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The next morning, when Logan walked into the gym, he could sense something was different. Even Cody, who had been so friendly yesterday, scowled at him as Logan had seen on the team pictures last night. The big linesman’s face and body were tensed up like a coil, as if Cody were continuing to work out right there at the desk. He gave a Logan a brief “’Sup” nod, wide eyed and nostrils flaring, as Logan passed on through the turnstile. Inside was a frenzy of grunting beasts. Logan was reminded of the way Darryl had powered his way through his set yesterday, except now everyone in the gym had that same intensity. Over in the far corner of the room, stood a statue of a man, arms folded as always, that redefined Logan’s picture of the masculine ideal. No longer did the Greeks hold any sway in that regard – the 350 lbs brick shithouse Logan beheld showed him that beauty lay in squares. A thick, brutish, square head with a diamond cut square jaw, a full squared off sheriff mustache with a squared off buzz cut and thick, deep brow. A neck and traps so wide they flared outwards as the bulges of his shoulders angled down to a powerful, thick waist rippling with cobblestone abs. Giant, diamond cut thighs, calves and shoeboxes for feet supported the bank vault that lay on top. This man was hard, and as he surveyed, his presence in the room could be felt from corner to corner. His narrow eyes followed Logan as he made his way over.

“What do you want?” The Master asked contemptuously.

“I want to be fucking big and fucking strong.” Logan asserted.

“WHAT?” The Master roared.

“I want to be fucking big and fucking strong.”



The room stood still for a second, then the clanks of iron resumed.

The Master looked down on him, then motioned towards his office. Logan followed him in, and then the Master turned around to face him, and dropped his pants, his mass completely on display. Logan shifted inwardly a semi building up in his pants. This man was 50% more Man than he was, and his cock was no exception, bulging, thick and corded as his forearm. The Master gestured down towards it.

“You want it, punk? Show me.”

Logan had never sucked dick before. His dick was for sucking – sex these past few months were meant for his pleasure and his alone. Faced with this mountain of a man, however, he felt dominated. His semi started to falter. He closed his eyes and remembered yesterday. Growing. GROWING! It was within his grasp! His dick stood at attention, and a moment later, he was on his knees, choking on thirteen inches of meat that pounded the back of his throat like a fist. Logan sucked and prodded around with his tongue, trying to make room to breathe, and as he did so, he found that as his tongue hit certain spots, the Master would jerk forward, throw his head up and close his eyes. Squeezing in short breaths through jerks, he prodded and pulled with his tongue, feeling his head being drawn higher and higher by the rising pole in his mouth until-! A torrent of cum spurt down his throat, filling up every air pocket he had so carefully crafted until it started to flow out his mouth.

“SWALLOW!” The Master bellowed, and Logan complied, tears in his eyes, until he felt a sharp jab in his butt.

“Good…” sneered the Master, “A real powerhungry cocksucker. I was getting tired of choosing between weaklings to command.” The needle fell from his grasp and shattered as it hit the floor. “This stack includes a myostatin inhibitor – the only supply you’ll find in this country. The deal is simple. One suck – one stab. One per day. Now leave my sight.”

Logan stumbled out and began his workout. Disappointingly, he couldn’t lift any more weight than he used to. But as he continued, he found that on his third set, he was completely in control the way he never was by the end. He added ten pounds to the bar and tried again. It was easier than his first set with the lighter weight had been. By the end of the third set, he added weight again. When his form had dropped enough for him to feel the need to stop, he added up the plates. He had just squatted 495 lbs, 50 lbs more than his previous best. In a trance, he continued with the rest of his workout, marvelling at his progress on each one. By the end, he checked the clock – 8:45 am. He was going to be late for work! Not bothering to shower, he threw on his work clothes and sprinted out the door.


Logan slipped into work at 9:15, and it appeared no one had noticed he was gone. He started his daily routine but after twenty minutes realized he hadn’t cleared even one line of code. He ran one of his automated scripts, did fifteen minutes of handstand pushups and mountain climbers, cracked his knuckles, and tried again. No dice. The code swam before his eyes. He assumed that he just had a lot of energy to burn, and that as usual over the course of the day he’d start to hit his rhythm. It never came though and burning bright through his frustration over not being able to accomplish anything was an incredible sense of BOREDOM. Every moment he spent sitting at a desk he felt he could be using his muscles. His break periods were no help either. Calisthenics weren’t doing it for him, by this point he was feeling no resistance, and so they offered no respite from his pent-up energy. The only thing he had enjoyed all day was eating. His muscles were still starved from his monstrous workout that morning, and with every bite of steak and every sip of protein shake he could feel the nutrition seeping down through his veins and feeding them, satisfying them. As he imagined this, he felt his cock begin to rise again, and soon he was imagining getting his injection the next day. Before long he had blown his load all over his office, and several of his colleagues and his boss were peeking in at the door, piqued by the guttural grunts and shaking floor coming from his general direction.

