transformation Charlie

[dhalden]

Quick recap guys: wary of the effects of NPH-01, Charlie has given some to Andy under the guise of "BCAA's" to see if it'll effect him similarly. We saw that it gave him increased libido, but what else does it do? Read on to find out!

 

*    *    *

 

I awoke with my skin on fire.

 

I had been dreaming a particularly pleasant dream of spending an afternoon on a sunny beach. In one hand, I held a sweating margarita. Overhead, gulls coasted lazily on warm gusts. Most pleasurable of all, however, was the incredible physique before my eyes. Not Charlie’s…but my own. My usually pale skin was baked a fine caramel. My stomach was a rugged valley of abs, my pecs the mountains that overlooked them. I flexed vigorously, watching as my muscles bulged and popped, striations flushing across them. This is the life, I thought proudly. Smirking, I gazed out over the glistening sea. A sudden shift far out in the water caught my attention. In the distance, a figure was emerging from the waves. A head emerged, the man’s dirty blond locks, usually perfectly coiffed, plastered wetly to his forehead. Charlie. Slowly the rest of him emerged, his frame growing wider and wider as his thick, bullish neck appeared. It was followed by impossibly high, sloping traps, the sea-foam draining off them in tiny waterfalls down and across his wide, rounded delts. Tiny rivulets dripped from his perfectly carved chin into the deep crevice of his pecs, guiding it down toward his granite abs.

 

I felt my face warm at the sight of him trudging toward me, parting waves like some mythological god of the sea. I wiped my forehead. God does he get me hot, I thought. I wiped my forehead. Like really hot. I fanned my face. All of the sudden it was not just the sight of Charlie baking me, but the sun overhead. I glanced down at my sun-kissed skin. It was growing increasingly red right before me eyes. Oh fuck. So fucking hot. Gotta get out of the—

 

All at once the sun was extinguished. The beach evaporated. Charlie vanished.

 

I was only fleetingly aware of the absolute darkness of my bedroom as I snapped awake before the searing heat gripped me. I bolted upright, panting desperately. Sweat practically poured from every pore of my body. Near-volcanic heat radiated furiously outward from my body, as if I had swallowed molten rock. My sheets squished wetly beneath me, drenched with sweat.

 

Tumbling frantically from my bed, I fled to my door and wrenched it wide. Need water. Without a moment’s thought for Charlie’s slumber, I thundered down the hall and burst into the bathroom. My limbs felt full of sand and embers, heavy as they were hot. Water gotta get water. I collapsed against the sink, cascading toiletries to the floor, and turned on the faucet. Divinely icy water glugged from the tap. Frenziedly, I slopped handfuls of it past my fiery lips, drinking like a man stranded in the Saharan.

 

I glanced in the mirror.

 

A scream rose on my lips, but my throat was too supremely dry to deliver it. Every inch of my scarlet skin looked like as if it had been scalded with boiling water. The veins in my neck and temples visibly throbbed and pulsed, threatening to burst. My eyes, so dilated, were black as a ravenous shark’s. My blood boiled in my veins.  

 

Oh god I’m dying. I opened my mouth to call for Charlie, but just as I did so, a sharp, shooting pain in my stomach doubled me over. I cried out—or tried to. Only a dry, whisper of a sound floated past my lips. My stomach tightened again and suddenly the sensation exploded in my chest, back, legs, and arms. Every muscle in my body seized.

 

“Charlie…” I rasped. “Help…”

 

The searing heat plaguing my body was nothing to the cramps that gripped me. My spine seized, forcing me into a fetal position, and I collapsed to the floor. I glanced down at my body. I watched in horror as my heart visibly throbbed against my chest. No, I thought vaguely, isn’t my heart…

 

And indeed it wasn’t. My chest was throbbing, but it was not from the organs beneath. It was the muscles themselves. The cords of muscle and sinew in my pecs swelled and clenched, swelled and clenched. They expanded right before my eyes, looking one moment more pumped than I had ever seen them, and then automatically flexing as they shrank. I could practically feel every fiber straining. Similar machinations played out in my abs, legs, and arms, pulling and contorting me into painful positions. One moment I flailed, the next was I was curled into a ball, my knees drawn to my chest. I was a puppet to my own body, incapable of controlling a single inch of my burning, burgeoning body. Helplessly, I gazed at the window, willing myself to pass out just to escape the blazing pain. This is it. This is how I die.

 

A lifetime later the pain miraculously began dissolving. The heat faded. At some point, I had fallen asleep—or, more likely, passed out—because I suddenly came to. My cheek was pressed against the warm tile of the floor. It did not escape me that the tile was usually cold, but that I had warmed it with my volcanic, thrashing form. I glanced at the window. Still dark. What time is it? Shaking, I dared to pull myself into an upright position. Everything looked distant and small, as if I was peering through the wrong end of a telescope. I shivered, somehow now chilled. A puddle of sweat had pooled on the floor around me. When no more cramps bit me and I thought it safe to stand, I hauled myself to my feet and made for the sink again. I drank directly from the tap this time, slowly and carefully, terrified that I might somehow trigger another episode. When I finished, I glanced in the mirror again. A pale, haunted version of myself stared back.

 

“The hell…the hell was that?” I wondered aloud.

 

A safely lukewarm shower somehow seemed the best course of action. I bathed slowly, afraid to move too quickly, and slurped the water as it ran down my face. Clean and slightly less thirsty, I dried off, mopped up the puddle of sweat, and cleaned up the toiletries littering the floor. Dumping my towel in the hamper, I suddenly caught the soft clang of metal pots and the gurgle of the coffee pot far off in the kitchen. Charlie was awake.

 

With the thought of heat in mind, I slipped back into my bedroom and into a pair of boxers and a thin undershirt. As I made my way into the kitchen, I was still shaking. Per usual, Charlie was planted at the stove in his usual skin-tight outfit that hugged him in all the right places. But instead of gazing longingly at his globular ass and thick arms, the moment I stepped into the kitchen, another sense took over. My nose went into hyper drive at the plethora of dishes awaiting me.

 

“Morning, early bird!” Charlie said, hearing me enter.

 

I grunted a response, too preoccupied by the delectable aromas swirling around me. A gnawing, frantic hunger had suddenly blossomed in my stomach. I plopped down at the table and feverishly began piling double servings of everything onto my plate. At the stove, Charlie nodded, seemingly impressed.  “That lifting appetite’s kicking, eh?” he asked, taking a seat across from me.

 

“Just…hungry,” I said between mouthfuls. “And thirsty.”

 

I chugged two cups of coffee between heaping spoonfuls of oatmeal, turkey sausage, scrambled eggs, protein pancakes, a bowl of Greek yogurt and mixed berries. I chased it with a glass of milk and second helping of nearly everything. But just when I began to wonder if my stomach had become some sort of bottomless pit, I began to feel the uncomfortable stretch of fullness. I groaned, leaned back in my seat, and glanced down at my bloated stomach. Across the table, Charlie stared at me, stunned.  

