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Hialmar

m/m The theft machine (final version)

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Hialmar

Preface

This is another one of the stories of mine, that had lurked unfinished for a long time in the suitably named Unfinished sub-forum. Now I'm stuck, and I have nothing to add, so I posted the final version here.

The theft machine

He wasn't sure, when he first began to imagine his future revenge: How he would find a way to rob Russo and MacKenzie of their american-football physiques, and turn himself into a teenager with comic-books muscles. A horny teenager with superhero-muscles, who was going to gloat over Russo and MacKenzie over their now pathetically powerless physiques. The tables turned. The bullies bullied.

Magic doesn't exist. Impossible machines are impossible. When he originally began to have those fantasies, there was no realistic hope, to make those fantasies into reality. The chain of events was too good to be true, but had happened anyhow: Leaving college and getting a post-graduate degree simultaneously, all at once. The articles about the "young science-genius", as the journalists put it. The research appointment. The first invention. The grant that allowed him to continue his research independently from any companies or universities. His own lab. The unexpected inheritance. In his mid-20s now.

He took it in: His own lab. The large power cables running to and fro The Machine. The equipment to cool down the machine. The matter-transference conductors. The brainwave transmittors. The DNA extractors. The respirator masks. And the idea, that had turned the entire plan even more exciting: The emitters for anabolic radiation. He shivered pleasantly at the thought of it. Anabolic radiation. His throat felt thick, and it was difficult to swallow. He cleared his throat. He could feel his dong go hard inside his boxers. Soon.

He had intentionally designed the glass cylinders to resemble the imaginary growth-chambers in cartoons he had watched as a child. They had watched. Russo and MacKenzie had grewn up with the same cartoons, of course. The cylinders were taller and wider than any human being. They were placed, so that the feet end of each cylinder formed a triangle with the other two. They were neither entirely reclining, nor entirely vertical, but reclined at a 45° angle, so that each specimen was half-standing, half-reclining, and able to watch what happened to the other two specimens. He wanted to be able to watch. Able to watch. He swallowed. He could feel his boxers become wet of pre-cum.

Russo was half-reclining in his cylinder, and unconscious by the drug he had been given. "Hey, Alberg!" The memories returned, faded, fragmented. Alberg standing with his back to the lockers. Russo standing in front of him, with his arms on each side, blocking any escape. Russo chewing gum, his brown eyes burning of arrogance and rage and contempt. His hair like black silk, artfully styled into a hairdo popular back then. The scent of Russo's black leather jacket. The repeated, monotonous, insults. MacKenzie standing in the background. Broad. Burly. Buzzcut. Blond. Baseball jacket (well, american football, actually). Not saying anything. Without intervening. Allowing it. Letting it happen. Smirking at the remarks. Silently encouraging Russo. Russo's voice. "Hey, Alberg! Prof! Where did you get that shirt? It sucks! Out of my way, dweeb! Want to feel these stud muscles? Feel them! This is how a real man is built, weed. You disgust me, you little fag. Don't look at me like that, I'll thrash you, shrimp. Come on, MacKenzie, we are out of here."

* * *

He checked the buttons in Cylinder A: Three to control Cylinder A itself, four to control Cylinder B and four to control Cylinder C, all of them gradated on a scale from Level 1 to Level 10. There were also the two red diodes in the end of each scale that would warn, if the treatment increased to forbidden and dangerous levels beyond Level 10. The effect of a 120% level o a human being would either be lethal or unknown, and even the Machine itself wouldn't be able to process a 120% level more than a very short amount of time.

He checked the gas canisters. He checked the sockets. He felt a brief burning pain, when he injected himself with the serum he had given the other two young men earlier, but it quickly faded away. There was no return now: The serum would soon kick in, and require the treatment. He passed by the empty cages, and remembered the experiments he had performed on the lab animals: The rats that shrunk. The rat that grew. The hamsters that shrunk. The hamster that ballooned into muscle. The chimpanzees: Both the emaciated wrecks and the brawny one that beamed of vitality. It was a pity, that he had to put it to death, because it began to behave in a too aggressive manner after the treatment. The experiments had been necessary, in order to assure that it was safe to expose human beings to the same process -- that is, at least as safe as possible. There was no way to ensure a 100 % level of safety, and the small, but ineluctable, risk of bad side-effects caused butterflies to flutter in his gut. He took his trousers off, removed his boxers, and put a stretchy, but several sizes too large, posing trunk on, and then dressed himself in the trousers again. Then he put a pair of several sizes too large trainers from Converse on his feet. He had nicked them from MacKenzie. Scott.

* * *

His revenge fantasies had, by necessity, changed during College.

Of all eighteen year olds, he could have been forced to share room with, MacKenzie was the second-last he would have preferred, but that was, how events turned out. The first days were awkward. Alberg avoided his new room-mate, but MacKenzie seemed surprisingly interested in talking, and he behaved surprisingly decently. His icy blue eyes were shining with a seemingly sincere will to be friendly and helpful. MacKenzie helped Alberg to put a few boxes with less necessary belongings on a high shelf. Alberg felt embarrassed when MacKenzie prepared for bedtime, and went to bed, only wearing a pair of jockstraps.