“Coming in late, eating and doing pushups all day, masturbating in the office?” his boss squeaked. “You’re fired!”

In his boss’ office, exit paperwork in front of him, Logan could barely believe his eyes. He was still entitled to a severance package, so long as he signed a non-compete clause and vacated immediately, and as long as he didn’t sue. After today, he knew he was never working in IT again. He would look for a job that used his muscles constantly, and he would enjoy the chunk of cash to spend on more food to fuel his growth. He gave his ex-boss a toothy grin.

“Have a nice fuckin’ day, won’t ya?”

As he left his office, he could hear his boss talking to the reception.

“I don’t know what happened! One day, we’ve hired one of the brightest coders in the business – he helped build Zipto for God’s sake – the next moment we’ve got a raging musclebound freak in the office who doesn’t do anything but eat and workout? I thought that sort of thing only happened in the movies…”

Not long after, Logan had found his next job – Cowboy Construction. He sat face to face with a Eddie, a walrus mustached, ruddy faced, balding brick of a man who clearly had played football and worked out in the field back in the day but whose belly had steadily grown over the years now that he was in a supervisory role.

He looked back and forth from Logan’s resume to the man himself, chewed his tobacco thoughtfully and remarked, “I don’t know why y’ve decided to get int’ the construction business from one o’ those fancy firms, but I ain’t even checkin’ references f’r a man’s big as yerself. A big fucker like yerself’s welcome any day’ve the week.”

“One condition,” replied Logan, “No. Fucking. Shirts.”

“Y’think I give a flyin’ fuck ‘bout that?” asked Eddie, “I’d eat my own fuckin’ cock if my crew owned half a dozen goddamn shirts between ‘em!”

Logan smiled. He’d found his place.


Logan’s new workplace was everything he’d ever hoped for. Among his crew, a motley assortment of ex-convicts and rednecks who couldn’t give a shit about safety and even less shits about anything else, Logan settled in. Finally, he could smoke on the job. Everyone here swore like a sailor all day long, calling each other with a good natured “Hey fucker!” from across the job site. Everyone here was a real man, over two hundred pounds, bushy beard and strong as an ox. None were as strong as Logan though. They’d taken to calling him “Forky”: since he was so eager to lift anything and everything that needed to be lifted, he basically acted as an extra forklift for the crew. He’d even found some shooting buddies among the rednecks, and twice a week they’d head out hunting or shooting, and Logan found himself getting to be a crack shot with dozens of different assault rifles, shotguns and handguns.

Three months saw Logan transformed by the myostatin inhibitors, training and eating like a maniac, and the constant lifting at work and twice a day at the gym. In place of a 245-pound man stood a 315-pound mountain. Taking a cue from some of his co-workers, Logan had rewarded himself with a tattoo session every ten pounds he had gained, the images stretching out over the ample and ever-increasing surfaces of his muscles. He now had a sleeve covering left bicep and forearm and encroaching onto his left pectoral and back with skulls, barbed wire, guns, and a bald eagle with wings portraying the American flag. On his right shoulder he had chosen to put a bearded Punisher skull with two rifles crossed underneath as well as a banner that read “FUCK FEAR.” Ever since he had thrown a man across a room for calling him “Forky,” deeming it a pussy nickname, his new monikers had been “Viking,” “Crusher,” and his favourite, “all brawn and no brain.” No one here would have guessed that deep in some drawer lay a Computer Science degree and certifications in a half-dozen programming languages, and Logan liked it that way. As he had continued to grow, the rest of the crew began to orbit his centre of gravity, feeling drawn by his masculinity and feeling the need to impress him and win his approval.

The only thing that eclipsed Logan’s dedication to his body was his dedication to the Master. He spent over five hours a day either being trained by the Master or pleasuring him to receive the injection he desperately craved. As he once again surpassed Darryl he could feel the glares on his back as the Master trained him personally, pushing him to inhuman levels of strength, but he couldn’t care less. Every time he looked down upon Darryl, he felt the immense satisfaction of having won once again, of being better. Spending so much time with the Master, he knew that Darryl couldn’t bear the Master’s cock being rammed down his throat more than three times a week. No one wanted it enough, except Logan, and the Master knew it, and gave him what he desired.

One day, at the range, Logan was practicing quickdraws to hit clay pigeons when he was approached by a burly man stuffed into a suit. Logan continued his practice while the stranger observed, casually smoking a cigar and implacable behind a pair of Raybans.

“That’s a good shot you have,” the stranger finally interjected, “care to hit some people with it?”

Logan considered it.