 

“Damn,” he finally said. I glanced at his plate and found it only half-finished. “You keep eating like that, you’ll pack it on in no time.”

 

“No!” I said, suddenly dismayed and disgusted by my bloated middle. I pushed away from the table and stood. I need to go to the gym. Work all those calories off. What was I thinking?

 

Charlie chuckled. “Calm down, Andy. Gains are a good thing.”

 

“They are?” I said. I was coming down fast from whatever high had gripped me, the uncomfortable ballooning in my middle giving way to nausea. I dropped back down into my chair. As Charlie explained to me the science behind building muscle—something about increased caloric intake coupled with rigorous exercise and profuse rest—I tried to ignore the odd sensations unfolding within me. I could have sworn that I could literally feel my body converting the ungodly mass in my stomach into energy. Am I—no, that’s impossible. Imagining things. My brain must’ve gotten fried last night.

 

Ten minutes later Charlie and I were driving to Platinum Fitness Warehouse and for once I was as eager to get pump iron as he was. Whatever energy my body had converted my ample breakfast into was coursing through me wildly. I propped my feet up on the dashboard and eagerly strummed my fingers on my knees. Occasionally, I’d glance at Charlie, but whenever I looked he was staring at the road ahead. I could have sworn, however, that I saw him glancing at me, too. Five minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot and I practically leapt from the car in anticipation. Inside, the usual morning crowd was waiting for us: a middle aged woman, a man I took to be her husband, the woman who planted herself on the stationary bike with a People magazine…and someone else.

 

“Shit,” I mumbled beneath my breath the moment I saw him. Planted in the middle of the free weights section, sweat-drenched and panting, Rick Hockstetter looked like some overworked gorilla. He wore a t-shirt two-sizes too big, the sleeves cut off so that you could see every hairy inch of his side from his shoulder down to his waist. He was a big guy, no doubt, but he looked equal parts muscle and fat. He glanced up as I walked in, looked genuinely surprised…and then smirked darkly. I froze in place.

 

“Dandy!” he called. He stood and I had to admit I was momentarily impressed by the size of his barrel chest…until he began swaggering toward me. I realized that the woman on the stationary bike was keenly watching us. Rick planted himself in front of me, reeking of a hideous body odor that stung my nose. “Come to check out some big ol’ sweaty dudes?” he said, planting his paw-like hands on his huge waist. “Hate to tell ya, but you’re too early, Dandy. No pretty boys here this early in the…”

 

He trailed off, suddenly glancing over my head. Behind me, I felt the door swing open and a familiar presence enter. Warm. Safe. Strong. Charlie, I thought reassuringly. I watched as Rick’s smug bullying mask melted into something akin to awe and then hatred. A dark shadow passed over his face.

 

“Who’s this?” Charlie asked behind me. “Someone you know, Andy?”

 

“Just someone I work with,” I said. “Rick. He’s just the gym teacher.”

 

“Athletic Director,” Rick growled, still staring over my head at Charlie with thinly veiled envy.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie said. One of his strong, muscled hands reached past me, sweeping me to the side, and extended toward Rick. Slowly, Rick raised one of his own, took Charlie’s and shook. The struggle between them was plainly visible: Rick’s fat knuckles turned white, the chords of muscle in Charlie’s forearm bulged. When their handshake finally broke, Rick’s hand dropped to his side and curled into a fist.

 

“Excuse us,” Charlie said, and brushed past him. Rick practically stumbled as he stepped out of Charlie’s way. When he looked back at me, his face was furiously red.

 

I beamed widely. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”

 

As Charlie strode to the free weights section, I ducked into the locker-room to stow my gym bag. That’ll show him, the ass-hat. Come at me like that. He only wishes he was half a ripped as Charlie. I turned to go, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink and paused. My average-sized reflection stared back. Hell, I wish I was that ripped for that matter. My expression hardened determinedly. And I will be. He’ll see. See how smug that dumb fucking lug is when I’m huge. My newfound energy was returning full-force, and smirking heroically, I exited the locker-room and found Charlie and Rick in the free weights section. Charlie’s tall, toned form was stretching methodically, stretching one thick arm across his broad chest.

 

“Chest day! You ready to pump up these babies?” Charlie said. He patted my chest playfully, easily gathering up the bit of muscle I had developed there and squeezing it between his sturdy palms. My heart skipped a beat at his touch and I prayed his fingers wouldn’t notice. “We’re gonna get you a set of these,” he said, and released my chest. He dropped his heavy arms to his side, glanced down at his chest, and jiggled his pecs independently of one another. He grinned that boy-next-door-grin and I nearly fainted as all the blood in my body rushed to my groin. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s get to it, bud!”

 

I could feel Rick’s incinerating gaze on me as I made my way to the dumbbell rack. Okay, that could’ve gone better, but—those fucking pecs! I could watch those things dance all night long. What I wouldn’t give to grab a quick squeeze. Careful to give the fuming ape in the corner that was Rick a wide berth, I carried the two twenty-five pound dumbbells to a bench and positioned myself for a set of incline chest presses. By this point in my body transformation education, Charlie was confident enough in my abilities to leave me on my own while he rigorously threw himself into his own workout. As I laid back on the bench and raised the dumbbells, I gathered myself. The memory of last night's episode was still fresh in my mind, particularly the way my pecs had swollen and shrank right before my eyes. Was it safe to test them now? What if I induced another episode? But then I recalled Charlie’s bouncing pecs, how intoxicating a sight they had been, and with that image looping in my mind, I got to work. The strain and stretch of the ligaments in my chest was instantly intoxicating. Oh yeah. That’s the stuff. By the end of my first set, I could already feel a pump developing and flexed. Much to my surprise, I could practically feel an inrush of blood flood my chest. I even imagined I could feel the nutrients of my breakfast supplying me with additional energy. Halfway through my second set though, I dropped the dumbbells. I can go heavier, I thought confidently. I swapped the twenty-five dumbbells for a set of thirties and got back to work. I worked slowly, savoring the tension and resulting pump. By the end of my final set, I couldn’t wait to flex. God, my chest has never felt so big. Well...not since last night anyway. Charlie must have magic in those fingers! I flexed again, forcing more blood into my pecs. I eagerly moved onto a set of dumbbell flies, exchanging the thirties for a pair of thirty-fives. What's gotten into me?

 

I was lost in my own world of iron, muscle, and grit, so much so that a half hour passed before I remembered Charlie again. My chest swollen and burning, I mopped my forehead free of sweat and scanned the gym for my favorite muscle-bound hunk. Given its economy size, Platinum Fitness Warehouse (slogan: “The West Coast’s Biggest Fitness Centers!”) had multiples of everything: multiple treadmills, multiple Smith machines…and multiple bench presses. I spotted Charlie at one, fervently pumping away. His engorged pecs filled his Under Armour shirt to straining and they seemed to puff up just a little bit bigger with every rep. His handsome face was dark with determination, his mouth a thin line of resolve and purpose. He was a sight to behold. I was not the only one watching him though. Planted on the bench beside him, Rick watched Charlie with plain envy and loathing. His chubby, unshaven jaw was rolling, his brow dark and brooding. With a deep, heroic grunt Charlie finished is last rep and racked the barbell. When he sat upright, I went lightheaded. Look at his pecs! Look how big and fat and round they look. Look at the way that hang down so huge and heavy. And—oh, fuck yes, he’s flexing them!

