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Transformation Part I: Mutation - Chapter Nine


Fulano

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First Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1131-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-one/

Previous Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/1974-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-eight/

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

Terry’s office was in an older but well maintained professional building on East 67th. I had been there several times before, especially when we were dating, but this time I was hyper-aware of everything as we approached his office – the cars parked along the street, the trees planted in cutouts on the sidewalk, the pedestrians heading to lunch or appointments. One truck was in front of us, but no vehicles were behind us.

 

I chalked this up to my self-consciousness at being unclothed in public. No, that wasn’t right. I couldn’t care less who saw me naked, what I didn’t want was to cause an accident.

 

Hank dropped us off at the entrance of the ten-story brick and stone building right as a nearby church bell announced the noon hour. I slid the van’s door shut and made a beeline for the double door. “I have an appointment with Doctor Berman on six,” I said casually to the young man at the security desk. He gawked but didn’t respond.

 

We passed a few people between the door and the elevator, which fortunately happened to be opening. An older woman exited the car and screamed briefly, but I ignored her. Matt and I entered. He had already pressed 6 when the doors closed.

 

“That went pretty well,” he said.

 

“I should at least have some type of wrap made for my waist.”

 

“Why?”

 

I smiled and kissed him. “I don’t want to give some poor blue hair a heart attack.”

 

“They’ll get used to it,” he said. “It’s not like they have a choice.”

 

The elevator opened and we walked to the double doors of Terry’s suite at the end of the hall. I had warned him to send his staff home and cancel his appointments and this was the moment of truth. As I slid sideways through the one open door into his waiting room, the head of my semi-flaccid cock slapped against the other, which was locked closed. It shuddered as if someone had punched it.

 

Matt followed me in. “No damage,” he said.

 

“Hey, Terry,” I called out. “I’m here.” The room was empty. A sign on the reception desk informed anyone that dropped by that he was only available for emergencies. The door to the inner part of his suite opened.

 

“Hey there,” he said in his booming voice. He then looked at me, blinked twice and as his eyes rolled back in his head, collapsed to the floor.

 

“Geez, are all of your friends huge?” Matt asked as he rushed forward to check on Terry.

 

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been a magnet for big bottoms.”

 

“I’m not a big bottom.”

 

“Good point,” I said. “And Hank is very happy about that.”

 

Terry was bleeding from where his head hit the doorknob, but was otherwise fine. I carried him into one of his exam rooms and Matt tended to the wound.

 

Terry was a big guy. He wasn’t lean like Carlos or Hank, but at six foot four and 280 or so pounds he certainly qualified as huge. Big, bearded and bearish, he looked more like a lumberjack than a general practitioner.

 

“He’s beautiful,” Matt said as he held an ice pack against the back of his head.

 

“Yep,” I agreed. “That he is. I was quite taken with him.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I’m going to walk around,” I said. “Stay here with him and bring him up to date before he sees me again. You can ask him what happened.”

 

I slipped through the doorway sideways and followed the short hallway to the fourth and last examination room where he kept the scale for his morbidly obese patients. This room had a curtain instead of a door so extra large people could easily pass through. I certainly qualified as extra large.

 

I stepped onto the digital scale, which fortunately had a wall-mounted LCD display, and waited a moment. It read 517.1 pounds. My weight had more than doubled in three days; my height had increased by about five inches. I was carrying far more muscle than any human before – probably twice as much as Hank, one of the most muscular men on the planet. My muscle was larger, denser, stronger.

 

Suddenly, I longed for a mirror to admire myself in and as I imagined how I appeared to those around me, my cock began to swell until it had returned to its preferred size – maximum. In seconds it was a mammoth, throbbing hard-as-steel weapon, welded to my hard-as-steel body, thrusting forward, curving upward so that the head was at a 45-degree angle to the floor, already oozing copious amounts of pre-cum.

 

Although my immense pectorals had grown overnight along with everything else and blocked additional inches of my cock from my view, it had lengthened and thickened as well. I grabbed it with both of my still-larger and more powerful hands, gasping with pleasure at my own touch, squeezing the pulsing shaft as tightly as I could with a grip that I already knew could effortlessly crush hardened steel. I was awestruck that my cock was so hard that even I was unable to dent it despite my own strength, which was unimaginable after only three days.