It had become obvious after a few days, that MacKenzie had left American football behind, and now focused entirely on lifting weights. There were plastic jars of food supplements in MacKenzie's part of the room, which he punctually gulped down at certain times of the day or the week. Only a few weeks passed, until MacKenzie asked Alberg the unexpected question:

"Would you like to keep me company at the gym? I could teach you to lift."

It took considerably longer time, until they had been able to discuss the past. Scott seemed to be unaware of, how Alberg had felt, and it was like he had had no clue, that the bullying had been something else than "friendly banter". When the truth dawned, the broad, burly, buzzcut blond bodybuilder had become terrified by the thought, and he resembled a remorseful big St. Bernard puppy with an expression of sadness in his eyes, when he had apologized. The days following, Scott hadn't been his usual happy and confident self, but expressed his friendship and loyalty to Alberg by awkward pats on the shoulders.

And then, later in the autumn, Scott had returned from a party at a sorority house very drunk. Alberg had been asleep, but awoke when Scott returned home to their room at the dorm. He was obviously drunk, and was more noisy than usual, when he undressed. Then something unexpected happened. Scott joined Alberg in the latter's bed, and Alberg wasn't able to interpret what was happening. Scott's broad, burly, buzzcut, blond presence laid there, with a breath revealing an intake of beer, and with armpits and a warm chest emitting whiffs of anti-perspirant.

"Scott? This is my bed, not your own bed. What are you doing here?"

Scott hadn't answered, at first. Scott's big index finger touched Alberg's ear, and then he whispered:

"Do you mind, if I sleep in your bed? I like to be close to you. You are like a little smart angel."

Yes. His revenge fantasies had, by necessity, changed during College.

* * *

NOW. It was time. All these years. The sting of Scott's words at their second break-up, hurting him:

"I love you, Angelboy. I do. But I want to explore ... I want to find out, how it is to have sex with a bigger man."

Scott's words when they began to mend their relationship again:

"I love to be with you, and I love to help you grow bigger. That was true, when I coached you at your first workout, and that is true now. We will be together for ever."

NOW. It was time. He glanced at Cylinder C, in which Scott half-reclined, half stood, his eyes drowsy after helping Alberg putting Russo in Cylinder B. Broad, burly, buzzcut, blond. Bigger, than in the past. The love in his eyes. And the URGE. They had discussed THE URGE, and found, that they, despite their dissimilarities, shared it: 

"Fuck, little buddy, if it was possible, I would love to grow IMMENSE, and I would love to see you grow bigger than me -- a hard fukker able to carry me."

NOW. It was time. Fright fluttered in his guts. THE URGE grew, raising like a tidal wave, competing with the fright. He entered Cylinder A, closed it and put the respirator on his lower face. The risks. The possibilities. He switched the Machine on. It hummed. It hissed. Conductors working. Transference Level 1. DNA alterations. Transmitters working. Brainwave transmission. He shivered. His throat felt thick again. He cleared it. He could feel his hard-on grow inside his posing trunks. He readied himself for the impact. And then it happened. IMPACT.

* * *

IMPACT!!!!

When he later looked back at the impossible and unexpected, frightening and delightful adventures they had encountered on The Day Of His Revenge, it was hard to decide which part of it had been the best, but the initial IMPACT was one of them: Pleasure enhanced by fear. It was happening, but what would it do to him? What would it make him into? What would it cause him to become? Uh! Yes! BECOME! Was there still any dangers he had overlooked? Any flaw, that would cause monstrous side-effects? Too late, now. Too late to stop. It had begun!

TOO LATE! IT HAD BEGUN!

THE IMPACT!

His skin and his muscles buzzed, his brain entered a state he had never felt any time before, and an indulgent pleasure began to flow through his veins: A luxurious and tempting, tantalizing and inviting hunger for robbing both of the other two of all they got. Rob them. Of all they got.

There was no reason to deny, that Russo was handsome. He always was. He remembered the handsome teenaged face of Russo in high school distorted by arrogance, staring at him uncomfortably close. The handsome eyes of Russo, like tiger iron, like mahagony, burning terrifyingly by adolescent rage. Like a piece of art disfigured by one single but flagrant detail. Russo back then: Still boyish cheeks, but trying to play tough and hard. Russo now: The cheekbones, that opened the doors for him to modeling. Russo, when they met again at a reunion a few years ago: Pretending that nothing had happened in the past. Behaving like he had never spoken those damning words in the past. Accepting Alberg's and Scott's relationship, as he had never cursed fags in the past. Being dude and bro with Scott, joking, playing. Even behaving friendly towards Alberg. Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? Who knows what is real change, real improvement in a man? Still cocky, but now for his modelling job. Had left American football behind. Didn't aim at Scott's gains. Seemed to lack THE URGE. The urge Scott and himself shared and share, despite the hardgainer size of his. Russo's olive-coloured torso exposed to the transference: Fit. Always in shape. Conditioned. Ready for next photo-shoot. But not ready for the transference. The transmission. Could probably place well in Men's Physique. Could never place well in a bodybuilding competition. Scott had removed Russo's jeans, but the latter was still wearing his Calvin Kleins. Discount because he modelled for that company in the past. Come on Russo! Wake up! Face the horror! Face my revenge! I'll drain you, shithead! Yeah, that's right! open your eyes, you fukking wanker! Level 2! This will teach you! Yes, open your eyes like that! You can't stay asleep now! Not now!