“I ain’t takin’ fuckin’ orders from some big shot police chief or army fucker, no.”

The stranger broke into a broad smile.

“Oh no, you misunderstand. I’m from Firebat Mercenary Corps. We do all the dirty work. When there’s war crimes to be done on America’s behalf, we’re the ones that get called. You look like you love your country,” he said, gesturing at Logan’s tattoos, “I bet you’re also the kind of man who’d want to kill for his country. There are certain… self-serving benefits to it as well. A certain criminal immunity in the homeland, so to speak, as well as, of course, the financial rewards.”

Logan looked at the sky, thoughtful.

“Logan, you are an exceptional man. There are not that many strong-ass motherfuckers that are both familiar with computers and good shots. In two months, we can turn you into a weapon that any country would trip over themselves to have on their hands.”

“I ain’t codin’ no more. Computer screens swim before my eyes now.” He nodded at his gun, “This’s what I spend my time on. That ‘n getting bigger.”

“No matter. We have a whole hacking team. We just need someone who can talk to them and hold his own on the field.”

“How much?”

The stranger pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it and showed him. No more needed to be said. They shook hands and Logan signed the paperwork. He was going to be picked up that evening to be sent to training camp. Just one more thing to do.

Logan headed to the gym, and right into the Master’s office. The Master was already waiting for him, buck-naked and seated legs spread wide. Logan reached into his gym bag, pulled an AK-47, and rained a dozen bullets into the Master’s midsection. He then grabbed the myostatin inhibitor shot out of the Master’s hand, jabbed it into his thigh, then head over to the safe where he knew the supply was kept. He punched the safe hard. It dented deeply. After two more blows, the door to the safe came clean off, and several bottles and hypodermic needles could be found inside. Logan swept all of them into his gym bag, then walked out of the door. The whole gym was dead quiet and looking right at him, having heard the gunfire from the office. Paying no mind, Logan strolled through the stunned gymgoers, proud as a lion and without regrets, and he went right on home where the van was waiting.

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Holy shit.

Things had taken a dark turn. Logan had been transformed and had changed who he is. Im not gonna lie and i say i wasnt execting Logan tpo turn an evil bastard but the moments he started hagging put with redneck and going into shooting sessions I imagined something like this was gonna happen.

Logan now has a license to kill and he will grow bigger along the way...

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This story hits all of my buttons. There's elements of this that reminds me of my former boss who transformed into an Alpha stud. At the time, he had just broken up with his then girlfriend of 6 years and I convinced him to become an Alpha. Fast forward a few months later and my boss is sending me shirtless pics after the gym, injecting steroids, bought himself a firearm, and upgraded to a big ass truck. It was the wildest time of my life.

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This has been amazing so far! I hadn't commented after the first couple of parts, because i've been behind in reading the story. Of course, now I'm eagerly awaiting the next part! While I may not agree with all of the characters' decisions and how they act in all circumstances (I also realize it's fiction and not real life), the descriptions of both the mental and physical changes have been phenomenal and incredibly hot. I can't wait to see how giant Logan grows now that he has the myostatin formula in his possession and what adventures and situations he gets into as a mercenary.  

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Logan was right at home among the grizzled, testosterone-charged, chauvinistic men of the Firebats. Craig Roark, the recruiter who had so convincingly pitched the job just two months before, clearly had a type. Everyone here was amoral and self-interested, even sociopathic, but the Corps had the funds to ensure that they behaved predictably and was directed towards the right cause. As a result, everyone flew through training with flying colours, especially Logan who at 325 pounds was the biggest, strongest man there. At first, he had been disappointed at his plateauing growth, despite eating three MREs per meal and the constant physical training, but his conditioning continued to improve and he was able to run faster and further, carry more and complete the grueling courses in less and less time. His body fat percentage steadily dropped and his shredded body was consistently on display. He was too big for any of the standard-issue gear, so while they were being custom-made he took to strapping ever-increasing weights to his body as his only from of clothing while he accomplished the exercises. By the end he was a well-oiled killing machine, rabid for his second taste of blood. At night he revisited in his mind his final moments with the Master, and only regretted that he hadn’t yet been trained enough to subdue him in time to give him a taste of his cock in turn before taking him out forever. That, and he’d need to find a new myostatin inhibitor source in a few years time, but he was confident he’d find another one before he ran out.

Their training complete, he and his squad were on their first assignment. They were told that there was a secret Russian facility hidden somewhere in the Middle East, and that the CIA had no intelligence on what it was or what it might be, and that sending intelligence units had failed multiple times. So, discreetly, they had hired the Firebat Corps. to blitz the facility and take it over by force, dispensing with subtlety which obviously wasn’t working. Their orders were to gun down anyone they couldn’t subdue immediately, and then to hold the facility until the CIA could send their agents and get to work figuring out what was going on with what evidence was left.

