muscle-growth The Vial - from NCMC

[throck]

Since NCMC seems to have gone, I thought I'd repost something I submitted there several years back.

 

 

 

This is a story. It contains fiction. And two men. Having a bit of a fight. Then they do other stuff. And it ends. Ends. This is a one-shot. I hope you enjoy it. 

 

 

I saw him lunging from the other side of the chamber, his eyes set. Knowing that distraction would result in disaster, I fixed my eyes upon the stone dais and the small vial that lay thereon, sucking air into my lungs to power me forward, my right arm reaching out. 

 

He was aware of me, but his demeanour did not alter and he threw himself towards the target in a final bid to claim the prize. 

 

Time seemed to slow as I floated in the air for an eternity, momentum carrying me forward. My opponent likewise was committed and I heard him cry, perhaps in

triumph. 

 

My fingers made contact with the vial. I grasped towards it, just as he made contact. It slipped from both our fingers, rocking on its base in a circular motion as we each collapsed in a heap at the base of the dais. 

 

We both glanced at each other, our mutual contempt plain, but this was quickly forgotten as we stared upwards. The motion of the vial became more erratic, rocking once, twice, three times in increasing instability. Then it toppled. We both held our breath, fearing the worst. 

 

The lip of the vial made contact with the rocky base and cracked, the cork stopped helping it retain some integrity, but it's horizontal motion forced it downwards, off the dais and down to the ground. 

 

We each stretched out a hand, gestures of hope rather than expectation. Hope, which like the small bottle was promptly dashed, the glass smashing against

the stone floor. 

 

I was stunned. My endeavours over the past many months lay in pieces on the floor. 

 

I glanced towards my opponent, expecting to see the same despondency; but it was not present. Far from lapsing into disappointed inactivity, he was gathering himself, moving towards the shards. For a moment I could not comprehend his motivation. He propelled himself forward, his head dipping and his mouth opening. 

 

Cold realisation dawned. The receptacle might have been destroyed, but its contents remained viable. At least for a few brief seconds; the opaque gray liquid, freshly exposed to the air was slowly seeping into the ground.  I mimicked him, moving forward, bringing my head to the ground, opening my mouth and extending my tongue. Like a starved animal desperate for sustenance, I lapped at the coarse surface, trying to ignore the harshness of the dust and sand in the paste that had formed. I forced it down my throat, with all my will denying the urge to retch. 

 

He made a brief, strangled noise and I allowed myself a brief sensation of satisfaction – let him choke on it. 

 

The paste tasted bitter, like an extract of citrus, but with a sickly sweet aftertaste. Pushing this from my mind, I shifted my position searching for fresh droplets. 

 

Our heads collided with great force, but such was my obsession that I

continued, lapping away at the cold, uneven surface, forcing him away with a thrust of my arm. He sprawled momentarily, then returned to his task. 

 

Without warning, I felt an intense stab of pain from the pit of my stomach. Its intensity was unlike anything I had perceived previously. I rose up, clutching at myself, gasping. 

 

He merely gave a satisfied snort, his face remaining in close proximity to the ground. 

 

The pain intensified, and I sank back down, sitting. It was all-encompassing, searing through my entire being. I closed my eyes and sank into a foetal position, unable to compartmentalise or rationalise. 

 

Through the fog, I heard a shriek and surmised that he had encountered the same symptoms. 

 

I was curiously divided. It seemed reasonable to conclude that this hideous sensation had resulted from the liquid, which was now working its way into my system. My efforts had not been in vain, yet I had failed to secure the solution for myself as he was suffering in a similar manner. 

 

Unbelievably, the intensity of the stabbing increased dramatically and all attempt at analysis was flung from my mind. I joined him in screaming. 

 

I'm uncertain how long the pain lasted. It may only have been seconds, perhaps minutes, or maybe even hours. After what felt like a purgatorial eternity, the sensation modified, and I could hear a brittle, cracking noise, the source of which was unclear. 