"Wait? What's happening? I said I would let you show me your Lab. Let me out, Alberg! Don't smile like that, Scott! It isn't funny!"

Yes. Level 2 will teach you. Or perhaps level 3!

It intensified.

THE IMPACT.

He couldn't believe it. He had known theoretically. He had seen the lab animals. But he hadn't been able to guess how it FELT. How it messed with his body in a delightful way. How it messed with his brain in a way that didn't matter. All that mattered were the gains. THE URGE. He grabbed his left pec, and felt how it was growing bigger. Firmer. Gym-shaped hardgainer-physique turning into something more. Something else. More like Scott.

He pressed the button for Cylinder C. Of course he would press the button for Cylinder C. The controls. Not for revenge, because they had overcome so many obstacles together. Just to feel. Just to feel how it felt to be like Scott. Just to feel how it felt to BE Scott. Level 2. Level 3.

Russo's voice distracting him:

"Hey Alberg! Stop that! It isn't funny."

Scott's icy blue eyes widening. His mouth hidden behind the respirator. Scott's voice:

"I told you before. I want to see you grow, even if I'll have to face some loss of gainz on the road. I can see how you grow. I love you, power-hobbit!"

Russo's voice becoming squeaky and shrill, for a contrast. Not able to control himself. Losing his cool. He always avoided losing his cool. He now sounded like his voice was breaking a second time.

"Shit, stop that for fuck's sake. I'm losing my condition! I'm fucking shrinking!"

And he was. Alberg watched him. The fear in Russo's eyes. Russo in Cylinder B: Naked. Vulnerable. Scott in Cylinder C. Mighty chest exposed. Bleached denim jeans. A bulge in his jeans. Alberg knew what Scott was wearing inside his jeans. The gains streaming into himself. Scott shrinking. Russo shrinking. A smirk forming on Alberg's lips. Feeling smug. Too similar to the ways of Russo in the past to feel entirely comfortable. But he had got THE URGE. The hunger that flew through his veins. The luxurious and tempting, tantalizing and inviting hunger. Rob them. Feel Russo's level of condition combined with Scott's sheer mass. He shivered again. He couldn't control himself, when he pressed the controls for Cylinder B and Cylinder C. He wanted it so much. He wanted it so eagerly. Unable to control himself. He was controlled by THE URGE and the new Self that was emerging. Emerging out of the process. Level 4. His eyes widened. His jaw fell slack, as his lips and teeth parted to form a lustful expression, as he took the body transfer in, and became entranced by the brainwave transmission. He didn't know it, but his eyes were beginning to burn by the sort of arrogant gaze Russo had sported in the past. Level 4... Yes... it happened ... Better than he had thought ... He squeezed his left pec again. Russo's enfeebled complaints in Cylinder B didn't concern him. He was gaining. He was growing. He was slowly approaching Scott's build and Russo's former condition, combined. He reposed confidently in the experience for a while, and then he gathered himself enough to go ahead with the next step.

* * *

He decreased the transfer level to Level 1. His heart-rate returned to normal, and he took the sight of them in. The frail shape of Russo rested emaciated in Cylinder B, feebly pressing his small palms to the inside of the glass surface, and emitting a rueful whimper:

"No. No. Not to me. Why? No."

A rag-doll. A scrawny shrimp. Who called whom a scrawny shrimp in the past? He shuddered. He averted his gaze. The present sound and shape of Russo caused any remaining grudges to fade and go out. He felt a void in his guts. 

When he directed his attention to Scott, the process had affected the latter, too, though less severely. Scott's innate massiveness and persevering dedication to the gym had defended him against some of the onslaught, and he rather looked like a promising junior bodybuilder in an extreme state of exhausting condition the day before a competition. Not the burly bulking-shape he usually sported. Scott's icy blue eyes watched him with the most trustful gaze. Alberg shuddered. Trustful gaze. Scott was the best man among the three. The half-truths he had told Scott, in order to lure him into the experiment. Half-truths. Not the sincerity and trust Scott showed him in return. Love welled up. Love mixed with regret. Time for next step. Time to reward Scott. Time to reward Russo, the way he had promised Scott. Time to experience this together. Never done on human beings before. If he had calculated it wrong ... He would never forgive himself if he harmed Scott. No! Never Scott! He hoped for the results he had intended. Here goes. He activated the anabolic radiation in Cylinder B and Cylinder C, and braced himself for what he hoped to see happen.