At 3 AM the squad dropped down by parachute, and huddled up to review their strategy, but a couple men were getting cold feet. Worried, the squad leader, a redheaded veteran named Eamon with a deep voice and Irish accent held up some inhalers of benzedrine.

“I un’erstand if’n ye don’t want t’ take these. Crazy stuff that’ll turn ye to a ragin’ maniac, but least it wards away the bad thoughts.”

With a contemptuous snort, Logan grabbed the Benzedrine suddenly from the squad leader and inhaled the whole supply. As it kicked it he grabbed a nearby bazooka and stomped off into a clearing. He was in luck, one of the regular searchlights that swept the area had just past and was shining like a beacon. Logan took a moment to lift the bazooka and fired at the source of the light, and it exploded satisfyingly. He reloaded and fired at the next tower, with a similar result. Both guard towers facing them were now down, so Logan grabbed his assault rifle and sprinted over to the door, rammed it open with his shoulder and stormed in. Inside, the guards were still scrambling, and Logan easily picked them off with a burst of his rifle. Panicking scientists ran away but they were no match for the sprinting behemoth. Logan either took them out with a running punch, or else grabbed them by the scruff of their neck and slammed them against a wall. His squad mates barely kept up behind him, cleaning up as he bulldozed his way through the facility. Logan found the stairwell to the guard’s sleeping quarters and gunned down every man who came out the door, laughing like a madman.

By the end of the hour, all the rooms in the facility had been cleared and all the personnel accounted for, and Logan was finally coming down from his raging high. Breathing heavily, he laughed and joked with the men of his squad, sharing stories of nice shots they’d taken or memorable pleas from the scientists. A flash of memory came to Logan of FPS shooters he used to play in college, but he put that memory far, far away from his mind. He got to do the real thing now, and he had loved every second of it. However, Eamon, the squad leader wasn’t celebrating with the rest of them.

“Ye maniac! If ye go off like that again I’m not savin’ ye! Y’er lucky ‘twas that easy. Too easy, in fact.”

Not deigning to reply, Logan patted him firmly on the back and went to sleep. He’d let the others take guard duty for the rest of the night – he’d done enough for the day.


Logan awoke, cuffed to an operating table. He struggled against his cuffs, but despite the sound of groaning metal, he found himself unable to move anything but his neck. He looked around and found the rest of his squad, each on their own operating table, most of them in various stages of recovering consciousness. Logan hadn’t seen this room before. It was a dark, windowless room, with the only lights coming from a few battery-powered camper lamps sitting all around and a few screens that could be seen on the opposite side of the room. In front of that screen sat a tall but willowy bespectacled man in his forties, wearing a lab coat. An expert now in assessing physical form, Logan estimated he was 6’2”, 130 lbs.

“Hey fucker! Where the fuck am I?” Logan roared across the room.

The scientist looked over his shoulder with an odd expression, as if he was getting over some great fear or nervousness, but with the look of a hungry wolf. He walked stiffly over to Logan and peered over him. He had blue eyes framed by blonde hair cut in a high and tight and what looked like a pathetic attempt at a goatee. The man looked like he was clinging to any masculinity he could find. Logan scowled at him and he almost flinched but stayed composed.

 “Yes, yes. You are the first to awaken. I suspected you might be – the tranquilizer was dozed for a man of your size and weight so I imagine the others will be out for some time yet.”

Logan struggled against his bonds, growling.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you. Those are made of tungsten carbide and are far stronger than steel. Without momentum you have no chance of generating the force needed to escape.”

Logan bellowed and struggled harder, and the table groaned which caused a flicker of concern in the scientist’s face, but the bonds continued to hold.

“Alright then, I may need something stronger then.”

The scientist started rummaging through some storage units, looking for something.

“I can’t lose such a valuable specimen as yourself. As I saw from the security footage, you basically stormed the facility alone. Too stupid to look for any secret passages though. Your Irish colleague over there tried, but luckily, he tired out before finding the switch. Aha!”

The scientist pulled out a device and clamped it to the table. Pressing a button on his phone, a powerful jolt spread through Logan’s body, causing him to cry out in pain despite himself.

“Generator for an electric fence, meant to keep away bears. Leave it to Russians to decide we need bear protection in the desert. Anyway, I repurposed it to give me phone control in case any of my subjects got too out of hand. You might think that your chance to escape will be when I’m not paying attention, but unfortunately for you there is a failsafe – when any of the continuous metal fittings on your table are broken, the electricity will arc through your body instead, killing you.”

By this point, both of them could hear groans coming from the rest of the squad. As they slowly started coming to the same realization as Logan, the scientist tutted, took a position at the forefront of the room, and announced.