 

“Phuh!” Rick harrumphed loudly, snapping me out of my daze. Charlie and I both glanced at him. His face had gone a deeper shade of red now, nearly purple, his mustache bristling. He glanced at the plates on Charlie’s barbell and then rose hastily and stacked two more twenty-five pound plates onto his own—exceeding Charlie’s barbell by a good twenty pounds. He dropped heavily back onto his own bench and turned to Charlie, meeting his gaze. And then he spat.

 

In an instant I knew. Oh shit.

 

A dark cloud passed over Charlie’s glistening, handsomely rigid face. Orange lightning flashed in his green eyes. He pointedly rose and grabbed two ten-pound plates to match Rick’s barbell. As he sat back down, Charlie met Rick’s gaze again. Flames practically sprang up between them. Automatically, I drifted toward them. As one, they fell back on their benches, gripped their respective barbells, and began. Their first dozen reps apiece went smoothly, but by the time they had rounded fifteen and moved toward twenty, they began to slow.

 

“Grah!” Rick grunted. Charlie answered with a deep, “Urgh!”

 

Rick’s arms began to quiver first, but only by a nanosecond. I watched in horror as Rick squeezed out a twenty-fifth rep to Charlie’s twenty-third. Come on, Charlie! Abruptly, Charlie racked the barbell. No! Don’t give up! I hadn’t realized it, but I was shifting from one foot to the other like a child watching a race, but I stopped as Charlie hauled himself upright, ostensibly beaten. He panted heavily.

 

“Pah-ha!” Rick laughed through a pant. He eked out one last rep. “Fuck yeah!"

 

Charlie rose, stretched…and moved to grab two more twenty-pound plates. YES! I pumped a fist into the air, not caring who saw, and moved closer. At the elliptical machines, the husband and wife pair slowed to watch as well. As Charlie loaded the two plates, Rick’s momentum and strength suddenly abandoned him. He watched, aghast, as Charlie lowered himself back onto the bench.

 

“Raaah!” he roared, racking his weight. Not to be beaten, Rick swiftly loaded more plates onto his barbell. I quickly did the math in my head. Between the two of them, they were moving nearly 600lbs of weight. Plopping back down, he went to work, furiously pumping out reps to catch up with Charlie. “Grrr…come on, bitch!” he hollered.

 

They combatted with animal ferocity, exhaling with explosive pants, grunts, and growls: a muscle-bound stallion going head to head with a thickset ape. I couldn’t look away. Charlie’s flawless skin was a deep red, a vein in his forehead thick and throbbing, threatening to burst with every rep. His green eyes burned with a laser focus. His jaw was clenched so tightly I feared his pearly teeth might shatter. Every muscle in his body bulged and swelled, but none more so than his pecs: each was tremendously swollen, the cables of muscle coursing through them plainly visible beneath his shirt. Beside him, Rick bellowed with bull-like intensity (“Grah! Urgh! Grah! Urgh!”), his face plum purple, his nostrils flaring madly. His own chest was impressively wide and rolling, though not nearly as defined. Sweat dripped freely from their benches. A pungent cloud of testosterone floated around them. Ten reps. Fifteen reps. Twenty.

 

And then I saw it. A sudden shift of movement: Charlie’s hand slipping. With his grip interrupted, the bar dropped, plummeting toward his hugely distended chest. I nearly screamed. His reflexes were sharp though and he caught it a moment before it made contact—but not before losing his focus. The dark cloud that had passed over his face vanished. The indomitable gleam in his eye was replaced with a flash of fear. His jaw quivered. I moved toward him instinctively. His wide, wild eyes flicked toward me.

 

I met his gaze. “You’ve got this," I said. 

 

The effect was instantaneous. The shadow returned, passing over his face. His trembling lips stilled and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a wry grin. The vein in his forehead resurfaced, bigger than ever, and his eyes clouded over with a tremendous determination that I would come to know all too well: a look that was at once vehement and unseeing, as if he were gazing into another world entirely. His gripped tightened on the bar and his whole body shuddered. And then it happened: the bar began to rise, slow and deliberate. Charlie’s pecs expanded with renewed vigor. Suddenly, a sound built deep within that incredible chest, low at first, but gathering like distant thunder. I recognized it instantly: the sound of encroaching victory. All at once it exploded past his lips.

 

“GRAAAH!!!”

 

Charlie bellowed madly, the sound drawing everyone in the gym to a halt. Beside him, Rick faltered, his arms wobbling madly. He hastily abandoned the barbell, racking it at twenty-nine reps. Seemingly wanting to make the point resolute, Charlie lowered the weight once more and, with all the fortitude of a conquering army, pumped out one last rep. When he finally let the weight crash down on the rack, it clanged thunderously.

 

I instantly extended a hand to Charlie to help him upright. He nearly pulled me down with him. Sweat poured from his temples.

 

“Thirty-one reps,” I announced. And all at once, there it was: that brilliant fucking grin of his. It blossomed across his face like sunshine, banishing the storm that had fueled him to victory. 

 

“That’s bullshit!” Rick exclaimed. He leapt from his bench and descended on me, a storm in his own right, his barrel-chest knocking into me and sending me stumbling. “You’re a fucking liar! Besides, I was benching for twenty minutes before you two even got here! I—I was at a disadvantage!”

 

Charlie suddenly swept between us. He only had about an inch on Rick in height, but in that moment he seemed to tower over him. Their chests, broad as they were engorged, pressed against one another and all remaining space was filled with Rick’s wide stomach.

 

“It’s over,” Charlie said coldly. “Move on.”

 

Peering around Charlie’s widespread lats, I could practically see the machinations of Rick’s thought process. He could either stay and enter into an entirely new arena with Charlie or drop it…for the time being. His mustache bristled again, he grunted like a hog, and took a step backward.

 

“I ain’t coming here anymore,” he announced to the room at large. I glanced toward the cardio section. The husband and wife had stepped off their ellipticals to watch. The woman on the stationary bike had even looked up from her People magazine. “This place has gone to the fucking dogs!” He turned and marched toward the locker-room, crashing through the door. No one moved as the metallic sound of slamming lockers echoed throughout the gym. A moment later he reappeared, gym bag and keys in hand. We all watched in silence as he stormed to his Tahoe, jumped inside, and rocketed out the parking lot, his tires screeching loudly.

 

When the sound of his roaring engine finally faded into the distance, Charlie turned toward me.

 

“You okay?” he said. Much overdue fatigue seemed to be crashing in on him.

 

“Are you?” I asked. I suddenly realized that his newly inflated chest was on display mere inches in front of me, nearly double the size it had been before he started. I recalled the way his pecs had bounced and wondered what that would look like now that they were even larger. Hard as it was, I tore my eyes away from those splendid pecs and met his gaze again. Dark circles were forming under his eyes, his face was rapidly draining of color. He licked his lips.

