growth-with-effort Father's Descent Parts 4-6

[TannerBradley]

Parts 1-3 Parts 7-9 Parts 10-11

 

Monday came and Samuel left for school early. His mom was still sleeping and his dad was at work so he put together two pieces of toast, noticed that there weren’t any eggs left, and poured himself the last of the milk from the carton. Football practice was today, and he knew that they always started with weights in the morning in order to make time for drills in the evening. He wanted to go see for himself just how strong Gordon was. He got to the window of the weight room just in time, and his eyes bulged out as he saw bars loaded with plates. All of these guys were clearly monsters, but he zoomed onto Gordon who was trying to one up one of the senior linemen at the bench press. They kept on loading plate after plate onto the bar. Finally, on a particularly heavy set, the lineman’s eyes bulged and he wriggled mightily, but couldn’t push the bar up all the way. Gordon pumped himself up, doing a haka of sorts filled with flexing poses. He threw himself onto the bench and lifted up the bar, slowly after first, shaking, but finally exploding upwards into a lock out. He racked the weight, jumped up and ripped off his shirt, roaring in triumph and pulling a double bi, his arms, back and chest pumped to high heaven, exploding with power. Samuel held his breath and counted the weights on the bar. 1 plate, 2 plates, 3 plates! Gordon could bench a full 315 pounds! He took out his notebook. His dad had done 135 pounds. Almost two hundred pounds less. He was devastated. Mr. Connors was enormous. If Gordon had eighty pounds on Samuel, Mr. Connors had a further ninety pounds on Gordon. And where did that leave him in the mix? He struggled with just the bar.

 

He continued watching Gordon, marking down all of his lifts:

 

Bench press: 315 lbs

Rows: 265 lbs

Overhead press: 155 lbs

 

But Gordon didn’t do all of the same lifts as his dad did. Samuel watched as Gordon curled dumbbells, barbells and cables in several different ways. Slowly, lovingly, squeezing his prodigious biceps with each rep. He tucked away the notebook in jacket. Maybe for now he’d just record the lifts that his dad did as well. He continued watching for a while, savouring the view as he watched each jock pump up his muscles just a little bit more, squeezing in a little more blood in order to grow and get - SMACK!

 

Samuel was hit upside the head. Dazed, he looked up. It was Gordon.

 

“What’re ya doing here, dweeb? Watchin’ the jocks get all pumped and sweaty? You a fag? A fag with a whore mother?”

 

He put his arm across Samuel’s neck, his swollen bicep pressing hard into Samuel’s Adam’s apple. Samuel tried to make a sound but. He couldn’t. Breathe.

RINGGGG!

 

The school bell rung and Gordon released Samuel from his headlock. Samuel gasped. Sweet, sweet air rushed into his lungs, and the heat in his face started to flow away.

 

“Hah! Know your place, dweeb! If you’re good, maybe I’ll let ya watch me bench some time!”

 

That evening, Samuel was doing homework at the kitchen table when the door burst open. In came Bruce loaded with bags. Bruce winked at Samuel.

 

“Thought our fridge was getting a little empty, so I brought back a little something from the shop. Help me get these in the fridge will you?”

 

In the bags was three gallon jugs of milk, four dozen eggs and stacks upon stacks of meat of all kinds: sausages, bacon, steak, chuck, game, ground, and more. There was sweet potatoes, rice and some vegetables. These were in reasonable quantities but as Samuel unpacked them he kept on uncovering more meat to add to what was becoming an extremely stuffed fridge. When he was done he could already hear his father grunting away below. His heart fell as he remembered the numbers Gordon was putting up in comparison, but he went down to check on his dad anyway. To his surprise, there was more weight on the plate than last time. So quickly? Samuel took out his notebook as Bruce exploded with each rep, determination written all over.

 

Bench press: 145 lbs

Rows: 125 lbs

Overhead press: 90 lbs

Squat: 175 lbs

Deadlift: 195 lbs

Pull-ups: 7

 

Samuel’s heart filled with hope. His dad was still undeniably weak, but if he could get big, if he could get strong. Maybe, just maybe…

 

That night, Samuel dreamed he was with his father, who was just the same as always: gentle, neat, unassuming. Jocks started surrounding them menacing, jeering, looming over them and threatening unimaginable pain, but Bruce threw away his glasses and ripped apart his clothes to reveal a Superman costume and a physique of rippling muscles. With a few swift punches, all the bullies were dealt with. And then, there was his mom, coming out demurely from behind a door. Unable to contain herself, she ran to her husband and threw herself at him. As he caught her, carrying her easily but gently with a single hand, she exclaimed proudly.