 

I leaned forward and tilted my chin into my cleavage so that I could see more of the massive tool and gasped again at its perfection and beauty, now sixteen inches of male magnificence that spurted my limitless pre-cum.

 

I released my cock and watched it resume bouncing with each throb even while my hands turned their attention to my gigantic pecs, feeling the thick hairs that covered the enormous square slabs, so shredded that I could feel each bundle of muscle fiber on the surface of the huge mound, which I somehow knew were individually far more powerful than even the entire chest of the strongest power lifter.

 

Hank’s statement from earlier in the day had to be accurate. I couldn’t possibly be human anymore. It was the first time I had allowed myself to consider it, but the conclusion was inescapable. Human flesh was not harder than steel. Human hair burned. Humans didn’t convert energy to matter as I apparently did. I had become ... something else ... but a god? It was the only explanation. Everyone, everyone, wished to worship and/or submit to me on sight. They could sense what I was, even as I continued to struggle with it.

 

“I am a god.” I said aloud as if that would help convince me.

 

“So Matt tells me.” I heard Terry say and I turned my head enough to see him pass through the curtain with Matt. They both took one look at me and fell to their knees. Terry’s eyes had glazed over and Matt leaned forward on his hands.

 

Still on the scale’s platform, I turned to face them with my hands on my hips.

 

“May we worship you?” Matt asked.

 

My beautiful boy had not even finished his sentence when cum exploded from my pounding tool, which spasmed wildly, spraying my jism in all directions, coating the curtain, floor and ceiling, not to mention the willing slaves who knelt on the floor before me. Gallon after gallon of cum spewed from my tool for several minutes as imagined myself growing still larger, stronger and more muscular, my cock yet longer and thicker and more powerful. I looked down at the handsome, awestruck faces of the two men and smiled.

 

“Of course you may,” I said even as my spunk continued to flow unabated. Yet after a moment I willed my cock to rest and the sound of my thick, heavy jism splattering the room diminished.

 

They crawled forward and I allowed them to feel my immense brawn, to service my huge cock and orange-sized balls. For several long minutes I enjoyed the caress of their hands and lips as they explored my immense musculature, smiling with satisfaction as they traced the innumerable striations with complete awe.

 

But we needed to move on. “That’s enough,” I said with some regret. Hank would be returning for us. They stopped – both had spontaneously blown their wads a few times anyway – and I offered my hands to them. “Stand.”

 

Terry, his professional hat back on, began examining me and recounted what Matt had told him of the past three days. It was accurate, and I just nodded and clarified a few points for him. As Terry worked, Matt also looked at me closely, inspecting me in a more detached, scientific way than he had before. He even whipped out his iPhone and snapped a few pictures of my face and entire body.

 

“What are those for?” I asked.

 

“I’ll show you when Terry is finished,” he said mischievously. “If I’m right, he’s going to need a drink.”

 

“A drink?” my doctor and old friend said in his solid, rich voice. “More like a bottle of Valium. If you hadn’t already told me what to expect, I would be unconscious on the floor.”

 

“You already did that,” I said.

 

“Oh, right,” he said. “Well, here’s the deal, and if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I’d never have believed it. In fact, I’m still expecting to wake up at any moment, but I digress.” He stepped back and sat on a stool.

 

“You are right at six foot three now,” Terry continued. “I checked your file and just as I remembered, you used to be a bit under five ten. Now your weight is, well, you already know this because you were standing on the scale, but...” He paused and shook his head. “521 pounds, and don’t even ask me to explain the gallons of semen that you released. Matt told me his theory as to how you were creating it and growing, but I wouldn’t even know how to begin to test that.”

 

521 pounds - almost four pounds of additional matter had appeared from nowhere in the past hour or so in addition to all of the cum.

 

“There isn’t a trace of the scars from 9/11, in fact, your hair and skin look like a flawless version of the real thing, but I am unable to scrape off a sample. You’re not breathing, as Matt already warned me, but you do have a pulse. Wait – when was the last time you urinated or had a bowel movement?”

 

I had already been thinking about that. “Sunday. At home when I had the seizure I called you about.”

 

He shook his head. I could tell he was disgusted, not because of me, but simply because I was challenging everything known to science. “But you produce sweat and,” he motioned to the half of the room that I had slimed. “Semen. Insane quantities of semen.”

 

He looked at Matt. “Hey, would you mind collecting some samples of his semen? There are specimen containers in the cabinet to the left of the sink. I’m thinking around ten.”

