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The Massive Growth of Dwight (Re-Post)


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The Massive Growth of Dwight

 

by Lorus 

 

 

 

 

DAY 1:

 

 

The pill was called “Enerflex”; I was its inventor (the result of four years exhaustive research), and Dwight answered my magazine ad. I was looking for a human test subject, but the pill's effects would be augmented by the subject’s sheer desire to grow. For example, if a 140 lb geek wanted to bulk up to 175 lbs of lean muscle mass, the effects of the pill would only allow him to gain 35 lbs of muscle.

 

But when Dwight stepped into my unorthodox little lab and met me for the first time, I could tell by the look in his attractive eyes that his desire and hunger for muscle was greater than anything I could previously have hoped for. He said simply:

 

"Can you make me HUGE?"

 

"Yes," I replied, and I must admit to getting a little turned on by the way the slender dark-haired twenty-something placed a tone of emphasis on the word "HUGE". Fortunately my lab coat hid the spot of precum that quickly appeared in the crotch of my corduroys.

 

Dwight was a handsome man of mixed Asian and Caucasian blood (and I couldn’t have asked for a more suitable muscle-aspirant), but at 5'4" and a meagre 130 lbs, he felt that life and genetics had cut him a raw deal. I would change that. I started by taking some blood and tissue samples. I quickly analysed the samples to make sure I had a complete breakdown of his body's chemistry before we began. That was stage one.

 

Stage two involved an injection that would "polarise" muscle cells into bonding 300 % more efficiently with glycogen molecules. The injection filled Dwight with a warming sensation.

 

Stage three was the magic pill I'd invented. I'd showed Dwight the dormouse I'd transformed into a super-rodent the size of a cat. The beastie seemed happy enough, and was quite healthy after the treatment. There were three different strengths of pill dosage: green was moderate growth strength, red was medium to high growth strength, and purple was....

 

“Lemme guess,” my new subject blurted out, making a swipe for the purple pill, “this was the one you gave to the mouse, yeah?” Dwight popped it into his mouth and enthusiastically dry-swallowed the thing.

 

“Er... actually... the mouse was administered a green strength dose proportionate to its size and weight,” I explained, somewhat bemused by Dwight’s enthusiasm to see this process set in motion. I must admit to having a morbid fascination with what was about to happen in my esoteric lab.

 

“You should take your clothes off and change into a clinical robe,” I suggested, but he paid me no heed. He was wearing a Levi's denim shirt and jeans, both of which fitted him somewhat sloppily. That was about to change.

 

“No way, I want to feel seams splitting, threads, snapping.... buttons popping,” Dwight arrogantly replied. I could feel my cock swelling inside my pants, my head suddenly awash with that feeling we all get when we’re seriously turned-on. And why not? At thirty-five I was many decades removed from your typical image of an aging Hollywood horror-movie mad scientist.

 

“Please come into the next room,” I urged, and led my test subject into an adjoining chamber better suited to what he was about to become. It was a weight room, a private underground gym where we could accurately test his strength as soon as his transformation was complete. And it was there, surrounded by the latest tech muscle equipment, that Dwight began to “fill out”.

 

“How do you feel?” I asked, scribbling frenetically with a pencil onto a chart attached to a clipboard. I was also video-taping the event for analysis later (and lots of furious jacking off).

 

“I feel great,” Dwight snarled, “like I’ve just been rejuvenated. I want to work out so badly, Doc.”

 

“Well time aplenty for that in a few minutes,” I nodded, still jotting down data onto my clipboard.

 

Dwight started to sway a little, staggering on his feet. The process had started. And the growth was nothing short of.....incredible. His shirt and jeans suddenly became quite snug on his frame, denim fabric stretching tolerably as his body began increasing in height and mass. I stopped writing to observe the spectacle, my cock beginning to throb uncomfortably inside my pants. I really had no idea how big he would become, but I wanted to enjoy every metamorphic moment.

 

“Aw yeah.... look at me.... I’m... I’m getting bigger, aw fuck,” Dwight cried, and his energy and enthusiasm had become contagious. He loosened his shirt collar just as the first button popped on the shirt, revealing delicious tanned flesh and the beginnings of a cleft between his burgeoning pec-meats. Dwight growled with delight as he felt the muscle-tits he was growing pushing outwards, forcing the shirt buttons to spawn gaps between them, again revealing more of his beautiful skin.

 

“This is amazing,” he declared, raising both of his arms to flex biceps that were swelling up faster and faster with each passing second. Another button pinged off his shirt with force enough to fly across the room. It struck me on my left cheek and for a moment I was startled. He grew bolder and hungrier for muscle as the growth process accelerated.

 

Dwight’s shirt seams split apart at each armpit, freeing his muscles somewhat, and giving them more space to grow. He growled, infuriated and amazed at how much stronger he was becoming. He flexed his balling biceps a few times and completely shredded the sleeves of the shirt. His forearms thickened into super-muscular hocks striated by ever-thickening networks of hyper-masculine veins. He made fists with both hands and instantly his forearms tripled in thickness, turning the rest of the sleeves into denim confetti. The last of his shirt buttons popped free of the shirt, and with a mighty shrug he hefted off the shirt as his body grew further. It was as if someone had taken a compressed air pump to his muscles and set the dial to max.

 

Dwight’s chest had become two heaving masses of striated beef, the sweat caused by his body’s transformation making his brand new bodybuilding bosoms glisten and reflect light with such masculine distinction. As they grew, so the cleavage between became deep and dark. Below his ballooning muscle-chest, a cobblestone brick path was set into Dwight's abdomen, as lesser muscle-bellies, eight in all, pushed out and became diamond-hard and defined. But the top pair were quickly drowned over by the ever-expanding under-swell of each augmenting pec-belly. The pecs cast deep crescent-shaped shadows over his abs wall, and I wondered if Dwight’s chest would ever stop growing. Likewise his lats were expanding at an incredible rate. Never again would he be able to get his arms to hang straight down and parallel to his torso; his lats would ensure that he’d forever have that “arms akimbo” look that most bodybuilders like to show off.

 

“How do you feel?” I again asked. I was now sweating along with Dwight, and hornier than I’d ever been in my life. I added: “If the growth becomes too much for you, I can administer a counter-agent to negate the effects of the pill.”

 

“No way, Doc. I’m not done growing yet, not by a long shot,” Dwight growled. It was so true... within a minute he’d gone from a 130 lb weakling to the size of a heavyweight competitive bodybuilder. He’d grown in height, too. At this stage I guessed him to be close to 6’. Dwight’s legs were transforming amazingly, too. His jeans had become painfully tight, but he seemed not to mind. The buttons of his fly were straining to keep it together, but as I’d observed with the dormouse, massive expansion of genitalia was also an effect of the pill. Just as Dwight’s burgeoning thighs, hamstrings and calves rendered his jeans a tattered mess of denim, so too did his cock and balls expand, so that metal buttons popped in several directions at once. Now that Dwight was free of the denim, only a black spandex jockstrap concealed his total nudity. Already the jock was working overtime to contain his meat within. Would it hold? It was too early to say.

 

Dwight’s bones cracked and shifted as his body created new space on which to sprout bigger and bigger muscles. After five minutes he was larger than Jay Cutler... and astonishingly he was STILL growing. Dwight just kept getting bigger and bigger.

 

“You’re huge now,” I gawped, not quite fully believing how much of a success this was becoming.