“Hello, my Firebat Corps. My name is Dr. David Reich. Please do not speak or make any noise or else I will be forced to attach a device to your table similar to the one I’ve placed on the big guy over there.”

He pressed the button and pain tore through Logan, causing him to yelped once again.

“At first I was devastated that you had ruined so much of research with your invasion last night. With so few of my colleagues left, I no longer have the time and resources to continue as I had been. However, I realized that now that I need to expedite the process, I could not have a better batch of test subjects. All the bureaucratic mess I needed to undergo to request permission to test on human subjects… well, now all the subjects of the government I work for are gone, and all of my new subjects wouldn’t even be acknowledged by your government lest they reveal a disastrous, and embarrassing, operation in the Middle East. So, you should make peace with the fact that no one is coming to rescue you, just as I’ve made peace with the loss of months of work. So let’s make the best out of the opportunities this new situation has afforded us, shall we?”

He picked up a wall phone and dialed one number.

“Sven, we may begin.”


Logan could do nothing but watch as his one by one, his squad mates were wheeled off to another, much brighter room. From where he was he could brutal screams of pain and the sounds of electricity, followed by a yell of “Next!” and then the next one was wheeled in. Logan couldn’t help but notice that they were being brought in order of size. He was going to be last, then.

Impotently, he looked around the room at his captors.  Working with the thin Dr. Reich was a young lab assistant, Sven, who looked like a co-op intern, barely twenty years old, 5’6” and 120 lbs. He reminded Logan of some of his college classmates years ago, with acne, a patchy mustache, sideburns and a little down on his chin, all ashen blonde. There were also two guards. One, who Logan had heard to referred as “Skip,” was broad and tall, probably 6’, 180 lbs, who looked like he was once very strong but was now getting on in years. Clean shaven, he had thin, grey hair with a bald spot. The other was Nigel, a squat, mustachioed, fat man, 5’8” and 260 lbs with a sizable paunch and flat cap that was his first point of contact with every stretcher he pushed. Logan remarked with some satisfaction that he had taken out all the strapping specimens in the facility, and the only ones fit to do any work left were the weaklings here that had been left to guard the part of the facility they had no fear of being attacked.

One by one, Logan’s squad mates were returned as whatever Dr. Reich did to them was completed and they were sent back. Some were passed out, some were shivering, Eamon the squad leader was straight up convulsing, his jaw clenched and eyes bugging out. Some were calm and alert as if nothing had happened at all. The only thing that was noticeably the same about all of them, was that they all had a staggering erection. During the entire period Logan waited, he watched in fascination as their wood refused to drop. For some this was just fine, but for others it was torture. He watched as Eamon, struggled restlessly against his bonds, staring desperately at the tent in his pants.

Finally, it was Logan’s turn. It took both guards and Sven to push him into the operating room. Inside was a crazy machine, with many tubes and vessels full of fluid, robotic arms holding needles, electrodes and other such goodies and an operating table-sized gap where the table could dock and everything could be attached. Dr. Reich stood at a table beside the machine, along with his computer and several screens showing vital statistics and sequences. Logan’s table groaned as his captors pushed him and docked him into place. His vision was dominated by a screen in front of him, showing only static for the moment. The two guards left as Sven and Dr. Reich worked together to plug everything in, place all the electrodes onto various parts of Logan’s body and lock all the hinges tightly together. Then, Dr. Reich typed sequences into the computer while Sven inserted an IV into each of Logan’s wrists.

“This will be painful,” said Dr. Reich jauntily, “I offered anesthetic to some of the other subjects, but who knows how that would interact with this. I can’t risk those side effects on a specimen as valuable as you. So you’ll just have to man up and walk it off.” He laughed at his own joke. “I guess you can’t do that. Too bad.”

Ceremoniously, he pressed the enter button on his keyboard, and the machine came to life, humming with power. The screen in front of Logan started flashing images too fast and imperceptible for him to recognize. The fluid in the vessels descended into the tubes and the fluid creeped towards Logan’s wrists. As they reached, simultaneously a huge jolt ran through his body, with sharp pinpoints of pain concentrated at the contact points of the electrodes. A searing sensation spread through Logan’s veins.


As what felt like four hundred thousand volts arced through his system, the searing spread slowly and excruciatingly, like molasses up his wrists, through his arms, down his shoulders, and then spread down through his heart and core and up his neck at the same time. Suddenly, it hit his brain and his testicles, right at the same time.

“Yes!” Dr. Reich exclaimed, glued to the statistics scrolling non-stop down his screen.