 

“Sure,” Matt said as he sprang into action. “Mind if I help you with the tests?”

 

“Not at all, do you have lab experience?”

 

“Oh,” Matt began. “Sorry, I didn’t tell you anything about myself. Yeah, I’m a vet.”

 

“Perfect.” He turned back to me. “You okay with that?”

 

“Hell yeah. I’m at least as curious as you are.”

 

“I know this isn’t something anyone ever asks you,” Terry said. “But would you mind bending over?”

 

I laughed and complied as Terry leaned forward to examine my butt.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he said. “I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this. Could you pull your glutes apart?”

 

“Checking my prostate?” I joked as I reached back and spread my cheeks.

 

“Christ,” he said. “Son of a bitch! Jamal, your anus is gone. GONE. Not a trace one was ever there. I don’t fucking believe it.”

 

He sat down heavily on the stool. “I think I could use that drink now.”

 

I felt out of control again and broke out in a cold sweat. “That makes two of us.”

 

 

Dr. Berman had put me in touch with the paramedic, Carl Washington, who had brought me in. Carl agreed to meet me at Grand Central Terminal for lunch and tell me what he knew about Karen’s death.

 

After Dr. Berman’s initial call, I found it impossible to sleep. The events of that day replayed in my mind repeatedly and despite its futility, I continually second-guessed my actions. How had I failed? What could I have done differently? The puncture wounds in my back were so great I almost bled to death. Why did I live? Why did she die? Each time I replayed her kissing my cheek I wanted to cry. She had thanked me for nothing...

 

After several days, my doctor prescribed anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. They helped, but I knew that if I was going to move on, I needed some answers.

 

It was mid-November when I finally met Carl in the dining concourse of Grand Central, and the gloomy weather matched the city’s mood. New York had been hit hard. Its stride was broken. I may have been depressed, but the entire city remained in a state of shock.

 

Carl told me that Karen and I had been found next to each other. She was face up. I was face down with my left leg and arm over her. The coroner’s autopsy revealed major bruising and some crushing injuries to her lower legs. Blood clots had formed in one of them. She died of a pulmonary embolism.

 

I asked if my moving her around had dislodged the clot. He said I was speculating pointlessly. “Even if an EMT had been with you when you found her, there is no guarantee they could have saved her,” Carl said to me. “You can stop blaming yourself, okay?”

 

“Easier said than done,” I said.

 

“Yeah, I know.” He put his elbows on the table, closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. “Look, this has us all messed up. I still lose it every time I see a jet.”

 

I looked down at the table as well. “I keep having nightmares of people falling out of the sky and buildings collapsing.”

           

He shook his head. “This is some fucked up shit, man,” he said. “My wife dreams about people jumping from buildings.” He looked at me and sighed. “I think I could use a drink.”

 

“That makes two of us.”

 

*  *  *

 

Matt worked at Terry’s computer as Terry and I cleaned up my mess in the exam room, though even as we wiped everything down and mopped the floor, pre-cum continued to ooze from my rock hard cock. The endless stream of semen had grown tiresome.

 

“I wish I could just shut it off but I can’t,” I said. “The only time I don’t leak is when I’m soft and that’s not very often.”

 

“If you had gotten a PA like I suggested years ago you could just hang a bucket from it. Problem solved.”

 

“Funny,” I said sarcastically. “Or maybe I could order a team of slaves to follow me around and lick it up as I go.”

 

Terry stopped mopping and looked at me.

 

“What?” I asked.

 

“I just realized that if you asked me to do that, I would.”

 

I nodded. “Yeah. I know you would. It’s freaky.”

 

He looked at me and frowned. “You’re not being arrogant about it either.”

 

I had never understood arrogance. Things were what they were. In only a few days I had developed into a god among men, a transformation that showed no sign of slowing. What was the point of boasting about the obvious?

 

“It’s not his style,” Matt said as he joined us. “I’m done. Want to take a look?”

 

We followed him into Terry’s office, which was every bit as Spartan and organized as I remembered it. We stood behind him as he sat down at the desk.

 

“Okay, before I show this to you, I want to explain something. Terry will already know about it and based on the titles I saw on your bookshelf, you might too, Jamal. It’s called bilateral symmetry.”