And it happened.

* * *

He was expectant to watch Scott resume his size. And Scott grew.

His boyfriend's muscles slowly began to beef up. They didn't return entirely to the puffy and bulked state they had been, before he stole some his boyfriend's gains, but the added level of condition allowed them to look bigger than before. He shivered pleasantly, as he watched Scott grow. The respirator made it difficult to see any details of Scott's facial expression, but from what he could guess from Scott's eyes, the latter loved the feeling. Scott's jeans had hung baggy on his legs after the muscle-transference, but now Scott was beginning to fill his jeans again, and there was a bulge behind his fly.

Russo was recovering too. His eyes stared in relief and disbelief, when his firm and fit model-body returned in shape, and he stared at Alberg's engorging physical shape. Staring. Almost admiringly. "Want to feel these stud muscles?", Alberg thought. Feel them! This is how a real man is built, weed.

Time for the next mischief.

Alberg increased transference level from Cylinder B to Level 2. Two things happened. Another rush of energy and pleasant heaviness filled him, and another groan rose from Russo's cylinder:

"No! Not again! My gains! What game are you playing? It's not funny!"

Alberg allowed a few seconds to pass. Then he increased the level of anabolic radiation in the other two cylinders, and swallowed in delighted anticipation.

Scott moaned first. Then Russo. They must be feeling something similar he had felt, when the Machine transmitted muscle mass to him, earlier. He liked, that they liked it. He liked to inflict pleasure to them, especially to Scott, so he increased the levels of anabolic radiation to Level 3, then Level 4. Loud grunts from Scott, and he could see his boyfriend flex inside the cylinder. The hair on the back of his head bristled at the sight of -- and noise coming from -- his growing boyfriend. Russo grunted, too. Grunting, increasingly mixed with yelps of pleasure. YES! Inflicting them pleasure!

He increased anabolic radiation to Level 5, and transference to Level 3.

IMPACT!

A nice buzzing feeling hit his body. The other two young men now grew faster, than he drained them. They shared a quite enjoyable feeling, growing together. Yes: Enjoyable feeling, but he wanted MORE. He knew that THE URGE raged inside Scott, and THE URGE raged inside himself, too -- now more than ever before, like the process had unlocked a hidden part of him: A cocky, virile part of him, ravenous for more muscle mass. MORE! Anabolic radiation Level 6, and transference to Level 4. Yes! Back to the earlier levels of transference, but now fed with high amounts of brawn born out of heightened levels of anabolic radiation. Scott gained. Russo gained. And Alberg robbed them of half of it. Scott's grunts turned into the sort of enraptured yelps Russo had emitted earlier, but it was hardly a sound of complaint. With a large amount of self-control, Scott shouted something in that moaning voice:

"FUCK! YES! Bombard me! Bombard us all! I want ... Uh! Oh, shit ... so good ... I WANT BRAWN!"

Alberg could feel the meat in his trousers tent in response to Scott's words. He shivered pleasantly, and then he increased anabolic radiation to Level 8 and transference to Level 6.

Ecstacy. The raw, pure experience of adding mass. He could share Scott's and Russo's experience of energy bombardment. He felt ... He felt ...

Then he felt how tight his trousers had become around his thighs. Painfully tight. So painful. His quads and hamstrings felt so powerful now. And then the fabric capitulated. His QUADS and HAMSTRINGS EXPLODED out of his trousers, and the shreds fell to the foot-end of the cylinder. He could feel the size of his traps and the massiveness of his lats and pecs, the power of his tricepses ... It could only be a matter of seconds until his t-shirt ... There it went. Tatters. Shreds. Because he was becoming A POWER HOUSE of muscle mass. EXPLODING out of ... Oh. It felt so good. He opened his eyes. It was happening to Scott now. He eagerly watched something similar happen to Scott: Scott bulgingly EXPLODING out of his sexy, but too small, denim jeans, causing his black wet-look posing trunks to show. Alberg looked down. His pec-shelf obscured some of the view, but, ok, his golden posing trunk was visible now. They both knew what they liked to watch, but it was something of a surprise, that Russo was taking in the sight of his bros' posers, too. Muscle --  clad in wet-look black. Muscle -- clad in gold. Towering. Fuck! Still growing! Couldn't have dreamed of ... "Wait! Too much! You are ruining my model body!"

Russo whining again. Alberg and Scott were turning Russo into a eye-popping mass-freak, and he was an ingrate? Fucking boring ingrate, but if Russo wasn't going to cherish that amount of mass, Alberg knew someone who would. He smirked inside the respirator and fidgeted with the controls. Cylinder B: Transference Level 9. Dangerously high level, but if Russo wanted to return to his boring model-physique ... So be it. 

