m/m Control (Part 5 added 25/05)

[Roidstaff]

The story is amazing...all the details...

Thank you! Really looking forward to Part 5.

[Ozymandias]

With thanks for everyone's immense patience, please find below the final part of Control, coming in at just under 1900 words. I hope you enjoy it!

It segues into my other (unfinished) story, Entelechy, although that may not be immediately obvious at this stage. Without further ado...

Part 5: entelechy

Immobile. A terrible state to be in. Helpless, dependent on the goodwill of others. Unable to live a meaningful life. It was hardly the existence a normal person would wish for. 

And yet, that’s precisely what made it all so arousing. That someone would throw away their life to be immobile; that someone would so deliberately grow their body to such a grotesque size. If part of what made extreme growth so erotic was its pure deviance, revelling in the revulsion of the unenlightened, then taking it to its ultimate conclusion - immobility - was the pinnacle of deviance, the height of eroticism. It was only natural that it should be James’ goal.

He had only gone and done it. 

Without the help of my pulleys, hoists and railings he was largely trapped now - his quads had got too big to really permit walking for more than a step or two without support. And with each thudding step his muscles rippled, having grown to a point where they had their own centre of gravity. It was a glorious sight to behold - and one that had never even occurred to me until I saw it happen. Not that that made it any less arousing.

We didn’t know his weight anymore; it was somewhere well north of 400. The number itself had lost its meaning to us by now - why did it matter when we could plainly see how much bigger he was? His joints ached from the weight and his organs strained to keep him alive; he couldn’t care for himself any longer. He was always panting from exhaustion. But that itself aroused him. We had achieved what was supposed to be impossible; that we had done it in less than three years was all the more remarkable.

But he was to get no bigger. How I knew that, I wasn’t sure - but knew it I did. He had maxed out. James had fulfilled his potential; he had reached what Aristotle had called ‘entelechy’. Well, almost. There was one more thing to do. Again, how I knew what was required I did not know. But I knew it anyway. 

He stood for me, leaning against the wall for support. My mouth watered as my eyes savoured the monstrosity we had created together. Our achievement. 

Pecs the size of double pillows thrust out from beneath his chin, casting shadows of their own, while the mounds of muscle sagged under their own weight. The nipples pointed straight down, and the slightest movement caused the muscles to jiggle and sway. A soft carpet of light brown hair accentuating the flowing masses...and the tantalising cleavage that separated them, which could swallow my hand up to the wrist. Or my cock, as it did most commonly. Fucking a boy’s pecs was a particular kink of mine, and James had an ample supply of pec to fuck. They were so large he couldn’t even flex most of them - only the extremities responded, with most of the muscle just being useless mass.

Shoulders the size of bowling balls framed the pecs, each head of muscle set in sharp relief and as unyielding as granite. They made fantastic handholds for when I claimed him, which had become a daily ritual (who was I to deny all that muscle?). The undulating muscles continued down his arms, becoming hopelessly overgrown biceps and triceps. The latter alone were the size of watermelons even unflexed, each rippling head so swollen as to resemble hills and valleys. The former were wonders to behold when James clenched his fists and tensed the muscle, a huge double-mountain erupting from his arm, the skin stretched to the max. Rippling forearms - each muscle visible - flowed into a set of strong, manly hands that had themselves grown in response to handling so much weight during his workouts. 

Stretch marks ran from beneath his armpits, across his shoulders and pecs, down his upper arms and over his lats. There seemed to be a pressure in him, his skin desperately trying to cover a body growing out of control. It was as if he were about to explode. Perhaps he was. 

Propping up his arms - forcing them about 70 degrees out - were a pair of lats so wide they were almost square. Unambitious sorts talk of the ‘v-taper’; James had a ‘T’, his lats erupting horizontally from his lower ribs and stretching almost 20 inches out either side of him. Like his pecs, he couldn’t flex them properly due to their size. Thrusting forward from the lats was a prodigious roid gut with a circumference closing on 50 inches; it rested on his lap when he sat, grinding into his permanent erection. It would have been at home on some hopelessly obese heart-attack case - if not the 12 brick-sized ab muscles, and supporting framework of serrati, etched deep enough for me to sink a finger between. 

Then came his quads. Not unlike his lats they had become somewhat square when viewed from the front; from his knees to his crotch there was no room between his legs. The muscles had consumed his knees, huge snakes of muscle twisting over and under each other. Last came his calves, rising two inches from the bone when flexed. Which they always were when he stood, the muscles desperately trying to balance and stabilise his crippling weight.

Many of his muscles were so large they had their own centre of gravity, making it hard for him to balance. Combined with the sheer weight and quads unable to move past each other, we had the golden triangle of immobility. He moaned softly, half in pain and half in pleasure. The pain of his grotesque body was proof to him of how far he had come, how much he had grown. And that made his manhood throb.

I flashed him the smile that he loved so much. And for the last time, I attacked his body with my hands, tongue and cock.

***

I am a Builder; a Maker of men. Before James, I already had a reputation as one of the few serious artists; someone who could make you what you wanted to be. Boys queued up, dutifully submitting their ‘applications’ - their begging submissions - to be graced by my favour. But I was selective. Most such supplications I ignored, seeing them for what they were: authored by a shallow fool with no comprehension of what they were asking for, simply seeking a quick wank to cool their burning cock. 