 

“I think…I think you’d better drive home,” he panted. I agreed instantly and helped him to the car. 

 

It wasn’t until his bulky, bulging self was safely stowed in the passenger seat and he was slipping into the deepest of slumbers that I realized that the place we were going, my house, was the place he had called home.   

[crushme99]

Really excellent.  Many thanks.

[Thespispunk88]

Just discovered this story today, but man, am I glad that I did! I love it so far. I really can't wait to read where you take Andy and Charlie.

Seriously, terrific work and your structure is phenomenal too.

[Mdlftr]

AMAZING writing.

 

Just 2 sentences blew my mind as they display the skill in this author's writing:

 

The shadow returned, passing over his face. His trembling lips stilled and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a wry grin. The vein in his forehead resurfaced, bigger than ever, and his eyes clouded over with a tremendous determination that I would come to know all too well: a look that was at once vehement and unseeing, as if he were gazing into another world entirely. 

 

 

DHalden, you are an amazing writer!  Thank you for sharing this with the Forum!

 

What an honor!

 

Mdlftr

[dhalden]

We pulled into my driveway just as the sun was breaking on the horizon. I put the car in park and glanced over at Charlie. Profoundly asleep in the passenger seat, I had never seen him look so peaceful. Even when he wasn’t furiously tearing it up in the gym, he buzzed with a vitality that made his eyes sparkle and his smile gleam. Whether he knew it or not, he exuded a verve that was downright contagious. But staring at him now, his head rested against the window, I debated leaving him be. His smooth, wrinkle-free face seemed even more placid than usual, completely relaxed; his plump, pink lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed. Suddenly the sun broke through the window, breaking me from my observation of his immaculate face.

 

“Charlie,” I said. “Hey, Charlie, we’re here.”

 

He did not stir. I reached a trembling hand toward him and placed it on his shoulder. He’s so damn solid. And warm, like an oven. Did I dare steal a tiny squeeze? Just for curiosity’s sake? Slowly, I flexed my fingers around the solid mass of muscle that was his delt—

 

He suddenly stirred. I quickly snatched my hand away and put it back on the steering wheel.

 

“Huh?” he said, sitting upright. “Are we home yet?”

 

“Yeah, we’re…we’re here,” I said. “Do you need help getting inside?”

 

I imagined how comical a sight that would look to the neighbors. Tiny old me with Charlie’s thick arm slung over my shoulder, trying to drag his herculean body inside. I wouldn’t make it to the flowerbeds, I thought. Still, it wouldn’t be so bad being that close to him. Getting to feel all those big muscles pressed up against me. Thankfully (or maybe not so much), Charlie said he thought he could make it on his own. He barely made it through the door before he collapsed onto the couch though.

 

“I’m going to get you some water,” I said.

 

“Something with electrolytes...” he mumbled and, knowing I’d be at a complete loss, added, “Gatorade.”

 

“Gatorade. Right.” I quickly retrieved a bottle of Glacier Freeze from the refrigerator, but by the time I made it back to the living room, he was soundly dozing again, his face pressed deeply into a pillow. Look at him. He’s so damn perfect even when he’s asleep. And big. Look at how wide his back his. How does he even find shirts that fit? I should let him sleep though. I decided to err on the side of caution and call in sick to work just in case Charlie needed further tending.

 

“Something must be going around,” Mrs. Dubose, the secretary, said. “Rick said he won’t be in today either. Oh, well, it’s getting to be that time of year. You get better, you hear? And we’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure to eat plenty of chicken noodle soup!”

 

I hung up the phone and glanced at Charlie’s huge, sleeping form again. So, Rick’s not going in either. Guess he wore himself out trying to compete with this big guy. Or he’s just too embarrassed. Serves him right, the jerk. Who the hell does he think he is?

 

Charlie stirred, raising his head off the couch. “Gatorade?”

 

“Yeah, here it is,” I said, and quickly handed it to him. He chugged half of it in ten seconds flat and fell face first back into the pillow. I caught the bottle before it spilled, recapped it, and set it on the coffee table. Definitely the right call not going in. He shouldn’t be left alone. Guess it’s possible even for a guy his size to go too hard in the gym. I looked him over from head to toe again. His hair was still damp with sweat and tousled. He wore it long on the top and typically kept it coiffed back with just the right amount of product to make it look like it grew that way naturally. My eyes moved down. He had a neck that was thicker than I had realized, or at least it looked to be pressed against the couch, easily too generous to get my hands around. It sloped without interruption into his tall traps which, in turn, sloped toward his bulging, round delts that were easily the size of small grapefruits. I glanced across at his other shoulder. From one end of him to the other, he was easily doubly as wide as I was, his flaring lats aside. A considerable portion of his shoulder hung over the edge of the couch, his arm hanging on the floor. My eyes continued tracing down his back. Two considerable slabs of muscle ran parallel to his spine, one on either side, each thick as my wrist. I had never seen such development on body before. What do you even call those muscles? The rest of his torso began to taper inward as I my eyes made my way toward his waist. His was perhaps only slightly wider than mine, but still supremely impressive given the size of the body above and below it. And then, of course, there was his ass and legs. Like so much of him, his reposed hamstrings and quads were spread out against the couch cushions, filling his shorts beyond capacity so that the material was stretched like a second skin over his legs and ass. High and round, his butt looked as if it had never known a day of sagging in its life. Each cheek was the size of football and blended seamlessly with his substantial thighs. These successfully merged with his more than pronounced calves. One alone seemed as thick around as my arm. I let my eyes travel back up the length of his sleeping form, tracing the contours of his remarkably muscular body. I envy the woman who’s been lucky enough to have all of this at her disposal. Oh well. Can’t have everything. I glanced at his feet again. I should take his shoes off. I took his sneaker in my hand and stared at it impressively. Jesus, these babies must be like size thirteen’s or something. I slowly undid the laces, trying not to wake him, and pried them off his feet. Instantly, a powerful musk filled my nostrils. My head swam and I quickly set the shoes aside, lest I pass out myself and land face first in his ass. Like you wouldn’t want that, I chided myself.

 

I sniffed my own armpit. Deciding that it would safe enough to leave him alone for ten minutes, I took a quick shower. As I toweled off my hair, I peered around the corner back into the living room and found him still soundly asleep, though he had turned onto his back. That’s a sight all on its own, I thought. And because I had not done laundry in a few days, I decided to throw in a load of laundry. I had just dropped my gym clothes into the washing machine when it happened—a sharp, dull pain not just in my stomach, but from my stomach. A hunger pain unlike any I had known. Well, unlike any I had known until that morning. Oh shit, I hope its not another one of those seizure things. Fuck. Charlie’s dead to the world. Maybe I should call 911. My stomach gnawed again, growling raucously, demanding food. Okay. Maybe I just need to eat something. A post-workout meal. Right. Totally forgot.