Bombarding the two hunks with anabolic radiation and FORCING them to grow. Inflicting pleasure. And then rob Scott of two-thirds of his gains. Rob Russo of ALL his gains, keeping him as before. To absorb all that brawny muscle mass. Absorb jock-strength. Absorb increased jock-strength. Absorb heightened jock-strength. Absorb the jock mindset.

Yes! Crammed into his defenceless bulging body! Absorb!

-BSORB

-BSORB

-BSORB

-BSORB

-BSORB

What happened next surprised Alberg and Scott.

* * *

"Fuck! Yes! Rob me of it! ABSORB all that extra mass! I love to see you grow like that! That baby face on that jock body. Uh. Me restored. You perfect. Love it. Look at him MacKenzie! Your boyfriend is PERFECT!"

A number of contradicting feelings rushed through Albergs mind. No? It wasn't possible? Russo? Admired him? But why?

The surprise confused him so much, that he re-set all Levels to zero, and turned The Machine off. The humming slowed down and fell silent. After a click, they were able to open the cylinders and leave. Scott had a slightly disappointed expression on his face, when he removed his respirator.

Scott hugging him, but whispering:

"So good. I wanted MORE!"

One warm presence comfortably pressed to his own warm physical presence.

Russo standing there, legs shaking, some of his old confidence shaken, too.

"Whoooah. Alberg! That's ... uh ... that's quite impressive."

Russo reached out his hand and felt Alberg's left pec.

"You say?"

Alberg felt confused by the situation, but forced himself to smile, and he willingly flexed his pecs, which forced Russo to emit a quick moan. Something happened in Russo's eyes. And something happened in Russo's Calvin Kleins, too. Scott was inspecting his new gains, too, and the sight of the two gay muscle-studs obviously caused Russo to become uncomfortable and incredibly horny. The only of the three of them, who felt entirely comfortable with the entire situation, was Scott, who unprompted began a few highlights from his old posing routine. Double biceps. BULGE!

Scott had placed second at bodybuilding competitions on a regional level twice: Big enough to draw attention at his own gym (and make Alberg crazy in bed), but not the cut above needed to become a winner, that is, in the past. The present Scott looked amazing. If he had reached that level by natural means, he had probably been able to turn pro. The same was true about Alberg now.

Huh! Side chest. STEEL PEC!

Hiss! Scott flexed his abs, and Russo stared at him with an embarrassed and mesmerized gaze.

Uh! Most muscular. GRANITE BRAWN! Russo couldn't restrain another yelp. SPROING!

Alberg felt proud of his boyfriend, but the sensations of his own new body divided his attention, and he moved his big hand over his pecs, his abs, his Apollo's belt, and then he cupped his improved man-meat inside his shiny golden posers. Russo's eyes widened, and there was a spot of pre-cum on Russo's Calvin Kleins. Alberg felt slightly confused. Confused and empowered, elated and disappointed. He didn't understand what he felt. It felt like he couldn't think clearly. He approached Russo, and became aware of his own waddling gait, as his thighs rubbed against each other in an unfamiliar way. Somehow, his changed gait and posture caused his self-esteem to rocket. He faced Russo, and looked down at him. Taller than Russo now. That realization sent a pleasant wave through his chub. Looked down at him.

"If I remember correctly, Russo, fags disgust you, don't they?"

Oh, how unusual that blush on Russo's cheeks. Wild-eyed, like a trapped animal in the presence of the Alpha predator. Pleasant wave through his chub, and a surge of confidence in his guts.

"Whoooah, Alberg. Hey, dude, it was years ago. Years and years. I was a kid. I wouldn't have reconnected with you two after the reunion, if I had remained like that. Times change. Why bring that up NOW? Wait! Whooah! Hey! Why?"

There were no clothes on Russo's upper body, otherwise he would have grabbed Russo's shirt. Pity. So he grabbed Russo's armpits and lifted him up, so that they could face each other. He noticed, how he could lift the frightened little model without effort, and that insight caused another surge of pleasure billow through him.

"Yes, why WOULD you have reconnected with us? You have changed your mind. Good. It seems like you like what you see, eh?"

He couldn't hinder himself from smiling. His smile didn't seem to calm Russo down. Good. Russo swallowed. He shuddered, and there were mixed feelings in his eyes: Terror. Embarrassment. Lust.

"Fuck, yes. I ..."

He shuddered and yelped.

"Shit. I always felt so ashamed by how horny you made me. Stupid to blame you. I love how you lift me now, Babyface. And I love the muscle-machine you turned MacKenzie into. You ..."

Russo shuddered again.

"You are the perfect couple, you two. You are so ..."

Russo's eyes widened, he instinctively held his breath, and then he gulped the air in breathlessly. His body became limp in Alberg's grip.

"Fuck. Your display of strength caused me to cum. Sorry."

Alberg put Russo down, and the latter sat down on the lab floor, and catched his breath.

"Sorry guys."

The turn of events caused Alberg to feel more confused. 