At that moment, fireworks went off, as if a part of Logan’s brains and both testes had exploded, at the same time. Logan could no longer pay attention to anything else, the searing started filling into his penis, causing it to rise, harder than he’d ever been in his life, and suddenly, Logan felt incredibly horny. Subliminally, his brain flicked through every single lay he had had over the past year. Starting from his ex, to every busty bimbo he had conquered, to three straight months of sucking the Master’s cock. As his cock stood to attention, Logan began to realize something. Eyes wide open, he could see nothing but white – only a pure concept remained – pure humanity would never again give him satisfaction. All he wanted, all he needed, the only thing he worshipped, was pure, unadulterated, POWER. As this thought crystallized, so did his need for release.

“LET- ME-“ he yelled with all his might, but he could not finish his sentence, the desire was too great.




A voice from within his own head, a mighty baritone, declared.

“Muscle. Power. Strength. Are you ready to accept your purpose?”

“YES, FUCK YES! POWER IS MY ONE AND ONLY GOD!” Logan bellowed as his hips began to buck violently.

“My dear Sven!” Dr. Reich cried, “Could it be? He’s ready! He’s the one. You know what you must do!”

With a crazed expression in his eyes, Sven, clawed at Logan’s pants, fighting the tightness of his raging erection. With great effort he removed Logan’s belt and button and pulled down on Logan’s cock with all his might to unzip his fly. Logan’s penis had already burst through his underpants. Sven, opened wide and placed his mouth on Logan’s member. Logan bucked violently one last time, and in a moment of intense bliss shot his load down Sven’s throat. Sven almost choked but mastered himself and clamped his lips down hard on Logan’s penis, milking him for every drop, using the motion of his tongue to squeeze cum out of the tube and down his hungry throat. Logan’s dick finally softened, spent, and he collapsed onto his table, while Dr. Reich watched in anticipation.

Sven’s breathing became heavier and heavier, his erection still visible in his pants. Suddenly, he seized up, his knees buckling as he doubled over, his hands on his abdomen, his jaw clenched.

“Fuuuuck…” he groaned.

His breathing became vocal, his boyish voice starting to drop in pitch into a guttural grunt. He fell to his knees, as the fibres of his pectorals and shoulders started to push out. He was now yelling a low pitched, continuous scream, his bones lengthening as meat piled onto them. His patchy mustache and chin beard filled out, connecting with his sideburns into a full, thick beard as his voice finally reached an incredibly masculine, deep bass. With each breath, his chest barreled out and his back widened, and his thighs thickened like trunks, his skin plastered onto them, showing every ripple in his shape. His thin wrists thickened, and his fingers followed suit, his meaty hands now looking like skier’s gloves placed on top of his old ones. A sharp “RIPPPPP!” and a powerful bicep burst out of his lab coat, tearing down to his wrist as his forearm followed suit.

His clenched jaw started to turn up at the edges, turning into a bestial smile as his pain began to mix with the intense pleasure of his blood being squeezed into his muscles, of stretching bigger and bigger. Nigel and Skip came over from the holding room, and stopped dead in their tracks at the door, watching in rapture.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK” he yelled, more and more confidently each second.

“FUCKKK!!!” He shoved his chest outwards and his elbows back, his fists clenched, and burst through his lab coat, as ropes of cum spurted through the air. Still growling with each heavy breath, his brow lowered aggressively and grinning evilly, Sven stood before Dr. Reich and Logan.

The 5’6”, 120 lbs intern had become a 6’3”, 300 lbs Viking, and he wanted more.

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What an unexpected plot twist!

I'm loving this story more and more! The characters and the descriptions really hit all my buttons.

Looking forward to part 5 and to hear more of Sven!

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WOAO. This is getting better with every chapter.

Loganw anted power and now he has it but if he cums transform peple what will hapen to him once he wakes up?

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“More…” growled Sven, his voice trembling with desire. He stomped over to Logan, grabbed his penis in a firm death grip, and started yanking it furiously with his new unbridled power. The motion, unlike anything Logan had experienced before, inflicted both pain and fear the kind he had never known, but yet the trembling, pure muscled beast before him started to arouse him as well. He managed to muster a semi before his penis collapsed again, still spent.

“MORE!!” snarled Sven.

“Sven, Sven! We both know from our calculations that the subject’s load won’t be ready for at least another day. Now let us go check on the other subjects, shall we? Some of them ought to be showing results by now… Nigel? Skip?”

“Yes, sir!” Skip stepped forward, to attention.

“Where’s Nigel?”

Sven had already caught wind. He thundered into the holding room. Eamon was bucking desperately on his table.


Sven barreled over towards him, knocking other operating tables in his way aside, but Nigel had had a big head start, having left as soon as Dr. Reich had mentioned the “other subjects.” Nigel tore off Eamon’s pants, revealing a throbbing swollen cock, a huge bulge travelling slowly, pulsing, from his testicles to the tip. Eagerly, Nigel clamped his lips all the way down and sucked like there was no tomorrow. With one final, mighty buck, Eamon shot his load down Nigel’s throat, who took it and swallowed, cum dripping out the corners of his mouth.