 

Afraid I might trigger something worse if I moved too hastily, I made my way slowly into the kitchen. I ate my turkey sandwich, bowl of cottage cheese, some frozen vegetables, and protein shake in silence at the table, listening as Charlie groaned and mumbled in sleep on the other side of the wall in the living room. If this shit keeps up I’m going to have to go to the doctor. Maybe I have like a perforated bowel or something. Eww gross. I hope not. I fetched my laptop from my bedroom and returned to the kitchen. In the middle of surfing WebMD, I reached for another bite of turkey sandwich…and found my plate empty. I glanced at my bowl and shaker bottle. Both empty. Damn. Still hungry. Popping a thawed chicken breast into the oven and a sweet potato into the microwave, I continued surmising the source of my fevered episode overnight. Maybe I had an allergic reaction to something. But what? I’m not allergic to anything and all I’ve been eating for two weeks is health food. That and protein shakes. I paused, suddenly remembering the odd vials of syrupy supplements Charlie had given me. What were those things called again? Just then the microwave beeped. Deciding to ask him when he awoke, I devoured the sweet potato while I waited for the chicken to finish cooking. The moment it was done baking, I sliced it up and wolfed it down, washing it down with two more glasses of water. Maybe this is just what happens when you start working out, like Charlie said. He’d know. He puts it away like a linebacker.

 

I crept back into the living room and settled into the recliner across from the couch and continued surfing the Internet. I decided to look up the name of the thick muscles of his back that had mesmerized me (rhomboids) and found myself lost in study of the numerous anatomy charts I came across. Who knew there were so many muscles in the human body? Most men looked as if they lacked half of them, if not more, they were so underdeveloped. It took a man like Charlie to show me what a truly and properly developed physique looked like.

 

“I…no more…” Charlie groaned. I glanced up. His eyelids were twitching agitatedly. Dreaming. He raised a hand and for a moment I thought he was waking, but then it fell back onto his abs, massaging them sleepily through his shirt. Then it began drifting toward the waist of his shorts. I felt my cheeks burn. Holy shit. His hand continued its descent, creeping under his waistband, and disappearing between his legs. I should go. I should really go. What if he wakes up? I should definitely go. I’m going. But I didn’t move. I continued watching, aghast and in awe, as his hand explored the confines of his shorts, jostling around his groin pleasurably. Within seconds, an appreciably large bulge began to form beneath the material. He stroked it leisurely and ground his hips, groaning. What do I do? I should wake him up.

 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, luxuriating in his own touch. He continued grinding his hips, the outline of his rigid cock now plainly visible through his shorts. It was unmistakably above average. It looked roughly the same size as my own, a solid eight inches. But between those copious thighs it somehow seemed larger. Everything about him did. My own cock was painfully hard beneath my bathrobe. “Mmm,” he hummed again, practically a purr. It was a deep rumble in his chest. His other hand had made its way to his chest and drowsily rubbed his nipple. It too was erect through his clothes. My face burned. My cock throbbed agonizingly. This is wrong. This is so wrong. He’d be so pissed if he knew. Just get up right now and walk out of the—

 

“Like that, don’t you?” he said. My eyes flew from his pants, to his face. I fully expected those green eyes to be burrowing into me like spotlights, exposing my indecency. Instead, I found his face placid as ever save for a tiny grin on his lips. “Yeah…take that. Take it…”

 

Oh fuck he’s just talking in his sleep. Holy shit. Deciding that it was simply too close a call to risk a second, I quietly closed my laptop and gently rose—or attempted to. My cock was excruciatingly hard now, despite having the freedom of being enclosed in nothing more than my bathrobe, and I stumbled as I rose to my feet, its rigidity throwing me off balance. I recalled its impossible appetite the night before. I crept toward the hallway, visions of lube and my bed in mind.

 

“Sorry…didn’t mean…hurt…”

 

I froze at the mouth of the hall. I turned back. Though his hand had stopped stroking his cock, it was still trapped in his pants. He rolled his head from side to side and clenched his eyes. Whatever wet dream he had had, had clearly given way to a nightmare. A fresh, aching wave gripped my cock again. His nightmare, his problem. I gotta go take care of this baby before it kills me. Quietly as possible, I slipped into my bedroom, shut and locked the door behind me, and stripped off my robe. I practically leapt onto my bed and reached for my nightstand to grab some lube, but when I looked down at my cock, the angry red head was already glistening with precum. Nothing like the natural stuff, I thought. I gripped my cock, once again marveling at how heavy, heavy, and thick it felt. At my touch, another bead of precum formed and rolled down my head. Its slow, slick descent tickled my fat, granite meat to terrible rigidity and I squirmed. My balls pulled up close to my body, heavy and pleasantly full of cum. I started with slow, smooth strokes, but instantly my cockhead mushroomed enormously. The sight of Charlie luxuriating in his own touch replayed in my head and I bit my lip, curling my toes into the bedspread. “Nngh,” I groaned. It felt like I was gripping a cylinder of rock that was protruding from my groin, one that stretched and tugged forward with anticipation, needing ever more. Shit, I’m going to have stretch marks if I don’t get rid of this thing. With that thought in mind, I decided to abandon the idea of a long and lush jerk-off session. Sometimes, you just need to take the edge off. I picked up the pace of my strokes and was stunned as more and more precum bubbled forth, sufficiently slicking my dick from head to base. Within minutes, I could feel my balls began to stir, drawing even closer to my body. “Phew!” I said, and raised my ass of the bed. I reached down, readjusted my balls...and gasped at their size in my hands. They feel so big. Like I haven’t cum in weeks. But I just came last night—and it was huge load! Am I...am I bigger? 

 

I glanced at my desk in the corner. A ruler stuck out from a collection of pencils and pen stowed in an old coffee mug. “Fuck it.” I managed to tear my hand away from my cock and swung my legs off the bed. “Ouch!” I cried, as my leg pressed painfully against of my engorged balls. Waddling, I made my way to my desk and glanced down at my cock. My particular piece of meat, bigger than the average man’s though it may be, has always pointed skyward when hard and now was no exception. Had it ever been so angrily red though? So blazing hot? I reached for the ruler and placed its end against the base of my cock. Slowly, I pushed down on the ruler, bending my cock horizontal. “Oh oh oh!” I winced as my cock bucked and throbbed against me, straining to return to the vertical. That can’t be right. I looked at the ruler again and checked that the base of it was firmly against my pubic bone. The number was plain as day though: 8.2 inches. I’m…bigger? How? My fat, throbbing meat bucked again, reminding me of its impending release. I tossed the ruler aside and returned to the bed. Okay you fat fucker, lets get you off. My hand sawed up and down my nagging prick, ushering it to release. Thirty seconds later, I felt the first rope of cum squirting from my balls and racing up my cum tube. My cockhead flared bigger in anticipation and a moment later it jetted forth, splashing me squarely beneath my right eye. I turned away, squinting, as a second rope landed on my chest and shoulder. A third hit my ear. A fourth, my chin. Finally, they wound down, the last rope lazily slinging onto my stomach.

