomach. His cock pumps and pumps, more and more.

Grant keeps screaming. His climax is reaching heights he'd never even imagined.

As I feel his seed filling me, I'm finally pushed over the edge as well. Grant's pure bliss was caused by me. Both from my actions right now and from the journal's effects. The idea that this much pleasure is even possible overloads my senses and I begin to cum. My shorts are completely soiled by the time that Grant and I fall from our high.

I slowly release myself from Grant's cock as I let go of his nipples. He let's out a final grunt and falls backwards onto the bed. I stand up and peel my wet shorts off before climbing onto the bed beside Grant. We roll onto our sides and I begin spooning him. Seconds later, Grant has passed out. I follow suit and fall asleep right after him.

I wake up in a daze. The smell of sex and cum still hangs in the air. The memories of the past events rush back to me and I smile. Grant is sound asleep, still next to me, now snoring lightly. I rub his back, being careful not to wake him, then I sit up to stretch my arms. As I'm reaching upwards with my right hand I notice I'm holding something.

In my hand is Grant's black and white journal and mechanical pencil.

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That journal is something special.O wouldlove to know how is that he gets it,

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1 hour ago, Ro20316 said:

That journal is something special.O wouldlove to know how is that he gets it,

Maybe you'll find out more in later parts?

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I love the new chapter. I personally didn't notice any "dark subjects", but the description is great. I'm sure this is on purpose, but I'm curious as to how and when the journal appears. I am eager to see the origins in the future!

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