 

“Never.... I can never be huge enough,” he bellowed, and a sexy smirk washed across his gorgeous face. Not only had the pill enhanced his height, weight and muscles, but just about every aspect of what it  means to be a man was also expanded on. Dwight had gone from handsome to downright beautiful. Stubble formed on his chin and neck, and thick, dark pubic hair – where he had a little before –  had now thickened across his armpits and crotch.  The jock was now framed in hair, and still the genitals  thickened and lengthened almost obscenely.

 

Dwight could now pull off any bodybuilder’s pose with great finesse. He bounced his pecs repeatedly, rhythmically, and I could almost hear the skin stretching and groaning in despair as it tried not to split beneath the great weight of his chest’s new monstrous muscles. There were stretch marks all over his body as he continued to put on weight. Dwight’s muscle-growth was astonishing. He now flexed ball biceps the size of melons. But I knew he still wanted them bigger.... way bigger. He crabbed down into a most-muscular pose and his muscles heaved and flexed bigger still. More and more veins, some as thick as my pinkie, popped out of Dwight’s skin, looking like the skin had been laid down first and the veins added on top as an afterthought. His definition, proportion, and symmetry were all off the charts. I’d created the biggest bodybuilder alive, but he still wasn’t done growing.

 

Eventually the process began to slow down, much to Dwight’s annoyance. “How do you feel now?” I again inquired. “I feel great. But I want to be bigger, Doc. I NEED to get fucking bigger. I wanna overdose on those purple pills,” he growled determinedly, his voice now deeper and incredibly sexy and masculine.

 

“One thing at a time. You’re STILL getting bigger. We need to be careful about this. Step on the scale, please.”

 

Dwight obligingly muscle-strutted over to the scale, his beefy tree trunk thighs now made walking a bit of a waddle and a chore (like how some bodybuilders get so pumped for a contest that walking off the stage can be a hazard). I could now gaze at the shocking sprawl of the most muscular back I’d ever seen, tapering down to a tiny wasp-like waist, before the most muscular bubble-but in all of creation was framed perfectly by the straining straps of a jock that had become way too tight. Dwight’s glutes were so defined, they were almost an ass on top of an ass, and his hamstrings and calves were astonishing. As he walked, his feet finally annihilated his sneakers, and when he stepped on the scale it read: “467 lbs”

 

“Whoa.... that’s a big number. Bigger than two pro bodybuilders rolled into one,” Dwight exclaimed, and he had to stoop and strain to lean forward enough to read the number on the dial because his pecs were now way too large and obstructed his vision. He’d never be able to see his feet again just by looking down at them. Such a thought excited Dwight and made him want to get bigger.

 

But Dwight was STILL getting bigger. Ten seconds passed, and the readout on the scale changed from “467 lbs” to “486 lbs”. He was gaining about two pounds of muscle every second. I hastily scribbled this down on my clipboard. Astonishing results. He flexed his muscles some more as they became bigger and harder, deftly pulling off each pose in such a controlled and expert fashion. His biceps had swollen to mountainous proportions, and he’d never be able to wear a tee-shirt again, or any kind of shirt for that matter, without having them tailor-made. Laser scanners strategically placed around the gym recorded the bodybuilder’s measurements, but they couldn’t keep up with the rate of such astonishing growth. Dwight’s neck was now 25 inches around, his chest a cold 90 inches, but he could expand it to 108 inches when flexed. His flexed biceps clocked 28 inches, but he needed them to get bigger. And so they grew even further. The more Dwight flexed them, the more they expanded. It took a further two minutes for his biceps to settle at 35 inches, one whole inch wider... (gasp)... than the circumference of his diminutive waist. His forearms were 28 inches (wider than my legs), and his thighs a staggering 46 inches each. But these numbers kept increasing, and the scanners shorted out. I would have to deal with them later.

 

“The experiment is a huge success,” I beamed, wishing I could worship every inch of Dwight’s new muscles with my tongue and groping fingers. I guess I had more than just the interest of advancing the science of health and nutrition in sport on my mind when I devised this program. Dwight towered above me now, 6’ 8” in height. The growth finally stabilised. But he still had that look in his eye, and I could tell from it that he wanted more. “You should rest for a while, and then later we can get you to work out on the weight machines.... see how strong you’ve become.”

 

“Cool,” Dwight replied, bouncing and heaving his massive pecs in front of me. His cock and balls had swollen to gargantuan proportions, and the jock just about held (to my annoyance). “But then you’d better consider giving me more of those pills, Doc. This will do for now, but I want to get REALLY huge.”

 

I would consider granting his request.

 

***

I wasn't at all surprised that with the wondrous cocktail of chemicals that comprised Enerflex now rewriting his hypothalamic and endocrinatic production levels, that Dwight was fully rested after just ten minutes. In the time I'd given him to get refreshed and ready for the next stage of his incredible improvement, he'd packed on even more muscle.  I didn’t think that after a day like this I'd be able to get my eyes back to their normal size.  Naked as a new-born (yeah, a new-born god), Dwight strutted back into the weight room and flexed his even larger muscles. He'd become  cocky to a fault, and I liked it immensely. 

 

"Where d'ya want me, Doc?" he eyed up each weight machine with all the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. He'd never been inside a gym in his life, and although this was entirely a new set of experiences for him, he took to it all like a duckling to water. 

 

"Why not set yourself up on the bench press and we'll get you started with a warm-up weight of, hmmm, say five  hundred on the bar... for ten reps? How does that sound?" I couldn't take my eyes off this huge muscle god, but I occasionally had to in order to record data on my clipboard. 

 

 “That seems kinda light, Doc," Dwight cockily exclaimed, and brought his closed, white-knuckled fists high up over his head. He grunted as he flexed massive, granite peaks into existence, his body continuing to erupt with vast expulsions of super-strong muscle. His skin became very taut and his veins thickened and bored out of his epidermal layer with greater abundance and vascularity than before. He smiled broadly, arrogantly, dominating my entire field of vision as his muscles bulged more hugely yet. 

 

It almost seemed that he knew what his new body was capable of before he'd even started it on its first test drive, so to speak.  He began loading up the bar with plate after plate, each one 45lbs heavy. I counted ten on each end of the bar. 900lbs. The bar began to sag. 

 

"Are you sure about this, Mr Dwight? This  is only a warm-up exercise. That amount of weight seems rath---"

 

" I'll decide what I can and can't handle," he snapped, brusquely butting in before I could finish my sentence. I allowed him to proceed. He was excited and curious. We both were. “And cut out the “Mr Dwight” from now on. I’m “Huge Muscle God”. He bounced his pecs several times before assuming the crab pose favoured by so many bodybuilders. The crab pose soon became the most muscular pose, and I almost fainted when his body erupted into an even vaster landscape of incredible, ripped muscle mass. His skin grew even tauter, and I feared he  was about to blow himself to smithereens at any second as his muscles heaved and bulged and grew thicker, harder, more striated. I imagined he could hide several pocketfuls of loose change in those striations and the money would never be seen again. He was now off-the-scale-massive.

 

 

He assumed the correct position on the bench,  his gargantuan torso just about able to fit beneath the bar where it sat on its upright struts. He gripped the bar like a pro and jerked it off its supports. He grunted as he took the strain.  At first I thought the bar would collapse on him, snapping his neck like a sun dried reed, but Dwight surprised me as he played with the weight a little until it felt comfortable in his mighty grasp. He started to press the enormous weight. He did ten reps, twenty, fifty......ONE HUNDRED reps without breaking a sweat. After I'd lost count of his reps, he returned the bar to its rests and sat up on the bench. The one hundred plus reps had swollen his muscles to even greater proportions. He punched his fists together, and there was a loud "snapping" noise, but fortunately he hadn't broken any bones.