“Ahhh…” sighed Nigel, smug and satisfied, before the pain struck and he doubled over. His skin began to bubble as his fat began to boil away. He seized up and fell over, and began rolling around, foaming at the mouth. Every moment, his body was recomposing itself from his former girth to a shredded mass monster. His features began to change as they pared down from their former swollen shape into rigid, cut features, stubble growing on his cheeks and chin until he had the hirsute, virile visage of a muscular Casanova.

“Something’s wrong,” remarked Dr. Reich. The three watched in morbid fascination as Nigel rolled around on the floor, gurgling, his eyes spinning.

“Yes, YES, YESSS!” Nigel cried, spread eagle on the ground, trembling like an earthquake, before he dropped still and lay, motionless, drool mixed with cum dribbling from his mouth. Simultaneously Eamon groaned, and dropped still as well.

Skip ran over to take both their pulses.

“They’re dead. They’re fuckin’ dead!”

They looked hard at the transformed Nigel, now powerfully broad, beefy and masculine beyond his wildest dreams, right until his final moment, and Eamon, an equally virile mercenary who had been a trained and hardened killer. Together, Dr. Reich and Skip checked the rest of the subjects.

“No one survived the treatment. No one…”

Dr. Reich ran back to the operating room, and stared at Logan in bewilderment, who was perfectly fine and busy checking himself for any signs of change, and disappointedly finding none. Dr. Reich ran over to his screens and checked Logan’s vital statistics. All fine.

He left, took samples from Nigel, Eamon and the others, and ran tests on them. He worked late into that night. He was no longer able to count on Sven’s help, as his assistant, enamoured with his new, incredible manhood, had taken to testing his newfound strength by lifting and eating anything he could get his hands on. So, he had to make do with Skip.

“It would seem that the serum binds with myostatin to create a very potent toxin. Now that Subject #34 has processed the serum in its entirety, the cells in his body have transformed at a molecular level and the toxin has been completely eliminated.”

“I don’t know, Boss,” replied Skip, “after what happened to Nigel, I’m wary. That stuff’s fuckin’ dangerous and there’s no two ways about it.”

“I want more,” came a rumble from behind. It was Sven.

“We need to do more tests, who knows what the situation is now that the serum is entirely processed,” replied Dr. Reich.

“I want it now. Let’s test it and see for ourselves, then we’ll know sooner.”

“Test it? Test it how?”

“See?” Sven gestured at Logan. “He’s ready again. Hey buddy. Are ya ready to feed more power, more growth, more strength once again?”

On command, Logan’s penis rose, unimpeded since his last shot, swelling as waves of pleasure began to fill him as the words “power, growth and strength” entered his mind and began to swirl the cauldron of his mind’s desire.

Sven went over to Skip and picked him up by the scruff of his collar. “You try.”

Skip looked up, alarmed and bewildered, “After what happened to Nigel? No fuckin’ way. I’m older, I’ve had a good run.”

Sven looked over to Dr. Reich, “Boss, who’s next?”

Dr. Reich furrowed his brow, “Skip, Sven’s right. I don’t have any more subjects and I need to have my wits about me to monitor the results. You’re the best candidate for the next load.”

Skip began to flail, kicking at Sven’s shins, but in vain, “What about Sven? All he’s talked about since yesterday was wanting more!”

“I want you to try, just in case,” Sven asserted. He started to carry Skip over to Logan’s table.

“No, no no no,” Skip started talking fast, “I’m not ready to die yet. Let’s wait. I’m sure the Russian army’s coming. You’ll have plenty of subjects then!”

“And they’ll want to know the results we determine here, top to bottom!” Argued Dr. Reich, flushed with anger, “you knew what this project was about when we started. If this gets shut down, none of us make it out of here alive. We’d be a bunch of loose ends and loose ends get terminated. For all our sakes, just take the load, man!”

Sven swaggered over, Skip raised high above him with one hand.

“Sven, do it!” the doctor cried.

He lowered him down, pried open his mouth, and rammed the protesting Skip onto Logan’s throbbing cock.


With each word a wave of pleasure ricocheted through Logan’s body and he shivered in delight. As Sven, holding onto Skip’s thin hair, shoved him again and again onto Logan’s dick, Logan felt the tightness of Skip’s throat massaging first the tip, and then the head. He couldn’t bear it. An unbearable pressure began to build up in his testicles. Again and again Skip’s throat enveloped his member, as the bulge in Logan’s testes began to travel slowly up his shaft. Finally, the tip swelled up, and Logan shot his load. Sven clamped Skip’s mouth down, forcing him to swallow the entire load.