* * *

Scott was probably the one, who handled the situation best. He approached his boyfriend, pressed his groin and chest into the latter's now considerably wider back, and began to feel Alberg's newly won muscles. Scott's body heat and weight pressed to Alberg's own. Scott's stubble to his own afternoon shade cheek. Scott's soft lips nibbling at his ear. Scott's big hands on his new meaty pec and hard abs. He shivered. Scott helped him take it in: His new heavier, sturdier, BULGING body. 

"I love it. I love you. Amazing. Just as you promised."

Scott's big hand cupped the shiny golden fabric that covered Alberg's meat. Scott squeezed. Alberg shivered again.

"But what if you added MORE? Why stop now? And if I understood you correctly, you didn't add those growth-ray things in your own cylinder, did you?"

Squeeze.

"The growth-rays are awesome. You try some growth rays. You don't need to absorb anyone else's muscles for that, do you?"

Squeeze.

"I want to see you add MORE. You look like a bodybuilder now. What if you looked like an Olympia Pro?"

Squeeze.

"What do you say?"

Scott felt good. What he said felt good. It was so hard to think clearly. Try some growth rays? Ok, why not. He began to walk to Cylinder C, and touched the lid.

"Will you operate the cylinder, Scott? Did you understand what I said about the controls?"

There was a boyish light in Scott's eyes and a bright smile on his face, when Scott crawled into Cylinder A to operate the next step of the experiment. Alberg stepped inside Cylinder C, and closed the lid. They were facing each other through the glass of the two cylinders, and they could hear each other through speakers. Two powerful bodybuilders with tanned muscles, one in gold posers, another in black wet-look posers, watching each other. The thrill in his guts began again. No need for the respirator now. All compounds were already in his system, still active, still changing them all three. Thrill in his guts. Scott's eyes. Scott fidgeting with the controls. Still changing them. Never felt the rays before. Seen what the rays did to the animals. Began to behave in a too aggressive manner after the treatment. But impressive. Scott's loving gaze. Scott's naked intimidating MASS in Cylinder A. Scott's encouraging gaze. Scott's mischievous gaze. The scent of Scott inside Cylinder C. Surrounded by the scent of growing Scott. Sweat. Anti-perspirant. Shower cream. Scent of jock body. Surrounded. The humming returned. Jock body ...

Never felt the rays before.

Never felt the.

Never felt.

IMPACT!

The air surrounding him buzzed, nay, crackled with POWER that beefed him up. So THIS is what Scott and Russo had felt earlier? Yeah! So good! All his muscles twitched and felt similar to pump and soreness, but yet something else. Warm. Heavy. Hard.

Warmer. Heavier. Harder.

Buzzed, nay, crackled.

... couldn't remember the scientific name of the growth-rays anymore. Didn't matter. The only thing that mattered ...

... was THE GROWTH!

Scott making him ... UH!

Scott making him bigger. Scott turning him into ... UH!

Scott turning him into a super-jock! Couldn't have dreamed ... Better, than he had imagined ... Dim knowledge of danger ... UH!

Danger didn't matter. The growth-rays mattered. The growth-rays adapted him. UH! Adapted him. Caused him to take the brunt of it all. Enabled him to swallow MORE, take MORE of it. MORE than any other man. Causing him to grow MORE. UH! YES, MORE! Adapted him!

He cupped his pec. Like an impossible medicine ball, and still growing. More like a big melon now. Warm beef. Heavy beef. He flexed. Steel-hard beef. Nothing mattered. BEEF mattered.

His widening back grinded against his harder triceps, forcing his rougher, thicker arms to hang out from the sides of his body. The way Scott walked. Lats. Scott told him. The beefy part of the back. Causing the bodybuilder posture. The bodybuilder gait. Wobbling shoulders. Waddling legs. Arms hanging out to the sides. The way he walked now. UH! Adapted him! Jock scent. His own jock scent mixed with Scott's jock scent. So big now. Able to crush anything. Mmmmm. Crush.

He cupped his biceps. Flexed. Felt so good. He let his biceps and his lips meet. Kissed his own biceps. Licked it. So hard. The fucking power making him even STRONGER. UH! Coudn't stop himself from licking his own biceps more. What happened to his biceps, happened to his entire body: Enhancing. The striations and the veins that emerged. The uncrushable firmness. Licking his biceps. Lost in this, now. Hard to think, but who needed to think, when they were becoming strong beyond human limits? UH! Scott's eyes. Scott's love to him, visible in his eyes. Scott's horniness visible in his eyes. Scott turning him into what Scott wanted him to be. Scott's URGE was awake. And Scott knew, that Alberg's URGE was awake. URGE to grow big. URGE to grow BIGGER. URGE to grow ... UH! Beyond human limits!

Alberg closed his eyes and lost himself in the overwhelming experience. That was the reason, why he wasn't aware of what happened next.

* * *

"Yeah. I look forward to this!"

Scott's enthusiastic voice caused Alberg to open his eyes, and what he saw caused him alarm.

