transformation Charlie

[Ro20316]

Charlie, what will you do! 

[mario2007]

I'm REALLY hoping this continues.  The story is just ramping up.

[musclesmoker]

Keep it coming! Get them both growing.

[Hanugumo]

Nuuuuu~!! Dun make him share both vials with someone else. But have him and someone else take one. Heck I wouldn't want some mysterious liquid inside me unless someone else would join in so if I'd die the person giving it to me wouod die too. x3 lol

[musclehintz]

I am LOVING this story! It's more than just a wank fantasy - I'm actually interested in the characters, the plot, and their tiny little world. And of course, Charlie is sexy-as-hell, so I can't wait to see more of him in the upcoming chapters

[dhalden]

“I think we should start you on some supplements.”

 

We were sitting in the living room watching ESPN (again), I with a book in my lap and Charlie resting in his usual place in the recliner, eyes glued to the screen. He hardly spoke during these times other than to cheer on a team or curse them whenever they missed a crucial pass, and only to me when it proved unavoidable. So when I looked up from my book to find him staring directly at me, I felt surge of adrenaline rush through my veins.

 

“Oh,” I said lamely. “Okay. You’re the Einstein when it comes to these things.”

 

I was doubly surprised when he muted the television. He brought his legs off the coffee table and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning in, his thick traps and huge shoulders swallowing his neck.

 

“Just some creatine and BCAA’s,” he said, waving a hand. “Nothing fancy. To aid recovery.”

 

I spread my hands. “Like I said: you’re the boss. I trust you.”

 

Something akin to surprise and somehow wounded flashed in his eyes. I raised my eyebrows to signal he should continue.

 

“I think we should start taking some notes,” he said. “Get some numbers so we can track your progress. Measurements and such.”

 

The phrases “BCAA’s” and “creatine” were practically Latin to my ears, but even I had garnered enough knowledge in the field of physical fitness in the past two weeks to know that recovery was key to success. Thus far my recovery periods had consisted of plenty of rest, a good diet, and the occasional protein shake, but if BCAA’s and creatine (whatever they were) could expedite the process, I was all in. You might even pack on some size, I thought. I had a momentary flash of my head resting on a physique that mirrored Charlie’s and, blushing, hurriedly looked back down into the book in my lap. I had never dared imagine myself as being buff, but it suddenly didn’t seem so farfetched an idea.

 

Charlie rose from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Taking his momentary absence to readjust the rapidly stiffening cock in my pants, I quickly settled into a new position on the couch before he reentered, toting a glass of water. When he extended it to me, I looked up at him questioningly.

 

“For these,” he said, and dug into his pocket. He withdrew two small, capped vials. The liquid inside looked precisely like corn syrup, perhaps slightly more fluid, and could not amount to more than half a mouthful between the two vials. “I figure I might as well just go ahead and give you some BCAA’s now, since I have them. We’ll begin cycling the creatine later.”

 

Slowly I took the vials from his palm and examined them. That they lacked any visible labels and were simply clear, black-stoppered cylinders like the sort you might find in a high school chemistry class struck me as slightly odd. But then again, what did I know about supplements? Uncapping the first one, I sniffed it and got a nostril full of an acrid, sour smell. I’d learn from my dozens of protein shakes, however, the healthy didn’t always mean delectable or particularly good smelling. Tossing back the first vial like a shot, I winced at the flavor and sipped from the glass of water Charlie extended to me. I repeated the process a second time, downed the rest of the water, and returned the empty vials to the hunk that towered over me.

 

“A spoonful of sugar would’ve been better,” I joked.

 

He smiled, but it seemed reluctant and forced.

 

“Alright, lets get those base measurements,” Charlie said. “Really we should’ve gotten your base stats before you started hitting the gym, but it’s only been a week, so how much can have changed?”

 

My stomach dropped. “Oh. Oh…now?”

 

Charlie towered over me like a bouncer, his powerful hands planted on his waist, staring down at me. His t-shirt hugged his Herculean torso like a second skin, outlining those heavy pecs and washboard abs. I wanted to reach out and touch every inch of him, just to see what it was like to feel such masculine artistry beneath my fingertips. Even more though, I wanted to possess a body like that for myself. With that thought in mind, I reluctantly followed Charlie to the bathroom.

 

“Step up on the scale,” he instructed. Reluctantly, I obeyed. Much to my surprise though, the needle stopped climbing at the 169 lbs. mark. Huh. Guess this eating right and exercising thing does work after all. As I stepped off the scale, I glanced at Charlie. On our way to the bathroom, he had ducked into his bedroom and retrieved a notebook and pen. As I wondered what all the muscle he carried must weigh, he scrawled down my first figure. When he finished, he glanced up at me. “You got measuring tape?”

 

After a short hunt through several drawers and cabinets throughout the house, I managed to find a tangled length of measuring tape that had once belonged to my mother and handed it over to Charlie.

 

“Okay, shirt off,” he said, unrolling the tape.