 

"Is there something the matter?" I was eager to ensure that his every need would be met as we got further into this experiment. Dwight mopped a solitary bead of sweat from his right temple and then looked me squarely in the eye. "The weight's too light, doc. Feels like I'm pressing toothpicks." 

 

"But your chest looks like it got a good pump there," I offered by way of a compliment. I really wanted to please this young man. Hell, I wanted to be his sex slave until the end of time.

 

"Huh," he snorted, and bounced his enormous tit muscles vigorously until they became massively pumped and striated. He was still getting bigger and bigger. It was phenomenal to observe. Then he brought his arms up on either side of his head and forced out gigantic peaked mounds of massive muscle. His biceps were way bigger than his head, now, and still growing and getting harder and more powerful. I really wondered if there would be any limit to his mega-growth. The scanners in the lab monitored his vitals as well as took measurements. His blood pressure was slightly elevated, but not unexpected. There was also some increased neural activity in his hypothalamus as well as the pituitary gland, but all of that was also to be expected. Apart from that his body was in sound condition, and there were no nasty side effects from the pill to have to deal with later. I hoped this would remain the case. 

 

Dwight went from machine to machine. He performed leg presses, squats, lateral raises, concentration curls with free-weights.... every range of muscle-building exercise at his disposal via the provided equipment he indulged in. He set all the machines to maximum and still the outcome was the same each time. They were all too light. He was way too strong for the monitoring of this experiment to continue unless I took some drastic action. I would have to make some phone calls. This experiment was privately funded by a publicity-shy billionaire, Lord Edmund Dunwith, who was difficult to deal with at the best of times. Last time I'd asked him for more money, he'd demanded more results than what I could provide with a dormouse.

 

"Could you step back on the scales for me please?" 

 

Dwight didn't have to be told twice. Although his muscle-growth had slowed compared with his rate of hypertrophy towards the beginning of the experiment, he’d still increased his muscle-mass by a couple of hundred pounds since his first weigh-in just a short while ago. The scale now read: “765 lbs”. He had also grown to almost seven feet in height. I craved to know his muscle measurements now, but I’d have to fix the scanner later. For now only his vital signs could be monitored. He was now a giant amongst bodybuilders.

 

“The growth seems to be stopping, er… Huge Muscle God. We should reconvene tomorrow. We have lodgings you can avail of here at the facility, or would you like a ride back to your place of residence?” I wanted to worship him, to feel my tongue trace so many hungry wet lines across his incredible topography, but I daren’t question his sexual orientation. For all I knew he could have a harem of sexy women waiting for him at home. I wanted to get to know him, but small talk regarding his personal life would have to wait until we understood each other better. There were weeks of tests ahead of him yet.

 

“Thanks for the offer of the ride, but it’s a warm, sunny evening. Think I’ll muscle-strut my way across town under my own power, Doc,” Dwight beamed, shooting pose after pose in front of a mirror. His cock had become a massive girder of steel and he seemed proud that it looked incapable of becoming flaccid again.

 

“Well you’ll be arrested if you go out like that,” I advised somewhat comically, “there are some clothes in the next room if you’d like to try them on. My colleagues and I, that is to say, those with a vested interest in the success of this program, sought to anticipate all of the needs of the human subject, including a basic wardrobe. However, considering how well you took to the Enerflex’s effects, the garments we have for you might be a little on the tight side.”

 

“Heheh, I hope so. I’m also starving after all those weights, light though they were. Have you anything to eat here?” There was a loud gurgling noise which almost brought plaster down from the ceiling. It could only have been  Dwight’s stomach growling.

 

“Erm... yes. Just me here today, so there are some sandwiches I brought from home in that small cooler over there, and a carton of milk. There might be some potato chips belonging to the night watchman somewhere,” I gestured towards a small partitioned area in one corner of the room. Dwight found the food and wolfed down my four pastrami-on-ryes in less than a minute. He was through the milk in one swift gulp. But he was still hungry. I had not observed this effect in the dormouse, although it was eating the same amounts more regularly than before it was changed. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but right now I was too horny, too amazed, by Dwight’s transformation, to want to eat. My erection had subsided somewhat, but when Dwight emitted the loudest belch ever produced by a mammal other than a whale, junior was back to a standing position in my pants. I had to admit that the cute milk moustache on such a behemoth of a bodybuilder was quite endearing. The food placated his appetite enough for the stomach gurgles to stop. Then I showed him where to get dressed.

 

There wasn’t much to choose from. The clothes were mainly a polyester and lycra mix, with just enough nylon, spandex and elastic to ensure he’d be able to get home without returning to his birthday suit and causing major car accidents on the way. Still though, the light purple Henley shirt clung to him like a second skin and only came down just an inch or two below his bulging pec-line, leaving his mammoth, granite ab-wall exposed for all to see. Likewise the stretch jeans were loose at his waist but way too tight at the widest part of his sequoia thighs. I ended up having to take scissors to them and turn them into three-quarter length cut-offs. None of the sneakers provided would fit his monstrous size 22 feet, but luckily we found a pair of flip-flops with an NBA logo on them. Made for a basketball player, they would at least get him home. He ogled himself in the mirror, posing some more and sniggering impishly as he tried to snap threads and rip seams.

 

One thing I really needed to know: "How will you explain this transformation to your family, your friends... your employers?"

 

"Not a problem. My friends are all assholes and scene queens, not worth my time. My family is three thousand miles away and they haven't seen me in two years. And right now I don't have a job. I have plenty of time to grow and worry about explaining it all later." 

 

I was satisfied with his answer. Then he asked: “What about my money, Doc?”

 

 

“Ah yes. It’ll have to be a cheque, Dwight. We don’t keep cash on the premises,” I reached inside my lab coat and took out a cheque book. The sum of $1,500 dollars was already printed on it. I just had to make the cheque payable to Dwight, now the world’s most muscular bodybuilder. I’d developed a crick in my neck from looking up at him. He was magnificent.

 

“Good enough. I’m behind in my rent. This’ll do nicely. And there are five more of these to come, according to the ad?”

 

“Yes, of course. That is the promise. And you also get to keep your incredible new body. The effects of Enerflex are, of course, totally permanent.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear, Doc. See you tomorrow then.” Dwight, now cocky and full of himself, bounced his spectacular pectorals inside his shirt and almost pinged more buttons off it like pellets from a BB gun. Was he still growing? I hoped he’d make it home without alerting the police. He was just about adequately covered, the bulge in his jeans crotch not too evident despite the size of his manhood, so he wouldn’t be breaking the state nudity laws. But he was now the biggest most muscular man on the planet, so I worried about how the public might react.

 

I finally released my cock after he left for the evening, and as I watched via CCTV his massive frame depart this esoteric little facility, I could hold my spunk in not a second longer. As my crème spewed forth in vigorous gouts, I saw on the camera screen that by the time Dwight had reached the outside of the building, his magnificent bodybuilder’s body had burst out of the Henley. And it was like this, stripped to his impeccably taut waist, that Dwight stepped back into general life as a god amongst insects. I had work to do that evening. The scanners needed repairing and I had a lot of data to compile. Lord Dunwith, who funded this operation, would have to be informed. We needed better equipment here with which to accurately gauge everything that Dwight was capable of. If it could all be flown in and installed overnight, then so much the better. Everything would be ready for Dwight when he returned tomorrow. But before I took care of all this vital business, I played back recorded footage of his incredible muscle-growth. I lost track of time as I came over and over. I could only dream of what tomorrow would bring.