 

With increased resolution, I determined to open my eyes. I could see him, writhing around, oblivious to all but his self, much as I had been. The salty taste of blood filled my mouth – perhaps from the glass I had imbibed, perhaps from biting my own tongue as my soul had tried to retreat from the impossible new sensations the body was experiencing. 

 

I glanced round the chamber. It was roughly circular, hewn from the red rock of the mountainside, sunlight trickled in through a hole off the centre of the cavernous roof and through the twin entrances to the chamber. I dragged myself to one side and slumped against the cool dark wall. The pain remained, but perhaps I was adjusting to it as I was now capable of rudimentary action. 

 

I became aware of a claustrophobic thumping pressure in my chest and I clawed to open my shirt in an attempt to relieve it. It made little difference, so I sat, gasping, attempting to force my mind to guide me forward. 

 

After a few seconds, I was aware that something was different. The sound had stopped. I looked at him, noticing that he remained prone, but his screams had given way to heavy pants. He shifted, once more aware of my presence. 

 

Like a wounded animal, he clawed at the ground, moving himself towards the far side of the chamber, perhaps that he might lick his wounds. Once at the far

side, he mirrored my half seated, half slumped posture and returned my gaze, his face slick with sweat and his eyes full of tired contempt. He swallowed, took an intake of breath, as if to address me, then his eyes widened in fear as the cracking noise returned and a fresh wave of agony engulfed him. 

 

I gave a tired smile; it seemed that he would not pose an immediate threat. 

 

Moving my hand to the wall and I rose unsteadily to my feet, my weary limbs protesting and trembling. The throbbing in my chest renewed its intensity and I staggered back against the wall, wide-eyed. 

 

He gazed over at me, snorting in derisory satisfaction and struggling to his feet. He looked different somehow. 

 

I heard a low, animalistic, moan and tried to identify the source. His mouth was closed and I realised that I was producing it. The throbbing intensified tenfold and I was sure that my chest was about to explode. 

 

And it did. 

 

With a slow tearing sound, I felt the back of my half-opened shirt rip. His eyes widened in fear and he pushed himself back against the wall. I raised my arms, clutching at my heart, which beat with an ever loudening thump. My chest was wrong. My hands registered an increasing mass, pulsing with every heartbeat, growing dense and hard. The shirt had torn to the front too and through it I felt a growth of hair that had not been there previously. My exploratory hands moved lower and registered that my normally slightly- rounded, hairless stomach had receded into a series of regular cobblestones, which pulsed outward under a darkening cover of hair with every heartbeat. 

 

It was then that I caught sight of my hands themselves, if indeed they were my hands. Their size had increased and they were covered in a dark dusting of hair, which thickened along my forearms. The arms themselves seemed engorged, the musculature far more clearly defined than I had ever seen. I moved my left arm in a sweeping arc, entranced by its poetry and poise, then contracted it at the elbow, marvelling as the upper arm bulged with a ferocity I had never experienced. 

 

My entrancement was broken as I felt a tear to my trousers, the seams along the thigh failing to contain growing and strengthening legs. With a casual swipe, I tore the offending material from me, throwing it across the room at him. 

 

He stared at me, open-mouthed, his body occasionally rattling with tremors. I cocked my head and returned his stare, my confidence and command surging as with my physicality. With an easy, repeating nod I advanced upon him, shedding the remains of my shredded shirt and taking ever more voluminous breaths. 

 

The process had begun its work on him. I noted that his previously loose- fitting tunic was taught and that a tear had slowly begun to work down the fabric covering one of his legs. Nevertheless, it seemed that I was further advanced and I was determined to press home my advantage. 

 

He tried to back away. I can't blame him for that. If the full effect of the change was anything like the little I had thus far perceived, I posed a formidable threat. His psyche did not appear to have been sufficiently improved to deal with the agony and it restricted his movement. He'd collapsed to the floor, his legs frantically kicking to keep distance between us, but to little effect. 