 

“So much for that shower,” I said. Standing, I moved back to the desk and reached for the box of Kleenex. As I wiped my neck, face, and torso clean of cum, I spotted the ruler on the floor. I quickly moved to my closet, opened it, and looked at my naked form in the full-body mirror on the back of the closet door. It does look bigger. Look at it. Even in its post-orgasm stupor, had it ever hung so heavy and low? It was still red and the head slung sleepily toward the floor, a miniscule thread of cum dripping onto the carpet. I wiped it up and pulled my bathrobe back on. Maybe I’ve just lot a little bit around the middle and it just looks like I’m bigger. They say that’s what happens to guys that lose weight. Right?

 

I thought for a moment and opened my laptop. Opening a new document, I inserted a blank table and quickly entered the date in one column and my new measurement of 8.2 inches in the second column. I decided to name the document “Progress Report” should, worst-case scenario, someone end up snooping through my files. It seemed innocuous enough a name for a file on a teacher’s laptop, I thought.

 

But what did I know?

[Mdlftr]

My FAVORITE line from this episode"

 

"Okay you fat fucker, let's get you off."

 

DHalden does it again!

 

Thank you!  And AMAZING!!
 

[musclehintz]

Man, I LOVE the scene with Charlie jerking in his sleep! Great stuff!

[muscleaneous]

Until now, "Leo on a Dark Night" was the only muscle fiction so well written it could be published as a legit art form.

 

Now, there's "Charlie."

[dhalden]

Next installment. This time around, you'll get to see Charlie at work. Also, a little recap: it has been less than twenty-four hours since Charlie gave Andy his first dose of NPH-01 and later the same day that he and Rick went head-to-head in a bench press contest at the gym. Enjoy!

 

Charlie had slept exceptionally well. He surfaced from this deepest of slumbers leisurely, stretching and basking in the warm light pouring through the window. Everything was bathed in a soft, orange glow, including the half-empty bottle of Glacier Freeze Gatorade on the coffee table. He glanced out the window again. Evening already? How long had he slept? He sat upright, groaning mightily, and stretched, savoring the pleasant tension that his muscles had developed as he slept. His pecs felt particularly tight, but not uncomfortably so, and he massaged them with one of his large, flat hands, half-wincing and half-smirking at the sensation that bloomed across the pillows of muscle in his palms. Releasing the residual stiffness of a brutal workout was a sort of pleasure unlike any other and he fucking loved it. He flexed, an influx of blood rushing into his chest, and felt his pecs swell. His flat, rippled stomach growled vociferously and he lumbered into the kitchen.

 

“Andy?” he called. “You here?”

 

He popped two chicken breasts into the oven and mixed up a protein shake, sipping on it while he strode through the house. Finding it deserted, he returned to the living room, plucked his gym bag off the floor beside the front door, and dug his cell phone out. Three missed texts. Shit.

 

The first: “High tipper 314 Regal Hilton @ 8:30pm.”

 

The second: “Cheers!”

 

Cheers? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why’d Tony always have to be so fucking cryptic? He flexed his jaw irritably. The bitch.

 

The last text was from Andy: “Met a friend for dinner. Be back late. You feeling okay sleepyhead?”

 

A friend? Who? Andy hadn’t said anything about a going out with anyone. Charlie searched his mind for a name, but none came to mind. A sound like a growl stirred in his throat. He shot off a quick reply and checked the time. He’d have to rush to make it to the appointment, fucking Tony had given such short notice, but he calculated he could squeeze in a shower and still make it to the Hilton on time. The shower was an absolute must, even if it made him late; while most clients seemed to delight in his natural funk, it would be stupid to presume all would. Rule number one: always cater to the client. He swept into the bathroom, kicked on the hot water, and stripped off his shirt. But as he turned toward the shower, he caught a glimpse of his profile in the mirror and cocked an eyebrow. His pecs, impressively developed as they were, did not typically jut and hang off his chest in their completely relaxed state. At least not as prodigiously as they were now. He turned to face the mirror full on.

 

"Damn," he said. His workout had ended nearly twelve hours ago, but judging by how hugely inflated his pecs were, someone could easily assume he had just finished. Each heavy slab of muscle was puffy and flushed, so much so that when he poked one of them—his finger barely making an indentation before it encountered unyielding, rock-hard bulk—a white negative of his probing digit lingered there, as if he were sunburned. Curious and cocky, he abandoned a delicate touch and quickly grabbed a handful of pec meat. He squeezed his bulging pec until he gasped and released. The white handprint swiftly faded as more blood poured into his chest. He chuckled darkly. Damn he looked good. What guy wouldn't kill for a chest like this? He popped his pecs a few times for his own amusement and hopped in the shower.

 

Thoroughly cleaned, he spritzed his thick neck with his best cologne, and slipped into the freshly pressed suit and tie hanging in his closet. He filled it out easily, making it appear as if it were perfectly tailored to his muscled physique. Maybe even a little too snug in some places. He slipped one finger beneath his collar and loosened his tie, considered a moment, then ripped it off altogether. His hand drifted toward the top button of his shirt…and stopped an inch away. He thought for a moment, dropped his hand back to his side, and rolled his shoulders back. The button strained against his pecs. Charlie furrowed his brow disappointedly and he inhaled solidly, gathering a mighty breath, and at once his chest expanded, pushing pushing pushing those two heaping slabs of pec meat outward. His shirt never stood a chance. He heard a short groan as the material struggled against him and a second later the top button popped audibly, instantly revealing the deep cleft between his pecs in all its glory. He grinned darkly. David Beckham, eat your heart out.

 

He ate as he drove, angrily shoveling in mouthfuls of chicken and rice between red lights. At this rate, he'd almost certainly be late. That fucking shrew Tony had given him hardly any notice whatsoever. Business in Chicago had operated so much more smoothly. Brett had never given less than twenty-four hours notice and still circulated nearly double the number of clients. Charlie shoveled in another mouthful of his long overdue post-workout meal and floored the gas pedal as the light switched to green. Five minutes later, he swung into the parking lot of the Regal Hilton, emptied the last of the Tupperware into his gullet, and hurried inside. The key for Suite 314 was waiting for him at the front desk and he snatched it up hurriedly, but not before giving the clerk a flirtatious view of his chest.

 

“A little warm in here, isn't it?” he said, and spread his shirt to fan himself. The clerk’s eyes went wide as Charlie turned and strode toward the elevator. Thirty seconds later he stood outside of Suite 314, looking at his warped reflection in the brass numbers nailed to the door. He prayed the client hadn't beaten him. Making a mental note to have a particularly stern talk with Tony, he stepped into the room…and found it deserted.

 

Sighing in relief, he peered around the room. At least Tony had provided the usual bottle of champagne on ice. He spotted it on the end table by the window and crossed to it. It really was hot, he thought. Why didn’t this fucking hotel have better air conditioning? Halfway to the ice, he spotted an envelope on the bed and froze. Shit. The client had come and gone and had been so pissed they’d left a note. Cursing, he snatched the note off the bed…and spotted two vials of NPH-01 underneath. He tore open the envelope, still cursing Tony beneath his breath, and read the handwritten note within: “Drink up!”