 

 

 

DAY 2:

 

My apartment is only a couple of blocks from the secret location of the research lab I'd worked at for the past four years in my endeavour to unlock superhuman potential in young males. For security reasons I cannot divulge the location, except to say that it's entrance is secret and looks nothing like what you'd expect a laboratory to look like. We provided a phone number in our ad we'd placed in several men's interest magazines. We needed someone young and fit, and who met the blood type "O+". Dwight was our first applicant, but we had others lined up for enhancement should the initial trials with Dwight prove successful. After day one my expectations were quite high, not to mention my sex drive. I'd known I was gay for twenty years, but with a Baptist minister for a father and a school teacher mother (as well as growing up in a small town in which you were considered abnormal if you weren't shy and retiring from the age of ten onwards), I'd never opened up to them about my sexuality, opting instead to bury myself in the toils of academia for as long as it would take to get to where I needed to be to consider myself successful. I was still a virgin at thirty-five, something I was entirely ashamed of. My fantasy had always been to make the most muscular man on earth an absolute reality. And I had succeeded.  Now if only I could  make a gay one, why, my greatest fantasies would become a reality. 

 

Anyway, the night watchman couldn't make his shift due to a death in the family, the poor guy. I decided to hang around and sleep at the lab,  given that someone needed to be here when Lord Dunwith's team of re-fitters arrived to cater to my every need, or rather Dwight's. They worked through the night resupplying our secret little gym with an entirely new suite of workout equipment. I'd also had a proper pantry installed and stocked up with more foodstuffs than you can shake a fork at. There would even be some tailors brought in and sworn to secrecy in the effort to ensure that Dwight was as clothed as we could maintain him at all times. All of this was achieved via many phone calls and supplicant pleas to Lord Dunwith, who eventually agreed to extend my funding. I had achieved so much in just one day. I don't even remember falling asleep on the small but relatively comfortable cot provided in a small room off the main lab proper. 

 

I was awakened by Francisco, my lab assistant, at an unknown hour. The look on his face was a mixture of excitement and astonishment. I recognised it immediately, the look of someone having witnessed something so extraordinary and unprecedented, that his mind struggled to accept it without collapsing in on itself. 

 

"It works.... the Enerflex, John. Madre Mia," he was still shaking me awake even as I swung my legs to the floor. I craved a hot shower and a change of clothes.

 

"What time is it? Dwight, he's back isn't he!" I knew the answer before hearing it. Francisco had obviously seen Dwight in the flesh, as I'd changed the passwords to the computers in case one or more of the refit team happened to get access to something they shouldn’t, and I hadn't told Francisco what it was. All of the footage I'd shot of Dwight was stored in the computers. 

 

"He.... he's monstrous, John. But I think something is not quite right." I suddenly became a mirror for the look of consternation that suddenly washed across Francisco's face. I dry swallowed  nervously. What  could possibly have gone wrong since Dwight's departure that previous evening? I decided to waste no time in finding out. 

 

 

I rushed out of the room and past some of the astonished workmen who were still putting the finishing touches to what was nothing short of a miraculous refit, considering the short time in which they'd been given to work their magic. I heard noisy rummaging coming from the newly upgraded pantry area, which, like everything else in our esoteric little setup, was now fitted with extra-tall, extra-wide, swinging double doors. As I moved towards the pantry/canteen (call it what you will), Dwight was already returning from within. He had to stoop to get through the doors, despite that they had been refitted to be seven feet tall. He'd grown since leaving here the previous evening, and he'd grown a lot, but not in the way I’d expected. I'd gotten the scanners back working, and so no matter where he went in the test area, his measurements would once again be accurately recorded. The computer attempted to make sense of his current dimensions, which caused a flood of numerical data to ticker across every screen visible to us.

 

"Hey Doc, as you can see, I've been doing some more growing," Dwight beamed, his words broken up by some rather noisy and messy chewing. He'd been into the pantry, an entire refrigerator held in the crook of his arm and dented inwards by the sheer strength of my subject Alpha. He was cramming cooked halves of chicken into his mouth and wolfing them down bones and all. 

 

And.... omg... he was GIGANTIC!!!!!! But where his height and musculature had once again augmented, albeit only slightly, his abdomen –  where only yesterday evening it was a dense wall of ripped, cobbled steel –  was now a huge bloated ball, like as if someone had stuck an air-hose down his throat and bloated up his belly to the vastness it had become. The scanners recorded its circumference at 114 inches around. That was impossible. How did he get like this? Was it a side effect of the Enerflex making itself apparent, something not observed in the dormouse on which I was still gathering data?

 

“Whuh...what happened?” I stammered my words, my voice a mere croak, for my throat desperately required moisture.

 

“You could say that I ‘gut’ me an appetite,” Dwight snorted, patting his massive belly with a thump so loud it almost burst my eardrums. Francisco was scurrying about in a panic, completely useless to me (note to self: hire a new lab assistant pronto). The workmen panicked and fled like roaches rushing away from a sudden splash of light. He lifted the fridge up so that it was level with his face, and then tipped the remainder of the food into his mouth in the same way that a normal mortal might tap out the little scraggly bits from the end of a food carton. Then he ever so effortlessly crushed the brand new fridge and tossed it over his shoulder as though it was a beer can. It was a fridge.... heavier and wider than I was tall. And he tossed it like it was just a few grams of aluminium.

 

“I need to run some more tuh-tests,” I again stammered, and I was now scurrying about like Francisco. We must have looked like a right pair of clowns as we attempted to act like scientists, but only succeeded in mimicking a typical vaudeville comedy warm-up act. My clipboard... it contained the most recent notes I’d taken on Dwight. Could the workmen have moved it?

 

“No need,” Dwight bellowed, his voice having deepened considerably since last we’d spoken. “I conducted some tests of my own last night when I got home, although I wouldn’t really call it home any more, considering I no longer fit into the place. Fuck it, I owed rent anyways. What’s my landlord gonna do, break my fingers if I don’t pay up?”

 

“What... sort of tests?” My question was punctuated perfectly by the look of incredulity I felt washing across my face and pushing out wrinkles where before there weren’t any (well, not many, to put it mildly).

 

“Watch this!” Dwight stepped further away from the pantry doors, as if to take centre-stage on a stage that didn’t exist. He opened his mouth as if to speak, or holler, or maybe to even sing. What emerged from him almost knocked Francisco and myself off our feet. 

 

Dwight belched.

 

 It was a belch louder than an air horn. We both covered our ears to protect our hearing. Dwight’s gaseous emission lasted for almost a minute. And as he expelled such foulness, we watched, in awe, as his massively bloated mid-section began to shrink and tighten. But not only that, this incredible and unforeseen physical response from him was causing his muscles to grow... to grow to even more incredible proportions.