 

I reached out my brawny right arm, grasped his throat and effortlessly held him against the cavern wall. I felt his legs bouncing off mine as he struggled to regain his freedom. Listening in mock sympathy to his garbled cries, I used my left arm to pin both his arms to his sides and moved my head closer to his, taking in the scent of terror he emanated. It mixed with a familiar, acrid aroma and I glanced down to see a spreading dampness around his groin. Throughout, his body was racked with spasms and I noted that more flesh had become exposed through his clothing. He was catching me up. 

 

Initially, his head had been a foot or so lower than mine, but the gap was diminishing. I could feel my own transfiguration proceeding at pace, made all the sweeter by the cool breeze I felt on my back and the moist intermittent gasps of his breath on my chest. 

 

I retracted my left arm, intending to punch him, but as my body prepared to strike, I became aware of the pressure of my rapidly hardening cock. My mind lingered on the possibilities of enhancement the process might have had on it. I absently struck him, whilst removing my right arm from his throat. He collapsed to the ground. 

 

My hands explored my new form, the left grapping and exploring the shifting musculature of the right, which felt the hardness both of my chest and nipples before bouncing over my abdominals and making contact with my increasingly insistent cock. Tearing away the last vestiges of my underwear. It sprang free, it's bulbous head almost black in the gloom. I stroked it thoughtfully, embracing the resultant pleasure. As I breathed in, I caught my new scent. It was intoxicating. 

 

Brushing a clump of newly sprouted hair from my eyes I saw that he was once more trying to escape. He appeared to be adapting to the searing agony. With a swift motion, I leapt upon him, tackling his newly energised thighs. As my grasp moved upward to further contain him, I growled approvingly at his improved mass and physique. I lowered my head to catch his scent, ripping the shirt from his back and rubbing my tongue against his spine whilst my arms pinned his shoulders down. 

 

My face reached the back of his neck and I bit him lightly, but insistently enough to be rewarded with the sweet taste of his blood. He cried out in a surprising resonant tone. 

 

I found my cock pressed up against his arse. With a buck and a twist of my hips, it entered. His cry grew louder, yet curiously deeper. I thrust myself inside him, wrapping my arms around his chest, exploring the newly formed crevices. After a few more thrusts, I could feel my cock fully engorged and slick with my own juices. His cries accorded with my stroke and he began to move in time with it. I felt his shoulders expand and his chest swell as the process reached completion. His cries became grunts, urging me on to climax. 

 

Feeling my orgasm draw closer, I slowed my stroke and felt a sharp pain in my right forearm as his furiously bit me. With a growl I resumed pace and strengthened my grip upon him, wiping my blood in his face. 

 

An intense explosion rocked my groin as I came, I could feel my essence shooting out over a dozen or more further thrusts. As my activity slowed, I felt him sigh beneath me as a number of white spurts emanated from his groin. 

 

Releasing him, I rolled over, wiping my cock on a length of discarded fabric. 

 

I looked over and found that he was standing. He now seemed as tall as I was. His hair had darkened and lengthened, brushing his shoulders. His proud chest heaved up and down as he breathed and his erect cock reached halfway up his defined stomach. 

 

His eyes closed and he smiled. I grinned back. Abruptly, he leant down, extending an arm. I turned to see what he was reaching for. With a slight intake of breath I saw him pick up the bottom of the glass vial. It was largely intact and retained a substantial amount of the opaque liquid. He raised a arm, toasting me, then drank the solution in a single gulp. His tongue cleaned the remains of the receptacle, then he dropped it. 

 

He roared as the fresh sensation overcame him, bending over with his shoulders shaking. After a second or two, he was silent, straightened and advanced upon me, his growing frame blocking out the light.

[arpeejay]

Great work!

[elysiumfields]

Great story.

 

Ps.Shame NCMC site is down right now

[Shade]

I remember reading this story before. Absolutely terrific. Even if this is a one-off I do hope you write some more.

[cutlerfan]

Incredible! Some of the best growth descriptions I have ever read.

[convolution]

Thanks,

Beautifully written

[throck]

Thanks all.

[Aronymous]

I would love to see more stories of you!

[personme2]

NCMC isn't down, it's now gayspiralstories.com.