Scott was now resting in Cylinder B, and closed the lid after himself. Russo had entered Cylinder A, and was now in control of The Machine, smiling smugly. Cylinder B began to hum. Scott shivered. Alberg could see Scott's black poser fill out, because of Scott's expectations. No! How could Scott trust the unreliable little handsome runt? That smug smile on Russo's face. It was obvious, that he would steal the gainz from both of them, rob Alberg of his revenge, and turn Scott into a shadow of his cheerful, virile self. Now and then, under the impact of the growth rays, Alberg was writhing and wriggling – shrugging to adapt his posture to his increasing MASS, and Scott began to behave in the same manner. Also letting out little yelps of pleasure. Russo. Smug. Couldn't trust ...

... OH! FUCK! Yes, Russo was increasing the growth rays in Alberg's Cylinder. Hard to concentrate, when it increased like that. The experience of EMBIGMENT. Like a wave of STRENGTH endowing it's qualities to him in it's overwhelming billow. And then came the icy cold experience of terror he had feared.

Another sound. Another protocol. He hadn't heard it from the robbed side before. Russo robbing them of their gainz! Weaker wasn't the word for what he felt: The growth ray now worked at an even more heightened level, than before, and Alberg actually grew faster than Russo was able to rob him, but it wasn't the eventual effect, that tuned his guts into ice, but the mere knowledge, that his former bully, of all people, was able to FEED on him.

-BSORB

-BSORB

-BSORB

Russo moaned, but then fidgeted with the controls. The sound of the absorbation protocol faded down. Without the absorbation to hold it back, the growth felt more intense now. So intense. Hard to concentrate. Hard to think. The runt speaking:

"Sorry MacKenzie. Sorry Alberg. Just wanted to taste it. Feels awesome, but I can't ruin my present shape by going too big. The photographers are picky."

Scott moaned in his even deeper voice, rather than spoke, when he answered:

"You are welcome. Now, do what we agreed on. I want both of us to go testo-fuelled super-humans. No holding back, anymore. No holding back."

"Ok, MacKenzie. I love watching you two. At the reunion, I realized that you two are the sort of gays I get on with. Feel at home with. Didn't dare to admit to myself before. Your hospitality helped me to become a real person, if you know what I mean. So glad that Alberg had been bit by the growth bug. Could relate to that. Now, when I am in command of The Machine, I will turn you two into my personal Terminators. Make space marines a reality. Make you into two living, breathing Hulks! Increasing level!

It hit him. It must have hit Scott, too, because both of them let out roars. Uh! Roars! Roaring! Writhing! Wriggling!

SO INTENSE NOW!

If the growth rays had felt like a rain or a hailstorm of energy before – a rain of energy transforming him and Scott – it now felt like standing in a cascade of strength-inducing power now. An AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Russo and his cylinder looked like they were shrinking. He adapted his posture. He had to stand with his legs wider apart. Confidently wide apart. Thighs rubbing to each other. The shrinking size of Russo was just an illusion, because it was Alberg who was growing. He could watch Scott grow, too. The sight made him horny. Yeah: Jock boyfriend. Yeah: Muscle-god boyfriend. He could feel the rod in his golden posers tent, and he could feel it throb and expand. Scott stared at him, and was reacting in a similar way: Scott's wet-look poser was stretched, and revealed the root of Scott's bronze cannon.

Alberg could feel his traps bulge, rougher, thicker, like the mountain ridge Scott had between his neck and his shoulders, and both their bull-necks were like baileys carrying their heads. Deep, deep ridges between their cannon-ball abs, now. Brief pain when his canines became more ... uh ... he felt with his tongue ... his canines became more canine. Something happened to his chin and jaw. More powerful now. YEAH! MORE POWERFUL! Scott was now bigger and more conditioned than any Olympia Pro, and, by the feel of it, Alberg understood, that he himself had transformed beyond that limit, too. An AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. BEYOND! Alberg flexed his biceps.

That made Russo insanely excited:

"Fuck! Shit! Yes! Alberg! You're amazing! Can't believe it! So ... UH!"

Russo did something to the controls. An alarm went off with a bleering sound, and red rotating lights were lit.

AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Alberg should have been worried now, but he wasn't. AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. The Urge turned into insanity, but it didn't matter. He was The Urge. He was Jock Power. He was Muscle-god BRAWN. He kissed his biceps. He licked it. He explored the new veins on the engorged and bulbous globe of strength. Licked it. Felt how it grew rapidly under his lips. Felt how the rest of him grew rapidly under the awesome influence of The Machine. The sound of Scott moaning. Jock-moans. The sound of the runt wanking, because the sight of Alberg was irresistible. Yeah, irresistible.

Expanding. Adding MEGA-MASS. Becoming a titan, built by veiny boulders upon veiny boulders. The URGE for MEGA-MASS! Standing among mists of pure energy. Inhaling the mists of pure energy. Absorbing the mists of pure energy. Tenting. The stretchy fabric of his posers only able to cover his dick-head now. The head of his cannon rubbing itself against the inside of the poser fabric. Rubbing. Felt good. Touched his hip, where a thin band of fabric held his struggling posers in place. 