 

The scanners feverishly recorded his burgeoning dimensions, overclocking my precious computers in the process. His neck thickened from 25 inches to a colossal 36 inches. His traps pushed upwards by at least a thirty degree angle and actually compressed his ears slightly as they fought for more and more space in which to expand. His shoulders broadened by a couple of feet on either side, his deltoid masses expanding from triple-head forms into quadruple muscle-bellies, each one separated by striations so cut and so deep, they seemed to swallow light itself. All of his muscles became more cut in this way. And larger, too, so very much larger. His pectoral muscles had already been balloons of manly beef, jutting out for several feet and casting deep, dark crescent moons below the under-swell of each pec-belly. Now they bulged and rippled more hugely yet, spreading out in all directions like a pair of out-of-control space amoebae from an old science fiction movie. They expanded so far upwards that his head began to lean back, his chin almost pointing upwards. I worried about the pecs restricting his breathing as they pressed into his trachea. How would his body compensate for that?

 

His nipples expanded and thickened, too, soon each one bigger and thicker than the tops of my thumbs. The areola moons around each nipple also increased in size, beyond the circumference of a coffee cup. How I longed to take one of those sensational man-nubs between my lips and suck and suck until I no longer had the strength. Scanners recorded his chest circumference now at a staggering 188 inches. And his chest, like the rest of him, was still getting bigger and bigger.

 

“Aw yeah.... look at my fucking pecs, Doc. They’re so huge, but I want them fucking huger,” Dwight growled, and I didn’t much care for his potty mouth. I’d been raised to abhor profanity of any kind. But I guess these were the most unusual of circumstances.

 

His arms also swelled monstrously, going from 68 inches around his biceps and triceps to a mind-blowing 87 inches. He flexed them to work more blood and Enerflex into them, and the scanners displayed 116 inches across those mammoth mountain ranges he had in place of arms. One of the computers stalled at this point. There was a small bang followed by a puff of smoke as one of the drives failed. Not to worry this time, I’d arranged for a cloud server to be installed in case of hardware failure. No way I would lose any data in that event. Your average pro-bodybuilder had a chest width of about 58-60 inches. Dwight’s upper arms alone more than doubled that number.

 

His lats... omg... they swelled to the size of delta-wings, so huge and gorged on blood and Enerflex that his arms were pushed out even further from his sides. With his lats so huge did he even have  sides anymore? As his belly continued to return to normal size (what was normal about him now, you ask?), so his muscles swelled huger and huger... larger than anything I could have imagined (or hoped for. Yes I was loving every second of this and didn’t want it to end).

 

His giant redwood legs thickened and “huged-up”, too. His upper thighs – with quads and hamstrings separated by thick and deep cuts guaranteed to hide a small fortune in change – swelled to almost 200 inches apiece. He’d never be able to walk easily again, but the bodybuilder’s waddle is most definitely the sexiest way a man has ever been destined to move. His calves ballooned up to 120 inches. I couldn’t wait to see how much he could press on the newly installed leg press machine.

 

The sound of bones cracking and repairing as they thickened and stretched throughout his incredible body, was almost as deafening as his mega-burp. But his body was growing in height once again, his entire frame filling out in order to better provide a foundation for his ever-increasing muscle-growth.

 

When his “food belly” finally disappeared, it was replaced by those now-familiar cobblestone brickwork abs. They actually made a popping sound as they, one by one, popped out of his torso and took their place, two upon two upon two upon tw..... omg... he had ten of them now. His waist continued to tighten almost back to the waspish taper it had had only yesterday. The scanners recorded his waist measurement at 44 inches, which, compared with his chest seemed tiny, and he didn’t so much have that amazing V-taper that all bodybuilders strive to maximise, but it was like two “W”s side by side balancing on top of a single “V”.

 

His growth finally stopped once again. He’d grown to almost eight feet in height. He had to be at least five and a half feet wide at the shoulders. He flexed a mesmerising double biceps pose and his body was almost carved up like a jigsaw via the array of veins that were  squeezed out across his massive surfaces. His cuts became deeper and deeper, every muscle perfectly separated from its neighbours. He spread his lats and they fanned out wider, his ribcage was now double-jointed, so that he could expand it massively, which had the effect of pushing his hot-air balloon pecs even further upwards. His head had to lean back further to allow for his. The curvature of his upper pecs alone now completely hid his face and neck in this pose. His nipples took centre-stage, now, pert and plump and pointing out of each super-flexed pec. In the relaxed position they would now forever be hidden within the dark shadows cast by the under-swell of each muscle-tit. He relaxed from the lat spread and began to bounce his massive pec-bellies. Their movement beat at the very air itself, creating currents which he fanned towards me. I almost fell backwards from the force.

 

When he did a most-muscular pose, this time the scanners shorted out again, unable to cope with the sheer size of this behemoth, as he squeezed out this most delicious pose, the one that made him look far huger than any other. His veins continued to bulge impossibly through skin so taut that it shone. He’d been wearing shorts when he came in, blue spandex ones (where he’d gotten them is beyond me). His cock and ball sack had also increased in size, but not enough to shred the shorts and render him naked once again. As his thighs increased in size, thanks to more and more flexing, so his manhood was pushed even further outward. His junk had no place to go but out. I could tell he was loving this experience due to the hefty precum staining taking place in his crotch. I could feel my own underwear moistening up, too.

 

“Gotta get on the scale, doc. I need to see how much all this new muscle weighs. FUH..UCKKKK!!!!!” Dwight waddled over to the newly installed scale, one based on the type used to weigh livestock. It had a maximum weight tolerance of two tonnes. I hoped it would be enough. His massive thighs rubbed against each other as he moved, a walk that would be considered ridiculous-looking, had it been observed in anyone other than Hypertrophic Extreme God Dwight. Somehow this muscle giant made it look absolutely beautiful.

 

The scale read: 1374.25 lbs.

 

I saw the number. My tongue fell out of my mouth, lolling like that of a thirsty canine. Then everything began to spin around me before fading to black. Next thing I was aware of was Francisco reviving me with the offensive sting of smelling salts.

 

“Huh-long was I out?”

 

“Not long, just a few minutes,” Francisco replied. He disposed of the smelling salts. I was back on the cot in the little room I’d earlier slept in. 

 

"Where is he now," I asked in earnest. 


 

"Still in the weight room. He's lost to his posing. He wanted me to set up a camera and tripod to film his back while he poses. He needs to check the spread." Then Francisco added: "He ate all the food. Even a jar of mustard and the jalapeños I brought from home. I think he wants to get gassy again so he can grow some more."


 

For the second time that morning (was it still morning?) I swung my legs to the floor. This time they felt shaky when I tried to stand. "We need to analyse all data, try to assess what went wrong. We need to take a blood sample from Dwight. There may be an unknown anomaly at work here. Did you see the size of his stomach when he arrived here? He must've been eating non stop since leaving here yesterday. Oh damn, I hope he wasn’t followed on his way here." I began to panic at the thought of our secret facility being discovered by a curious civilian, or even a street cop, who'd decided to follow our shirtless muscle giant in order to learn all they could about him. Thankfully Francisco was all too reassuring. "Lord Dunwith took care of that. He sent a vehicle to Dwight's address. No one saw him arrive."

 

I went out to the refitted weight room and found my clipboard. I was so nervous that my hand scrawled shaky letters across the notepaper. Dwight had grown even bigger since I'd passed out. And why not? One of the key triggers or catalysts in the Enerflex compound depended on the recipient's brain releasing endorphins. If someone liked something enough, or even desired something hard enough, Enerflex would work so much more efficiently. In the case of Dwight, his desire to grow more and more masses of gigantic muscle acted as the catalyst necessary to boost the effects of Enerflex. It would appear that the drug had been set to overdrive in his system. 