I am not in the business of short-term gratification. As a Builder, a Maker, an Artist, I care only for projects that will stand the test of time. Monuments that will speak of my prowess, and of the ultimate ambition made manifest. For such great work, I require a very certain type of subject. Not a boy who simply seeks to score on Grindr. Rather, a boy who doesn’t want to ‘live’ at all - at least according to the standards of a society built by lesser men.

James had demonstrated my skill like no one else, and he had returned the favour with his devotion to my cause. He had been my ultimate proving. Since him, my reputation had only blossomed further. I was the most famous name in the muscle fetish world. An almost legendary figure. The Builder of the most muscular man the world had ever seen. The one who had grown a boy to death. How many sad little boys furiously pumped their cocks to the thought, I wonder? And then wallowed in their misery when I paid them no interest. A whole cottage industry has grown around myths and rumours about me. It’s all very amusing.

I am Faber, and maybe - if your application is what I seek - I may just make a man of you. A monster. A god in your own right, to match me. By my grace are you elevated. 

So people would say of me on the forums and message boards. 

Browsing the applications is a relaxing pastime of mine. Particularly the cases where some boy repeatedly spammed his application and resorted to unconcealed beggary. These elicited a little chuckle of glee from me. They were desperate, yes, but not the right kind of desperate. They were desperate for a fantasy, not a reality.

There was an uncomfortable truth that nearly all of them did not realise. I was merely an enabler. If you don’t already have the Hunger - that all-consuming fire within you - when you come to me, then your efforts are futile. What can I enable? There’s no fire for me to fuel, no Hunger for me to feed. They think they want it because they wank to it. But no. If you did, you would have already started without me - begun to grow with only the Hunger for company. If you can’t even lock down a simple gym routine and diet, then you can never cope with my process. I simply unlock the higher planes, take it to the next level. Allow you to achieve which others can only dream of.

The Hunger makes you huge. I am but a catalyst. And you know this. You wonder why you are left behind? You are weak, and gods must be strong.

Kneel before your god, and perhaps I will show you favour.

***

His purpose was fulfilled. The hospital bed - a reinforced one of the kind used for the morbidly obese - groaning under his mass. My cock twitched. Morbidly obese he was...but from muscle. The heart monitor beeps regularly in the background. His face was still much the same as it had been some 300lbs ago, albeit a little more angular and chiseled - a consequence of my blessings. It wore a look of blissful peace, a faint smile on his lips. The rest of his body was monstrous, looking like a misshapen mountain beneath the bedsheet. His breathing was shallow, aided by an oxygen mask.

He looked so peaceful and content. I loved him, but this was the end. And I was not sad about it. He would live on in the minds of all those who dreamed of repeating his feat; but most importantly, his name would be etched on my very soul. Everything I did from this day would be a monument to him. Every boy I grew a testament to his devotion, his achievement. I had made him, and he had made me.

In more ways than he would know.

I gently lifted the oxygen mask off, exposing his lips. I leaned forward and softly kissed him, his lips pursing into mine by subconscious instinct. As we kissed, I drank deeply of his soul. Of his passion, of his love, of his Hunger. I drew it into me, my skin tingling with its power. He would be part of me forever, my final gift to him - and his to me.

The heart monitor blared its shrill alarm as I broke the kiss and replaced the mask, summoning help. But he was already gone. The monstrous body now seemed somehow dull, diminished. I left without a backward glance.

He was the first.

[thiccmuscle]

A wonderfully bittersweet ending to an almost tragic tale. Your talent for words never ceases to amaze me, and your descriptions make it seem like you have experienced it all firsthand. 

I thoroughly enjoyed the interactions between the 2 protagonists in the previous chapters, and wished there was more of that sweet puppy love in the final chapter. When Faber realised that he was falling in love, the scene of their first meeting, then of course the raw sex and worship in their relationship. I am absolutely looking forward to the next instalment of "Entelechy"!

[Ozymandias]

35 minutes ago, thiccmuscle said:

A wonderfully bittersweet ending to an almost tragic tale. Your talent for words never ceases to amaze me, and your descriptions make it seem like you have experienced it all firsthand. 

I thoroughly enjoyed the interactions between the 2 protagonists in the previous chapters, and wished there was more of that sweet puppy love in the final chapter. When Faber realised that he was falling in love, the scene of their first meeting, then of course the raw sex and worship in their relationship. I am absolutely looking forward to the next instalment of "Entelechy"!

I’m glad you enjoyed it! I wanted to leave it open to interpretation what “Faber’s” (an assumed name of course) motivations really are. He’s designed to be morally ambiguous - did James really want to be grown to death? To be reduced to a plaything - albeit a loved one - of Faber?

[Roidstaff]

Great story! So much passion, addiction, humiliation, love and sensitivity was surely all worth to go this way without escape!

[muscleshabilles]

On 5/25/2020 at 9:58 AM, Ozymandias said:

...did James really want to be grown to death? To be reduced to a plaything - albeit a loved one - of Faber?

I wish someone would grow me to death.

(Okay, not really to death, but you know what I mean.)