Pounding in his temples. Flexed his chest. Rubbed his own traps with his bigger hand. Most muscular. Felt his own impossibly hard quads. Standing in the AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. Letting it rush into his insatiable URGE. Standing. Commandingly. Standing. Dominantly. Standing. God-like. Forced to grow MORE. Erupt into powerful, irresistible BRAWN. The impossible might. The impossible might increasing. Scott moaning. Standing in the AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. The difference between human flesh and crackling, buzzing power diminishing. Disappearing. Brimming of pure, raw, masculine strength. Becoming more than a man. BECOMING impossible might. BECOMING MEGA-MASS! BECOMING an AVALANCHE of strength-inducing power. BECOMING mists of pure energy. Becoming a broad, burly, buzzcut power-titan of pure, raw crackling, buzzing, brimming, empowering, insanely intense, engorging, throbbing, surging, overwhelming, exploding ... STRENGTH!

The feeling of becoming taller, harder and stronger mixed with the feeling of orgasm, and they both mixed with the feeling of becoming like a battery charged by the output of an entire power house. Charged. The. Output. Of. An. Entire. Power. House.

YES! POWER HOUSE!

BEYOND!

BEYOND!

BEYOND!

POWER HOUSE!

He didn't become unconscious, but he wasn't aware of his surroundings, and he didn't know for how long he had been lost in that ecstatic sea of pure strength and virility.

* * *

He slowly returned to consciousness. Fresh air seeped in from the open lid, and Scott and Russo was looking at him. He sat upright, and began to climb out of the cylinder. Yeah, felt bigger now. Impossibly big. The biggest. The unfamiliar feeling of his, now towering, physique, caused him to move clumsily. His naked feet rested on the floor. He cupped his left pec with his right hand, and squeezed again. The feeling caused him to emit a satisfied grunt. Russo watched him.

"What are you looking at, Dweeb?"

Alberg's powerful arm reached out, and pinned Russo against the wall. 

"Not so tough now?"

Russo squirmed, pinned to the wall, with Alberg's big fist around his neck, but his eyes didn't express undiluted fear. Something with Russo's gaze and smile betrayed how much he seemed to like it.

"No, not so tough when my beastially huge master dominate me. Sir!"

The answer -- and the entire situation -- caused a wave of pleasure to billow through them both. Both were naked, and there was no mean to hide their physical reactions. Scott took the sight of his now titanic boyfriend in, and the sight of the latter dominating Scott's childhood friend. He couldn't stop himself from stroking himself. Scott's reaction drove the other two crazy: Alberg let Russo go for a second, then grabbed the back of Russo's head, forcing Russo's mouth closer to Alberg's steel-python. The model eagerly swallowed the titan's member, and the cavernous lab echoed of their moans and grunts, until all three reached relief.

* * *

They had showered, but before the first shower, Alberg had Russo take measures for Alberg's and Scott's new clothes. None of their old clothes did fit anymore, and he had expected that. Two companies had been warned beforehand about incoming urgent orders this day.

It gave him a smug satisfaction to see Russo tremble of excitement when he took Alberg's and Scott's measures:

"Whooah. You are 6'6'' now, bro, sorry, Master. Don't see the the scales, because of the pec-shelf? OK, it's 370 pounds, ugh. Your legs, ehe, they, wow, they are 35 inches. Your chest is, uh, it is, wow, it is 72 inches. Eh. Uh. Fuck! Will you flex your arm, while I use this measuring-tape? 28 inches... Oh, Uhnnnn, yes, Master, your arm is... ugh... is TWENTY-EIGHT INCHES! Uhn Uhn Uhn, sorry Master, I couldn't stop myself from..."

The package with new clothes arrived with special delivery five hours later, just fresh out of the sewing machines. The lads had found satisfying ways to occupy themselves, while they waited for the delivery. The content was what Alberg had expected. He watched Scott step into the camo-patterned cargo-trousers, and button them. Then he became preoccupied with his own trousers: Black, glossy leather-trousers. He inhaled the scent of leather, and put them on, feeling the leather tightly hug his powerful quads and hamstrings, and his voluminous calves and glutes. He buttoned his trousers, and he could feel his manhood crawl down one of his trouser-legs, forming a discernable outline through the smooth, glossy leather. The sturdy, rather wide, belt followed. He stepped inside his boots: Not boots with lace as Scott had chosen, but biker boots. Glossy leather cuffs. His jacket. No need to wear anything else under the jacket. He wanted to show off.

Russo behaved as an enthusiastic puppy, when he was allowed to follow his two new masters to the club. They knew, who would become the centre of the club this night. All three of them knew. Alberg's revenge hadn't turned out exactly as he had expected.

It had turned out better.

Edited by Hialmar
some afterthought
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