 

But one dose lasted eight hours at most; that had been certainly true in the dormouse's case. But something within Dwight had perpetuated the lasting effects of a single pill. And his abnormal eating habits would have to be monitored closely. But for now:


 

"You're probably wondering about the new weight machines," I said,  for once managing to not  stammer. Dwight barely paid me any attention, for he was still so engrossed in his posing. 


 

"Not really, doc. Except maybe... how easily I'm gonna bust them up with my incredible strength," the hyper-massive muscle man boasted. I found his remark moderately amusing. 

 

"This is no ordinary gym equipment, Dwight. There are no plates to screw onto bars, or pins to pull out of one stack of plates and slip into another. No levers or pulleys to adjust. It's all very high tech and works off the principal of magnetic resistance." His curiosity now piqued, Dwight turned to the NASA answer to a bench press. The setup was similar to a standard bench, except the bar worked off magnetic resistance. The mechanical components  could be set to recreate any weight via incredibly powerful built-in electromagnets. 


 

"How shall I program it? One thousand pounds of resistance for a warm-up then?" I was toying with Dwight, and he knew it. "How high does it go?" I'd expected him to ask that. 


 

"Ten thousand pounds," I replied, fighting against yet another stammer. 


 

Dwight considered this for a moment. "Might still be a little light for me. But won’t know unless I give it a whirl."


 

I felt one of my eyebrows peaking up like the way Mister Spock's would when he found something to be fascinating. Why not start him off on maximum settings? If they proved too much for him I could always lower the resistance at the push of a button. I did what Dwight wanted and when the machine was set, I gestured to him to assume the proper position on the bench.


 

The machine activated as soon as he began to take the strain. Wait... did I say "strain"? There was no strain at all. With his breathing rhythmic and his sweat glands given the day off, Dwight began to press the bar upwards, methodically and repeatedly, despite ten thousand pounds of pressure pulling against his every exertion. He might as well have been pressing cotton swabs. It was astonishing to observe. He was hundreds of times stronger than I could ever have dreamed of. And he could only get stronger yet.


 

Not even a single grunt emerged from him as he continued to work the weight. He showed no signs of tiring, or giving up. He seemed content to do this for as long as it provided him the pumps.


 

"How do you feel?" My question came after 954 reps. Not a bead of sweat had appeared anywhere on his skin.


 

"It's light, but I'm starting to feel the burn, doc. I reckon another 500 reps will give me the pump I need. But this needs to go higher," Dwight admitted.


 

"I'm sorry, Dwight, but you are pushing the machine to its limit." It was true. There was a smell of ozone in the air, as electrical circuits and other components were pushed beyond their design tolerance. After his 1246th rep, the machine shorted out. To be honest, I'd expected it to break down long before that. He returned the bar to its rest, sat up on the bench and flexed his mammoth pectoral muscles. They were pumped to huge proportions, fresh networks of veins now throbbing out of the skin. His chin was now completely buried in the flesh of his upper pecs, especially when he looked downward. He licked the veins that had come out of the pecs and inhaled his bodybuilder's musk deeply, as if getting off to his size and power.


 

"A half-decent pump. But it could be a lot better. You need to design more powerful machines for me, Doc." 


 

We repeated further tests on every other machine. The leg press machine had a maximum resistance limit of 25,000 lbs. Dwight's mammoth redwoods shorted out the machine in less than five minutes. But during that five minutes the pump he received increased the girth of his upper thighs by 27%. 1200 reps apiece with magnetic dumbbells, each one set to 2000 lbs of resistance swelled his biceps up to 120 inches cold. Flexed they peaked at 144 inches, erupting miniature volcanoes both.


 

"I need to get bigger, Doc. How about another pill," Dwight requested after stopping to rest and eat.... pizza, that's right, pizza. He'd sent Francisco out on an errand to bring back ten of the largest cheese, tomato and pepperoni pizzas available in the city. With Lord Dunwith getting the bill, the sky was the limit for the ever-expanding muscle god. Dwight's gut began to swell again, as he gorged on the fattening fare. I grew somewhat pensive, but recorded everything as it transpired.


 

"I don't think that's a good idea yet, Dwight. I'm still putting your blood through some final analyses before we proceed. This gut expansion of yours is not something I anticipated. It may not be good for you to continue to indulge yourself in this way."


 

He paused between demolishing his fifteenth and sixteenth slice of pizza (by now he was picking up slices in both hands, eating at a rate that was beyond even superhuman). I thought he was going to snap and explode with rage for not getting his own way. Instead:


 

"Fair enough. I can grow now without your goddam pills. Look... see my gut? Watch it balloon as I eat more food than an average family can get through in a week," Dwight boasted. I wasn't much of a pizza eater, but these things were huge, easily 30 inches in diameter. A family of four could probably live on one of these monsters for a couple of days at least. Whilst this was going on, I failed to notice Francisco wheeling a large rectangular box into the weight room via a two-wheeled trolley. What the hell was that? By the time my assistant had set up the milkshake machine, Dwight was demolishing the last of his pizzas and rubbing his massive belly as it continued to grow, pushing his pecs even higher so that his head was completely obscured from my view. How he was getting any food into his mouth at all - with so much pec-meat  in the way - was a minor miracle to behold.


 

I finally acknowledged the milkshake machine. It was the kind you see in fast food restaurants, with a combination dispenser array designed for making shakes and sundaes of various flavours. "What in blazes is that doing here?" I demanded to know.


 

"Well I...mmmfff...slurp... need something to .... yummm... wash down all this pizza, Doc, mmmfff," said Dwight, his table manners bordering on atrocious.


 

My eyes nearly came out on stalks. This activity went against the grain of my scientific agenda. But curiosity, the kind that turns scientists into human flies, suddenly got the better of me. I had to see where this was going. My arousal was greater than ever. There was something so insanely stimulating at the thought of Dwight blowing up like a balloon, then sucking it all back in (whatever "it" was) before converting it to hundreds of pounds of new muscle. I accepted the idea of the milkshake machine. What I found difficult to digest, however, was the method by which it was about to be delivered to Dwight's digestive system. 


 

Francisco attached some rubber hose to the nozzle of the shake machine, and then the free end to a mightily-big plastic funnel, the like of which I'd never seen before. What... was it used for giving an elephant an enema?


 

"Hurry the fuck up, little man," Dwight bellowed, and now he'd wedged himself into one corner, pushing a whole rack of dumbbells out of the way so as to make room. Francisco, it seemed, was only too willing to oblige. My soon-to-be ex-lab assistant promptly obeyed the muscle/gut monster and stuck the small end of the funnel, not only into Dwight’s mouth, but his giant's throat seemed to have no problem at all accommodating the foot-and-a-half-long proboscis through which he would receive the nutritional goop, which Francisco then began to pour into the reservoir at the back of the machine.


 

"Whoa, hold on a goddamn minute there, Francisco," I squealed, using a profanity that would make the hairs stand up on the back of my dear old father's neck. I flitted around to the back of the machine and began to excitedly scribble down the "ingredients" to this super-shake that Francisco was currently putting together. In went the normal liquid shake mix, mostly milk-based and whatever chemicals the manufacturers saw fit to include. Then the syrup flavouring, in this case chocolate, followed by several containers of bodybuilding "muscle milk", creatine, whey, egg protein extract etc. Then Francisco threw in a dozen packets of pancake mix, ice cream, whipped cream, cake mixes etc... it went on and on (where did he find the time to get all this stuff?). I just about managed to scribble everything down; it was important to record exactly what would be going into Dwight's system, but I wasn't totally sure of the ratios. Fuck it, I thought. Oh darn, more profanity. I no longer cared. This wasn't just about science any more, it was about throwing caution to the wind, cocks oozing precum, and my desire to be dominated by the biggest, heaviest and strongest bodybuilder ever to walk the Earth.