 

I groaned. It was blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes that I paled in comparison to Charlie in nearly every way imaginable. He was tan, I was pale. He was tall, I was average. He was ripped, I was doughy. But so long as I didn’t have to take my shirt off in front of him, those sobering facts weren’t so stinging. No backing out now, I thought. I determinedly avoided my reflection in the mirror over the sink as I peeled off my shirt and dropped it onto the floor. Much to my surprise, however, Charlie did not scoff or so much as smirk at the sight of me. Like a doctor, he moved clinically to gather my measurements, directing me at various times to lift my arms and stand straight as possible.

 

It was the most uncomfortable and simultaneously thrilling examination I had ever experienced. I could not help but shiver at Charlie’s careful touch. His thick and powerful hands, capable of wringing the life out of me, were surprisingly gentle, his left holding the end of the tape in place while his right wrapped the tape around my limbs and torso. I shivered at the electricity his fingers ignited against my skin and silently prayed he would chock it up to my being shirtless and chilly. Not to mention the fact that it was the closest we had ever physically been to one another. It was like encountering him for the first time, up close and personal: the dark bristles of hair on his sturdy jawline; that rich, musky fragrance that he perpetually emanated; the tiny variations in his plump, pouting lips. And all that muscle. His softball-sized biceps rolled into bulging, rounded peaks as he measured my own. Striations flourished in the generous cords of muscle that layered his forearms as he took note of mine. His chest, so broad and protruding, nearly filled the space between us as he drew the tape around my torso. The way those thick pecs swallowed his shirt when he brought them together. I just want to feel his muscles. Run my hands all over them. Around them. Feel how big and hard they must be.

 

It took everything I had not to faint.

 

Just in the nick of time, Charlie rolled the tape up, scribbled down the last bit of data in his notebook, and announced we were finished. I quickly reached for my shirt and pulled it on. He handed me the notebook. The final tally read:

 

Weight – 169 lbs.

Height – 5’9”

Biceps – 13 inches

Chest – 39 inches

Waist – 34 inches

Thighs – 20 inches

Calves – 14 inches

 

My stomach dropped. I tried not to think of what have been running through Charlie’s mind. About how pathetic I must look on paper. How dismally average. More than anything, I wanted to disappear, to melt into a puddle and sink down the drain. I did not look up from the floor.

 

Charlie’s hand fell onto my shoulder.

 

“Hey, bud,” he said softly. I looked up and met his eyes. He gently squeezed my shoulder, his firm grip emanating a warmth that trickled down and filled my chest. “They’re just numbers,” he said, and squeezed my shoulder again. “And we’re gonna change them.”

 

I took a shaking breath and nodded.

 

“Good,” Charlie said. “You’d better get some sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

 

“Why? What’s happening tomorrow?” I wondered aloud.

 

He flashed that dazzling smile of his at me. “Back and biceps.” And with that, he spun on his heel, slapped me on the ass, and strode out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you in the AM!” 

[dhalden]

I locked my bedroom door behind me.

 

Across the hall, I could hear Charlie moving in his own bedroom as he prepared for bed and wondered if he could hear my heart thundering in my chest. Every hair on my body stood on end. Every vein pulsed with electric adrenaline. That was…it was...I struggled to comprehend how Charlie’s touch had affected me so, had so effortlessly set my whole body on fire. I rubbed my butt cheek where Charlie had slapped it. Did he really just slap me on the ass?

 

Mindlessly, I drifted to my bed and cracked open my laptop to continue grading the tests I had abandoned earlier in the evening. I automatically pulled up Google, but as I lowered my fingers over the keys of my laptop, I froze.

 

I glanced at my locked door. Not fifty feet away, Charlie was probably lying shirtless—or, even better, nude—beneath my sheets. All that muscle, so temptingly close but so incredibly far away. His muscles were exceptionally erotic when they were rock hard and sweaty, but there was something especially sexy about all that bulk at rest. Just waiting to be touched. Just waiting to be squeezed.

 

Before I could stop them, my fingers danced rapidly across the laptop’s keys.

 

The results for “muscles” numbered nearly half a billion and brought up everything from Wikipedia entries on the anatomy of the human body to articles on how to exercise most effectively to gain the most muscle while losing the most fat. My fingers danced over the keys again. “Big muscles” revealed more enjoyable results. Exercise blogs, Tumblr pages filled with male models, articles on steroid usage and abuse, and pictures upon pictures of men who had transfigured their bodies into astonishing physiques I had previously thought impossible. Athletes. Weightlifters. Bodybuilders. Men with slabs of muscle that bulged and swelled over every inch of them, muscles so large their skins hardly seemed able capable of containing them. Their biceps seemed to rival the size of their heads. Their cannonball shoulders stretched their shirts to nearly ripping. Their chests protruded outward and upward into slabs of engorged pec meat. Familiar names like Schwarzenegger and Ferrigno were joined by other, new names: Yates, Coleman, Lewis, Heath. Here was a collection of men devoted to altering their bodies in remarkably bizarre ways, expanding their arms and legs and chest and backs to inconveniently enormous proportions.