 

He rolled his eyes. Oh yeah. Cheers. Snatching up the vials, Charlie pocketed them, and dropped onto the bed. Too fucking close, he thought. A single dissatisfied client could ruin his reputation for weeks at a time. Not to mention the fact that, if they had beaten him there, they could have easily assumed the vials were for them. That stupid bitch. She was too lax and it was going to get them both fucked over. Not for the first time, he debated cutting ties with pimps altogether and going at it alone. Look at me, he thought. I could pull them in like flies to honey. Who wouldn't go for all of this? He flexed, beaming at the sensation of the material struggling against him on all sides, and remembered the feeling of the top button of shirt popping wide. He flexed again and imagined what it would be like to send not just one, but two, or even three buttons sailing across the room with a simple flex of his pecs. His cock, already stirring, lengthened even more considerably in his pants.

 

Reaching into his pocket, Charlie withdrew the first vial and uncapped it. He was still not certain he felt entirely comfortable consuming whatever this mysterious elixir was, but his workouts had been brutal as hell lately and, if his super-pumped pecs were any indication, effective. He supposed he had this juice to thank for it. He shrugged, tossed back the first vial, and recapped it. As he replaced in his pocket, he touched the second vial. One for Andy, he thought.

 

Though he could not be certain the NPH-01 was going to effect Andy similarly (hell, it had been less than twenty fours hours ago he had given them to the little guy), something in the back of his mind told him a second dose wouldn't hurt. At the very least, it had made Andy ravenous at breakfast that morning. And if he hadn't been so preoccupied one-upping that fat brute Rick at the gym this morning, he might have been able to see how it affected Andy’s workout, too. He made a mental note to pay closer attention at their next gym session. Andy was coming along nicely—heck, the guy had lost a few pounds already—but it was time to swing him in the other direction. It was time to introduce Andy to the wonderful world of muscle. The little guy could thank him later.

 

His mind drifted back to Rick. What had that all been about anyway? It had been immediately clear to him that there was some sort of tension between Rick and Andy, but he couldn’t place his finger on it precisely. He bristled at the thought of the fat lug giving Andy a hard time. He’d have to ask Andy about it and, if need be, resolve the issue.

 

A soft knock rose at the door. Charlie stood, stowing the vials under the mattress, and crossed to the door. He peered out the peephole. Outside in the hall, a silver-haired man nervously looked up and down the hall. Charlie swung the door wide, flashed a blinding grin, and gestured for the man enter. The man smelled vaguely of tobacco and diesel, despite the fact that he had “dressed up” in a pair of wrinkled khakis and green golf polo that was swallowed in a sports coat two sizes too large.

 

“My n-names Kevin,” he stuttered immediately as Charlie shut the door behind him.

 

“Patrick,” Charlie lied. “How’re you tonight, Kevin?”

 

“F-Fine, I'm fine,” he said, clearing his throat. He looked nervously around the room, as if expecting to find cameras trained on him. “This…this ain't a sting operation is it? You ain't a cop?”

 

Shaking his head, Charlie chuckled and inched closer, closing the gap between them in a single stride. He was a full head taller than this man, as he was most men, and he wielded his height to his advantage. Gazing up at his tall, broad form, this anxious whelp of a client could just as easily been staring up at cliff-face he was instructed to climb: he appeared at once thrilled, but terrified at the prospect. He swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy, and tentatively reached out a hand, placing it on one of Charlie’s broad pecs. Charlie bounced his chest and the man quickly snatched his hand away, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

 

“How about you take a seat over on the bed. Relax,” Charlie suggested. “Take your jacket off.”

 

Automatically, the man removed his hand and strode to the bed. He peeled off his jacket and folded it in his lap, then stared up at Charlie, waiting further instruction. Charlie grinned. The man's open-faced expression was a mixture of desperate attention and complete surrender. It was one Charlie had seen countless times before, one that made him instantly hard. Damn, it was good being big. Charlie slowly began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. “Do you like muscle, Kevin?”

 

The man nodded slowly, enraptured by the slow unveiling of Charlie’s heaving pecs and the brick wall of abs beneath them. It was time to kick things off, he thought. Charlie began by sensually grinding his hips, tantalizingly slow at first, but in deliberately wider circles as he unbuttoned his cuffs. The pre-show had officially begun. Next came his belt. His large fingers nimbly unfastened the buckle and in one swift gesture, he yanked off the leather belt, a sharp crack cutting through the silence of the room. On the bed, the client squirmed. One of his hands slipped beneath his jacket and began vigorously undoing his own belt.

 

“What do you think about my abs?” Charlie said. He was gyrating his hips in earnest now, his abs stretching and flexing, deep cuts flushing between his obliques as he danced to silent music. “Do you want to touch them?” The man just continued staring, enthralled by the incredible muscle on display before him. His silence was answer enough. Charlie crossed to the bed and took the man’s free hand, placing it against his wall of abs. The man’s cold fingers quivered anxiously. Beneath the jacket, his other hand continued to furiously beat him off. “What about these big ol’ pecs? You like these?”

 

The man's tongue lolled out of his mouth hungrily. Charlie snickered and, gathering his breath, brought his hands together, fiercely flexing his pecs. “Touch these muscle titties, Kevin. Give them a good squeeze.” The man abandoned his cock and slammed both his hands onto the heaving pillows of muscle before him. Charlie growled as the man's eager fingers attempted to dent the muscle. He flexed harder and the man suddenly launched forward, plastering his face between his pecs, slobbering and licking wildly. Effortlessly, Charlie pushed him back onto the bed and wagged a chiding finger. “Not so fast, little man. They'll be plenty of that later.”

 

The introduction complete, Charlie moved onto Act One. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair in the corner. At once, his dark and spicy musk filled the room. He placed one finger on his lips in don’t-make-a-peep-during-the-peepshow sort of way and sensually turned about-face so that his round ass was on full display. His hands dropped to his waist and ever so slowly he shimmied out of his pants, dropping them to his ankles, the material revealing inch by inch his tree trunk thighs and shapely calves. He kicked the pants across the room to join his shirt on the chair and turned back around.

 

“How about a little flexing show?” he said.

 

“Uh-huh,” the man breathed. “Arms. Arms first!”

 

“Oh, you wanna see these guns?” Charlie said, looking from one arm to the other. “I don’t know. They’re pretty tired from lifting heavy ass weights all day. Maybe if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” For the first time, the spell seemed to break over the man. He paused, seemingly perplexed, but his rigid cock quickly pulled him back under. Tentatively, he raised his arms and executed a poor excuse of a double bicep pose, barely negligible peaks forming beneath his sleeves. “Oh, you can do better than that, can’t ya Kevin? Like this!”