 

"Feed me," Dwight almost managed to pronounce correctly, despite that he had eighteen inches of plastic down his neck (how did he avoid the gagging reflex?).


 

Francisco, almost fit to collapse from exhaustion, threw the switch on the shake machine. It rumbled into life, it's innards mixing, churning and drawing this ultra-rich ambrosia further into itself, chilling and emulsifying it, and within seconds the thick goop began its journey along the hosepipe and towards the funnel. With the sensors again on the blink, I couldn't tell how big Dwight's stomach had stretched to, but if I were to guess I'd say it had to be at least 150 inches around (I could have been way off the mark there). What happened next was... was... the SHIT!!!!!


 

It was like the entire room was getting smaller, however, because our eyes were rapt on Dwight's further metamorphosis, everything around us had become superficial, minuscule. As more and more of the super-rich mix "glug-glugged" along the hose – through the funnel and down into the magnificent bodybuilder's incredible body –  the bigger his mega-gut swelled. How his skin didn't rip apart as it breached the threshold of elasticity is beyond me. But his stretch marks were so many now, the skin flashing red, then normal again, as it hurriedly repaired and adjusted itself.

 

Soon the shake machine's reservoir was empty and anything that was recognisable as a muscular human being had disappeared behind the biggest belly in all of creation. Not even a pair of feet stuck out from beneath the vast sphere of flesh. The shake machine shut down, obviously designed to do that when its reservoir ran dry. I was at a loss for what to do. I turned to Francisco. "Is there no more of the stuff?"

 

He slowly shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the mega-belly that had swollen to such a vast size that several of the workout machines had been pushed aside by its burgeoning advancement. I feared for Dwight's life, I really did. He uttered not a single sound, and there were no signs of movement. The next minute seemed to last a small eternity. Was I holding my breath in anticipation of the next phase? Next phase? Damn, I didn't know which way was up right now. The centre of my entire universe was a point somewhere on that gigantic belly now taking up a good eighth of the room's volume.

 

Then... a dumbbell clattered to the floor next to the belly. Then another. Then the sound of groaning metal. And... was that... a moan... a sound of distress from a suffering human? I tentatively edged a little closer to my test subject. "Dwight... are you..."

 

"Unnnnnghhh," he uttered, and I was thankful that he was still alive.  "Belly...ache," he moaned, for he'd obviously spat out the funnel at this point. I could now see his hands flailing sluggishly on either side of the hot-air balloon that had become of his belly. He wanted to rub his belly, but it was way too large for him to manage this. I wanted to oblige. "I can soothe your discomfort, Dwight. If I rub your stomach it should help with digestion." I so wanted to feel and caress that incredible body. Bellies didn't turn me on nearly as much as muscles, but with Dwight this didn't matter. He was a bodybuilding behemoth, therefore no matter what his shape, the god that he had become demanded my attention and worship.

 

"Suh-sounds guh-good, Doc," he stammered. And so I made physical contact with Dwight, not quite the way I'd hoped to, but it was something to be thankful for. His belly swelled before me, a ten-foot high, twenty-foot wide wall of flesh. I began to rub it, applying as much pressure as I could, but I couldn't dent it. I might as well have been trying to massage granite or steel. But I persisted, working a little vigour into my efforts. Eventually: "Feels good, Doc. Pain is going away now." Unlike my own pain, which was caused by a painfully hard and swollen cock pressing against the inside of my pants. Thank goodness my white lab coat concealed my shame. I kept rubbing him like this for what seemed like a very long time, so long that I began to tire of the activity. Then...

 

A rumbling... deep and guttural and building in pressure. The entire room began to shake. Plaster broke from the ceiling and rained down on us. More weight equipment toppled or crashed. Was it a quake? It couldn't be. We were nowhere near a fault line. 

 

"He's gonna belch again," I suddenly realised.

 

"Unnngh.....can't keep it in, Doc," Dwight groaned. The rumbling increased in intensity. Windows smashed and doors buckled in their frames. How much of the surrounding city block would now be feeling these effects? And if this facility could be traced to the epicentre, I feared for the future of my research. Had we taken this too far? Just a tad.

 

"Quick, Francisco, behind that table," I indicated to my lab assistant. There was an overturned table about eight feet away. We had to get to it before Dwight let rip. We barely got to it in time.

 

Dwight erupted on a cataclysmic scale. The room was quickly filled with enough gas to cause a major explosion should there be any naked flames nearby. I worried for the state of my lab next door. Some of the chemicals I used were volatile if mixed. Under these conditions how they hadn't already mixed was a small miracle. The belch went on for what seemed like forever. The smell was nauseating and it was another miracle that Francisco and myself didn't throw up.

 

But then... another transformation. Like before, as Dwight's belly began shrinking back into its taut, sexy muscle-brick configuration, every single muscle in his body began to get bigger... and bigger... and stronger... and so much harder (as hard as my throbbing cock right now? That was questionable).

 

Francisco and I watched, dumbfounded with awe, as  Dwight grew so much bigger. Once his belly had diminished enough for him to stand up, he was able to give us a much better show as his transformation endured. He was now pushing ten feet tall. His neck was hard to make out in between a pair of monstrous traps that sloped down to shoulders that now had to be seven feet wide, if not more, each one ending in a bulbous deltoid twice the size of a human head. The bottom half of his beautiful face was hidden behind the biggest, most projecting pair of mammoth pecs I'd ever seen. How big was his chest now? 200? 300 inches? It was impossible to gauge at this point. But when Dwight flexed and bounced them, the currents of displaced air charged across the room and slammed us between our table shield and the wall behind.

 

He flexed his ever-increasing upper arms, and biceps wider than a cow exploded with veins and mass. His forearms alone were twice as thick as an averagely-built man. His belly continued to shrink and harden, his waist once again returning to that gorgeous taper that every bodybuilder endeavours to create. His body continued to hulk-out with more and more mass. It just wouldn't stop. He had to weigh thousands and thousands of pounds by now. And he was STILL getting bigger and bigger. His thighs grew wider than a car, thicker and more striated, and with deeper cuts between the muscles than ever before. Walking would be a major struggle for him now, and yet the thought of him struggling to waddle, much less walk, due to the humongous girth of his thighs, was putting me on the verge of cumming. I gasped and adjusted my cock inside my pants as I marvelled at Dwight's ever-growing calves. Three times the size of a beach ball, I shuddered to think how much bigger they could get. And my libido yearned for yet more muscle-growth.

 

"Yeah, this is what it's all about, Doc. I'm the biggest, baddest, strongest fucker on the planet," Dwight playfully raged. I truly hoped that he wouldn't become a danger to us, or the general public, for that matter. His head almost touched the ceiling. His growth began to slow as his ab-cobbles popped back out, this time twelve of them in two stacks of six apiece. It was the first "twelve-pack" in all of existence. 

 

Dwight flared his lats and his upper body just swelled up beautifully. His lats gorged on space and Enerflex and blood and growth hormone and simply swelled up to twenty or more times their previous mass. Dwight's arms were pushed out even further from his sides. But he seemed to be enjoying it. "Look, Doc... my arms are almost horizontal now. I'm...grrrrrrr....trying to press against my lats.....urrrrrrrrrghhh....in order to....unnnngh...get my fucking huge arms down....but...grrrrrrrffff....I can't do it......lats....too big.....want them bigger...grrrrrrrrr!!"