Logan’s body released itself, tension gone, entirely spent, still breathing heavy, as Skip knelt before him, his head down, gasping for air.

Suddenly, Skip’s face shot up, and Logan made eye contact with a piercing glare. Logan stared into his face as wrinkles faded away and thin grey hair started to fill in, dark and strong. Stubble began to poke out onto Skip’s previously clean-shaven face, making a grizzled, salt and pepper beard. A ripple trembled through Skip’s entire body, causing his upper body to bolt upright. He was still kneeling, but now he faced upwards, eyes closed, arms outstretched to the side. With each breath he muttered something as each of his sinews started to thicken. Finally, he began to grow more confident as the power flowed through his body.


On that final word, Skip’s uniform exploded into little shreds of fabric, every rock-hard ridge of his body having expanded simultaneously. Cum spurted out of his penis, arcing onto Logan’s chest and splattering all over. His transformation complete, he finally got to his feet. The 6’, 180 lbs old-timer was now a 6’7, 340 lbs he-man in his prime. He now sported a wide, bearded jaw and broad nose and brow. He looked probingly at his hands, then felt down the yoke of his traps, to the rounded boulder of his shoulder, to the shelf of his pecs, lightly dusted on the underside with hair that accented the shadows they now created, and down the trail of his cobblestone abs, of which the lines and trail of fur led squarely to his still-dripping cock. He bent his knees a few times, feeling the bounce and the power his diamond thighs and calves could generate against the floor. Skip began to laugh. Mirthfully he picked up a protesting Dr. Reich and marvelled at the ease with which he could do it. Now bigger than Sven, he picked him up too, but put him down quickly as a knee to the gut, which previously would have knocked him clean out, demonstrated that Sven was still one he had to contend with. Afterwards, he strolled out of the room, picking up anything and everything he could get his hands on, laughing all the while.


*CRASH* Everyone awoke with a start. Bleary-eyed, Dr. Reich ran over to one of his screens.

“Shit! It’s the US Army!”

Sven and Skip, jumping to their feet, looked at each other and smirked. Both were naked all except over their groins, as the only clothing that fit them in the compound were a couple of elastic cum-stained jockstraps they could find off of Logan’s old squad mates. They snuck over to the ambush spot and waited. As soon as one of the soldiers walked by, they jumped out. With superhuman strength they grabbed each man in sequence, slamming them to the ground, evading bullets with agility they never knew they had. It wasn’t long until every soldier was unconscious, and they didn’t know what’s coming. Soon enough, they had all the invaders locked up in a holding cell, buck naked. Sven and Skip took great pleasure in individually stripping them of weapons and clothes, lifting them up above the ground with ease and plucking their garments off of their bodies, accidentally ripping them between thumb and forefinger when met with even the tiniest bit of resistance.

“Good work, men,” said Dr. Reich, “the Russians are due to send their batch of soldiers today. They will be very pleased with the prisoners we have caught and with the unmitigated success of our early tests.”

Soon afterwards, the Russian soldiers arrived. With Sven egging him on, Logan found that he was able to recharge faster and faster as the soldiers pumped him for his precious juice. Soon enough a super soldier army had been created, bulging, massive and aggressive as hell. With each monster he created, Logan found himself more and more aroused at the prospect of making another, with his only, seething regret being that he could not experience the effects himself.

Weeks passed and Logan heard in bits and pieces from his captivity of the unstoppable Russians who had won battle after battle. With their inhuman strength, they were able to wear extraordinarily heavy custom-built armour that made them impervious to everything thrown at them. Dr. Reich continued to monitor the effects of Logan’s seed. It turned out that after a few days the effects would begin to wear off and the enhanced individuals would begin to deflate, so they routinely had to return to Logan for upkeep. Much to the recipient’s pleasure, however, with each load they received, they grew just a little bigger and stronger every time. Without exception all of them grew obsessed with the prospect, unable to be aroused by anything but the prospect of their increased size. Logan could feel a change in the way they touched him, caressing him like he was precious, worshipping him on their knees, knelt with their eyes closed and head down in thanks before they received their dose. Whenever the facility was attacked, like runaway locomotives they would run out with unmatched ferocity, ardently protecting the Source, and their fervour made them unstoppable.

Dr. Reich was extremely pleased at how well his subject was doing but had to request that soldiers stop being sent from the motherland, as nearly all of Logan’s waking moments were spent in service to his new duty. Everyday Dr. Reich needed to top off his nutritional IVs, ensuring that he had enough sustenance to fuel the growth of a hundred and twenty-two men seven days a week. He had sent a request for another myostatin poor test subject to be sent to him but maintaining the machine to which Logan was attached as well as monitoring him day and night was more than a full-time job. He began to grow a bit haggard and weary from lack of sleep.

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