 

As I wondered what it what it would be like to be that massive, I continued surfing the internet for information on all things muscle. A hunger I did not know I possessed had flourished in me and I was desperate for more. Within minutes, I discovered an entirely different facet of the world of muscle and the men dedicated to growing them: the people dedicated to worshipping them. Videos of men literally slobbering over every inch of these brawny hunks with their mouths and tongues, pictures of bodybuilders morphed to impossible sizes, even websites devoted purely to fictitious stories about people mutating into muscular behemoths. I want more, I thought hungrily. More muscle. More size.

 

I glanced at my alarm clock. Midnight. Where had the time gone? I had to be up in four hours for a brutal workout that I was suddenly desperate to undertake. If it’s painful, that just means it’s working. But sleep seemed impossible. My adrenaline had not diminished. If anything, it had doubled. I’m so fucking wired. I need to run. I need to lift. I need to…to…

 

“Fuck,” I sighed. I wiped my forehead. When did it get so hot in here? I peeled off my shirt and scrambled to slide out of my pants. I suddenly realized that a hot sweat had materialized all over my body. Free from my damp clothes, I hurriedly continued through the images of men flexing their huge, veiny muscles. Man, I need to jerk off, I thought distantly. One shaking hand continued scrolling while the other dove into my underwear to free my cock. Unleashed from its confines, my cock rocketed to full length. I’m so fucking hard. I need to get off like right now.

 

I started with soft, absentminded strokes. Slowly, I realized that my cock had never felt so hot to the touch. Burning practically. Every vein felt fat and throbbing. It feels so big. So thick. It hardly felt like my own cock at all. It was like jerking off someone else’s cock, but one that was attached to me. Or like jerking off for the first time all over again. “Uhnh!” I grunted as my cock lurched. My spine arched and my ass lifted off the bed. I could practically feel the tendons in my groin stretching to accommodate my eagerly expanding shaft. “Oh shit…” I gasped as my cockhead flared painfully. I glanced down at it. It was an angry shade of red I had never seen, mushroomed fatter than ever before. Whose cock is this?

 

“Oh shit!” I gasped. Another sudden, lengthening lurch. Fuck I’m so hard it hurts. But I need to get off. I need to cum. With thoughts of fat, heavy pecs in mind, I gripped my raging cock more firmly. As if sensing my need, beads of pre-cum blossomed at the tip of my enflamed cock lips and dribbled down between my fingers and skin. Nothing better than nature’s lube. At my touch, my balls drew up close to my body. I squirmed at the sensation. “Uuhnh…” My balls suddenly felt so much heavier, so fat, as if they were housing twice their usual amount of cum. They rose and fell as I began smooth strokes down my granite hard meat. Need to cum. Need it now. I imagined my hot, white splooge shooting all over a pair of inflated pecs, my balls emptying into the vast cleavage of them. Nipples dripping with cum.

 

My cock rocketed upward and outward once more, desperate for a hole to fill. “Oh shit!”

 

In an instant, my resolve broke and I began jerking with wild abandon. Images of swelling biceps and forearms replete with ghastly veins flashed through my mind. My cock continued to expand with surging pleasure. Abs like steel raced through my head as my own clenched, signaling my balls’ impending release. I licked my lips. “Oh yes…oh yeah…”

 

Tree-trunk quads thicker than my waist. Shoulders wider than doorframes. Arms bigger and thicker than most men’s waists. I needed them all. Needed to touch them. Big muscles. I shuddered as waves of pleasure emanated outward from my cock. I suddenly remembered Charlie across the hall, how close his own muscles were to me. How desperately I wanted to squeeze and feel them.

 

Without warning, the first surge of cum suddenly exploded from my balls, raced up my fat shaft, and burst from my cockhead. It shot out in a thick rope, smacking my chin and splashing across my cheek. “Uhn uhn uhn!” My ass puckered as my abs clenched and the second, third, and fourth ropes of cum jetted out of my cock, hitting me in the chin, forehead, and nose. As my cock bucked with its last bit of release, splattering one final rope across my stomach, the rest dribbled down over my fingers. I collapsed backward onto my bed and sighed. My chest heaved. Hot cum dripped from my face.

 

“What…was…that?” I panted. I shivered and twitched as my cock jumped with residual pleasure. I reached for my softening shaft, now hypersensitive, and shuddered as a shockwave of pleasure swept through my body again. The potent images of pecs and biceps and abs began to fade from my vision. In fact, my vision began to fade entirely. Blackness swam at the edges of my eyesight. Fatigue rushed in.

 

With the comforting knowledge of Charlie’s muscles nearby and a stupid grin plastered across my cum-covered face, I slipped asleep. 

[Ro20316]

Those vials work fast!

[musclesmoker]

Yes! More!

[mario2007]

You are the best!  What's next?!