 

He waddled over to the scale. Would it even support his weight now that he'd grown even further? It was an effort for Dwight to move, now, but I found this most arousing. He stood on the scale and just before it was crushed to tiny bits it recorded...  "8455 lbs, Doc. Fuck yeah. But I've got to get to ten thousand. I've got to get fucking.....BIGGERRRRRR!!!!!"

 

Dwight was out of control, that much was clear. What could I do to regain control of the situation? There really was only one thing I could do. But that would have to wait. Scientific curiosity had gotten the better of my sense of self preservation. I had to see what happened next.

 

Dwight was like a storm that couldn't be contained, or its movements predicted. He'd flexed every pose capable of a bodybuilder, each time his body ripped into greater hardness and definition, with deeper cuts, more striations, and even greater masses of thick, plump veins. But now he'd grown bored with just posing. He needed to express his strength. He was too big for any of the machines now. But that didn't stop him. He picked up a 200 lb dumbbell. "Watch this, you pussies," he growled. He struggled to get his arms to move around his massive pecs (they must have jutted out at least six feet from his rib cage). But he eventually succeeded in inserting the weight between the two pec mountains. Then he applied pressure, trying to get both his fists to meet so that his pecs were squeezed mightily in-between. As the iron heated up from friction, I gasped when I saw a puff of smoke emerge from between Dwight's mega-pecs. Then he removed the transformed dumbbell, and I almost fainted. He tossed the squashed blob of iron towards us. It still weighed 200 lbs, but it had been compressed into an unrecognisable shape. And he'd made this happen just with his pecs. I was speechless and could only watch in awe at what he did next.

 

He found one of the plates from the old leg-press machine, one that weighed about 300 lbs. It was the size of a very large pizza, and probably ten times as thick. Dwight struggled to pick the thing up off the floor. In the end he gave up and just stomped so hard, his foot actually cracked the concrete, but the shock-wave caused not only the plate to jump into his hand, but Francisco and I almost jumped out of our skins.  Then Dwight placed the iron disc between his bicep and forearm and gradually brought the two muscles together nutcracker-style. There was another puff of smoke caused by metallic friction. When he removed the weight disc my jaw dropped open when I saw that not only had the iron been crimped down to the thickness of a razor, but there was even the impression of Dwight's veins on the iron.

 

"I'm the strongest bastard on the planet, Doc. But I need to get stronger." Dwight bounded towards the pair of us, naked and hulking. His cock was almost as big as my entire body. It bobbed and lashed about in a semi-flaccid state, oozing precum with utmost abandon. Dwight's balls throbbed and jiggled, larger than knapsacks beneath his cock. With no room for his junk between thighs that rubbed together as he waddled, the cock and balls had nowhere to hang, and so sticking out ahead of him was their new and final resting place. I must admit to liking that giant cock very much. I wanted to taste it and nurse from its fluids. But it was way too big for my mouth to ever comfortably or reasonably accommodate. Unless.... nah, now wasn't the time. Or was it? 

 

What happened next was kind of a blur, and I'm somewhat sketchy on how the events played out. It happened very fast. I just hope that Francisco made it out alive and was a very good liar to the police. But that life is behind me now. I remember hearing wailing sirens... to be expected, considering the gravity of the Dwight-quake that had damaged quite a bit of the surrounding block. I heard the crashing and smashing of masonry, and the indescribable feeling of travelling upwards at a very high velocity. What was going on? I passed out yet again, the last sounds of city life to reach my ears were  of police and fire truck sirens, screaming, panicking people, all of which seemed to come from far below. But how? Was I flying?

 

The next thing I was aware of was the feeling of warm sand beneath me. I could smell the salt in the air, and the breeze that nuzzled my skin felt refreshing and invigorating.

 

 

 

 

DAY 3:

 

"Wuh-water," I pathetically gasped. I managed to raise myself to a sitting position. I was still in my clothing, lab-coat and all. The sun was high in the sky. I was on a beach, a tropical island. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. Suddenly a vast shadow was cast around me. Dwight had returned with not only coconuts, but an entire coconut tree. He carried it across one mighty shoulder. It must have weighed many tonnes, but it looked weightless to him. He picked off some of the fruits and then dropped the tree. It would come in handy for kindling later. The huge muscle man sat down opposite me, just about managing to cross his legs without castrating himself. He cracked open a coconut like it was an egg and handed me half. I'd never tasted coconut milk before. It was bitter, but it lubricated my mouth and throat nicely.

 

"How did we get here?" I tried to take in Dwight in his entirety, but my brain was still struggling to accept that he was real. He looked even bigger than before I'd passed out.

 

"I jumped," he replied simply. He began crunching through coconuts, shells and all. I imagined his teeth and jaws would have no trouble crunching through diamonds.

 

"You did....whaaat?"  Wherever this place was on the globe, it felt like thousands of miles from my secret lab in the city.

 

"Too much attention drawn to the other place, Doc. I panicked and... jumped. Have to admit, the distance I covered in one leap really surprised me. I think this is an island in the South Pacific. Can't be sure exactly. Geography was never my strong point."

 

"Are you happy with how things played out?" A sober question from me.

 

"Uh, I guess. I want to get bigger, though," he replied with a modicum of regret.

 

"Well you won't get any bigger just eating coconuts. We can't stay here, Dwight." But really, did we have any choice? I thought that Lord Dunwith would have the affluent means, not to mention influence, to hide Dwight for the rest of his life, but did he really deserve to be cooped up like an animal? Not that any cage would hold him, of course.

 

"I can make a paradise for us here," he exclaimed, and for the first time since meeting him two days ago, I looked into his eyes, really looked into them, and for a split second saw just a handsome young man with so many dreams, one of which already came true. Our hearts were suddenly beating as one.

 

"You speak as if I'm Jane to your Tarzan," I replied, speaking without thinking.

 

"Maybe you are, Doc." Dwight had to adjust his seating position as his cock and balls began to swell huge. Was he turned on? It seemed so.

 

"Call me John. Doc makes me feel ancient. I'm only thirty-five."

 

"A good age. I can live with that. I really like you, and can't thank you enough for the amazing gift you gave me." Tenderness now flowed on the currents created by Dwight's words. I was seeing a different side to him... an honest-to-goodness human side. Then he leaned forwards and did something I could never have expected. He picked me up and hugged me. He was surprisingly gentle, too, considering what he could do to cast iron and coconut trees. I was like a rag doll to his child. It was absurd really. He was far too big for me to love properly. Then I remembered...

 

"You need a proper companion and lover, Dwight... someone who can match you in size and strength." I wriggled out from between his mighty mitts and took something out of my pocket. It was a vial containing the purple Enerflex pills. Dwight recognised them immediately and began to drool with excitement. He realised what I was about to do. I tipped the vial into my mouth, caring little if I overdosed. But I had a feeling everything would be  okay. Don't ask me how I knew... I just did.

 

"Save some for me, John. I need to grow, too." The look of desperation on Dwight's beautiful face was palpable.

 

"Don't worry, there'll be some left over for later. When I'm as big as you, then we can take the rest of them together. Looks like we have this place to ourselves. Maybe it can be paradise," I said. I began to undress before the muscle-giant.. who would forever be my man. 

 

Then I began to grow.

 

 

 

 

 

The End.

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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