 

“Most animals are bilaterally symmetrical,” Terry said. “Along the sagittal plane. At least superficially.”

 

“Our left side is a mirror image of our right?” I said. I was pretty sure I remembered this from high school biology.

 

“Exactly,” Matt said. “Or most accurately, not exactly. Take a look.”

 

Matt opened a photograph of his face that Terry had taken before we started cleaning. “Now look carefully,” he said as he overlaid a grid over the image. “My right eye is slightly higher than my left. Can you see it?”

 

I could. In fact, I could see it very clearly although I had never noticed it before.

 

“Now watch this,” he said. Matt opened a second image next to the original. It depicted the left side of his face folded over the right. “Here you can see all kinds of irregularities, if you will. My eyes, my mouth, my ears. This extends to the entire body. Our left and right sides are not perfect mirror images of each other.”

 

He closed the images and pulled up one of Terry. “Here you can see the same thing, though Terry is a bit more symmetrical than I am, damn him.” He looked back at Terry and winked.

 

Matt closed the photo of Terry. “Now, this is Jamal’s face from someone’s Flickr collection,” he said. I recognized it from a photo shoot I had posed for a year ago. “You were very symmetrical. Even more so than Terry.” He closed the image and brought up another. “But you can see here that the sides of your face didn’t match up perfectly.”

 

Didn’t, you say, as in past tense,” Terry observed.

 

“Right,” Matt confirmed as he pulled up the photos he had taken of me that afternoon. “Because now, at least to the degree the camera is accurate, he is perfectly symmetrical. His face, his body, everything. The reason he is supernaturally, almost painfully beautiful is not just his ultra-manly appearance and extreme muscularity. Jamal is physically perfect. No flaws.”

 

Terry turned from the screen and looked at me with a mixture of fear and awe. I shrugged, trying to play it down despite my extreme excitement as I listened to his words. A surge of power flowed into my fully erect cock, causing it to grow still larger and harder even as I closed my eyes and attempted to suppress spraying another massive load in Terry’s office.

 

I no longer needed additional evidence to prove my godhood to myself, yet it continued to pour in. My suddenly acute awareness of my endlessly growing magnificence created a euphoric rush that threated to spiral out of control. Pre-cum was already spurting from my piss slit and I knew that if I didn’t distract myself quickly, I would create the largest mess yet. I’ve got to get out of here, I thought. But what I actually said was – “Where is the building’s electrical?” This surprised me because since entering the building I was keenly aware that I was growing too big for standard interior dimensions.

 

I felt I was too big, yet another part of me, the part that appeared three days ago and considered me the Alpha Stud of the planet, the part that thought of everyone as my willing slave, the part that knew that all of humanity would worship me – that part felt I wasn’t yet big or powerful enough.

 

*  *  *

 

Matt remained in Terry’s suite and began working on the samples he had collected while Terry took me down to the basement. Getting the keys from the building engineer on duty was a snap once Terry called him to his suite and he saw me. We left him groveling on the floor in the hallway as a wet spot grew on the fabric of his pants.

 

I remained conflicted as we entered the electrical room. My shoulders were so wide that it was a challenge to navigate within buildings. My cock was already too large to reasonably fuck anyone with. Yet the orgasmic rush I received from feeding and growing was so great I couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. If there was a limit to how powerful I could become, I knew I hadn’t reached it yet and as long as I could grow, I would.

 

I looked at the set up. I wasn’t an electrician, but estimated that the building had 480-volt, 6,000 amp service. My cock began spasming with excitement as I reached up and grasped the pipe that held the wiring from the service drop.

 

I paused. “There isn’t any life-supporting equipment or surgery performed in this building, is there?”

 

“No,” Terry said. “And the generators will kick in anyway for critical things.”

 

“Good.”

 

I pulled the pipe from the main panel and peeled the protective steel tubing away from the wiring as if it were plastic wrap. I then ripped the wires apart, which plunged the room into darkness. As promised, I could hear a diesel generator rumble to life and an emergency light illuminated the cinderblock room.

 

“Good god,” Terry said.

 

I looked at Terry and winked. “I hope so,” I said before pulling the insulation from the copper wiring and tossing it aside. Finally, I wrapped the bare metal wires around my pounding cock and moaned in pleasure as the current flowed into me.

 

 

Next Chapter: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/2642-transformation-part-i-mutation-chapter-ten/

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