 

With an obvious practiced grace, Charlie swung his arms high above his head, aimed his fists at the sky, and studiously lowered them into a perfect double bicep pose. As he did, his biceps gathered and gathered, piling on size and forming rounded peaks the size of softballs. Thick veins snaked their way around his forearms. He smirked and glanced at his bicep—and did a double take. He had spent many an hour before the mirror admiring at his impressive arms and was intimately familiar with their nineteen inch circumference. But they looked bigger than ever now. Had he finally broken twenty inches? He caressed his left bicep and bit his lip. “Oh yeah,” he said, more to himself than to the man feverishly jacking himself on the bed. “Look how big these babies are.”

 

“Tri-triceps!” the man stammered. “Flex your triceps!”

 

Gladly, Charlie thought. He turned to the side and jammed his fist at the floor. At once, his horseshoe tricep formed and when he looked at it, it too seemed bigger. Those workouts really were paying off. He had most definitely broken twenty inches. Finally. He brought his other deftly arm around is back, clenched his opposing wrist, and further accentuated his magnificent tricep.

 

“I bet you wish you hard guns like this, huh?” Charlie said. “Look how big they are. How strong.”

 

“Oh…oh yes…” the man continued. “So strong…”

 

You have no idea, Charlie thought. Strength simmered in his arms unlike any he had ever felt. He clenched and unclenched his fists in excitement, reveling in the power that ran through his veins. He felt like he could punch his way right through a brick wall. Fuck, he needed to unleash it. Before he could stop himself, he sprang on the man, lifting him off the bed with an ease that surprised and impressed him. “Yes, daddy, yes!” the man cried. “Show me how strong you are!”

 

Grunting, Charlie lifted him higher still, so that the pathetically light man’s head was inches from the ceiling. He practically weighed nothing. Hungry for a real challenge, Charlie dropped him onto the bed and scanned the room for something of considerable weight. Where was an iron-laden barbell when you needed one? A second, more intoxicatingly potent need was creeping into him though. In his briefs, his fat cock was hard as steel and pulsing. Growling, he turned back to the man and pushed him backward on the bed. The man giggled excitedly. Descending atop him, Charlie pressed his huge, throbbing crotch against the man’s own, laughably smaller bulge. This horny little runt wanted a show and he was going to get one. Charlie grinded incessantly against him and instantly the man’s hands began searching every inch of Charlie’s tan, muscled body hovering over him. His fingers danced and combed up and down those beefy arms, probed the deep cleavage of his pecs, and held on for dear life around his shoulders as Charlie flattened against him.

 

“Take off your fucking clothes,” Charlie growled. The man scrambled to kick off his shoes, pants, and shirt, revealing his doughy torso. A tribal tattoo around his left nipple suggested a wilder youth. He never looked like this though, Charlie thought proudly. He never knew what it was to have so much muscle and watch people drool over it like he is now. “Tell me how much you want these muscles.”

 

“So, so bad! Please give me your muscles, Patrick—please! Please!”

 

“Kiss my pecs!” Charlie barked. “Show me how much you them!”

 

Frenziedly, the man made a second dive for Charlie’s pecs, and instead of pushing away, Charlie closed his eyes and savored the man’s tongue as it roamed over his nipples and cleavage. What person in their right mind wouldn’t want to give them a good licking? He flexed again, momentarily gripping the man’s tongue between his vice-like pecs, before the slippery organ escaped. All the while Charlie’s stout dick continued to grow ever harder. It needed attention—now. He pushed the man back down and held him down with one huge arm while he pulled off his briefs with the other. At once, his hefty cock rocketed up another level and Charlie winced. He slid back off the bed and stood at the foot of it, his raging prick demanding service. The man spotted it, licked his lips hungrily, and hurried forward.

 

“You’re so big,” he said, marveling as he took Charlie’s cock in his hands, his cool fingers felt remarkably at odds with his fiery-hot meat. “I can barely get my hand around it.” Charlie glanced down and sure enough the man’s fingertips were barely just touching. He smirked and his cock swelled with pride, pointedly forcing the man’s fingers apart. The man gasped. With his other hand, he reached down and cupped Charlie’s heavy balls; they threatened to be too much for his palm. “It’s so hot…and these balls. How’d you get them so big?”

 

“Ate all my fruits and vegetables,” Charlie growled. “Now suck.”

 

The man eagerly obliged. He opened wide and as his lips slid over Charlie’s broad, hot cockhead he gasped. The man’s tongue flicked around it excitedly, slicking it up as the first inch eased into his mouth. As if disappointed that it was so easily accommodated, his heavy dick flexed again, widening and lengthening. The man continued swallowing him though, his hot, wet throat enclosing around inch after inch of the fat, veiny shaft. Six inches in, he stopped and gagged, unable to swallow anymore. Having found his limit, he began bobbing up and down the pulsing slab stuffing his throat. Charlie luxuriated in the sensation of his huge dick filling the man’s esophagus, wall-to-wall. He could only imagine what it would be like to be even bigger. His hands drifted to the man’s head, cupping it from behind and pulling him closer, easing him down over the last two remaining inches left out in the dry cold. The man gagged again, coughing, and Charlie smirked.

 

“You wanted it, now take it,” he said. The man’s muffled reply sounded vaguely pleading, but Charlie ground his hips forward, the last inch slipping past the man’s lips. His throat was now clenching and unclenching around the mass of cockmeat struggling against it. Charlie indulgently began skull-fucking the eager, choking client, who determinedly remained planted on his huge shaft. Every so often he would remove himself from it to gather his breath, releasing its glistening impressive length and girth, and dive back down. Muscle fibers across Charlie’s body fired randomly, making his pecs jump, his shoulders flex. Wet slurps and schlucking sounds, deep, sumptuous exhales and growls filled the room. After what felt like an eternity, Charlie’s heavy, round balls rose, signaling release. He pulled the man closer, planting his nose firmly against his neatly trimmed pubes, and bit his lip as the first volley of cum raced up his cock. He could feel it flooding through his expanding dick and firmly kept the man’s lip-lock around him as his cocklips mushroomed, spread wide, and poured the load into the man’s gullet.

 

“Mmmfh, uunfh, mmm!” the man muffled cries filled the room and he retreated from Charlie’s still-shooting shaft. In one fluid motion, he released the reveling saliva and cum-covered beast of a dick, tears streaming down his reddened face. Before he could recover, however, a stream of cum splattered across his face. “Oh, yes…more. More…” he whimpered.

 

“Fuck!” Charlie cried. His cock swung in wide, wild arches as its spewed rope after rope of thick cum across the man’s face, chest, and shoulders. Every muscle in his robust body flexed and he roared, curling his toes into the carpet. “Rrraaa!”

 

Finally, after a full thirty seconds, his balls emptied, the last few ropes of cum lazily dripping from his residually bucking cock. The man inched forward again and took it once more in his mouth. Charlie gasped as the hypersensitive length of meat slipped past the man’s lips again, vacuuming away the last bit of cum trapped in the thick shaft.  When he finished, Charlie bent and kissed him, easing him backward onto the bed, and licking his own cum off the man’s face.

 

“You’re turn,” he said, and reached for the man’s cock.

[Countriboy]

Great story can't wait for the next install