 

“I’ll never leave you again! You’re the only one for me, my love!”

 

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Two weeks passed and Samuel had been astounded by his dad’s progress. He had fallen into a solid routine, pumping iron on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and going out for sprints on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sundays were his day off, just like his work schedule. Every workout Samuel recorded a gain on every lift Bruce did, and currently his numbers were at:

 

Bench press: 185 lbs

Rows: 155 lbs

Overhead press: 115 lbs

Squat: 245 lbs

Deadlift: 275 lbs

Pull-ups: 10

 

Every breakfast Bruce would stuff himself with eggs, bacon, sausage and oatmeal and every night roast chickens and steaks were devoured wholesale. He didn’t make big bluster about his progress, but he was obviously pleased and sometimes flexed his bicep and let Samuel feel it, his son longing to measure them and see how close his dream was to becoming a reality. One night he had brought his son over and had commented,

 

“You know son, there is a lot to be said about strength. I’ve been re-evaluating my position on strength and technique and you know what? Maybe they’re complementary. A little brute force can make your technique go a longer way. I’ve been feeling great at the shop lately, everything’s just that little bit easier.”

 

He was so pleased he started doing some bodyweight workouts in the mornings of his workout days. Quickly he was progressing to handstand push-ups, diamond push-ups, and trying a variety of pullups, chin-ups and the like. The morning workouts and huge breakfasts were taking a toll on Bruce’s morning routine, however, and he stopped parting his hair, choosing instead to run a comb through it quickly just to straighten it out a bit and he gave up shaving altogether on workout days.

 

Samuel’s life, on the hand, had taken a turn for the worse. Almost daily he returned home to the low groan of Mr. Connors’ orgasm and now that the game was up his mother had made no more attempts to hide how much pleasure she took in making love to the powerful man. The ceiling practically shook every time Samuel opened the door. Each time Mr. Connors came down the stairs, saw Samuel on the couch with his notebook and textbooks, huffed in contempt and then stepped out.

 

The day Mr. Connors didn’t come Lisa had sat on the couch, openly masturbating with a huge vibrator that Samuel suspected was representative of Mr. Connor’s cock, yelling at the top of her lungs.

 

“Big! Big! BIG! HUGE! ENORMOUS! STRONG! OH! OH! POWER! OHHHHHHHH!”

 

One time, there was even someone else. It was Mr. Peters, the defensive coach and also a massive man, 6 foot and 280 pounds, though with a gut. He and Mr. Connors came down the stairs loudly, laughing and slapping each other on the back. That time they didn’t even take notice of Samuel as they sauntered out the door, bantering energetically the whole time. Samuel had taken a peek inside his parent’s room, and sure enough his mother had been left lying naked in bed, delirious with pleasure.

 

The bullying, too, had gotten worse. Gordon Connors sought him out daily with remarkably accurate re-enactments of the noises Samuel heard up in his parents’ room every day. Every jock that passed him by would pelvic thrust and act out a woman’s orgasm. What few friends, more acquaintances, he had avoided him entirely. He coped by retreating into his Superman fantasy at every possible moment and charting out his dad’s progress in his notebook. He was fascinated with the rate at which his dad grew stronger, and he spent a great deal of time charting it out and excitedly guessing where Bruce would be in a week, in a month, in a year.

 

Samuel visited the shop on a Saturday and had seen a long black-haired woman there. Spying through the window, he could see that she was very busty, wearing low cut top and letting her long straight hair fall over them as she sat on the counter, her short skirt leaving a lot of leg on display. She kept trying to tease Bruce, trying to stroke his stubble and ruffle his hair and snatch away his glasses, but he was stoic and polite through it all. Finally she ran her fingers down his shoulder and onto his bicep feeling it for a moment then tracing down his rolled up sleeve onto his forearm. She said something to Bruce which actually incited a smile, before he composed himself and rolled down his sleeve. Finally, she dropped down from the counter and sashayed over to the door, which jingled merrily as she opened it.

 

“I’m telling you, lose the glasses and keep the scruff. You’d look so fucking sexy.”

 

She had then noticed Samuel at the door, and gestured at him.

 

“While you’re at it, cut his hair. He looks a like a Bieber wannabe.”

 

Samuel recoiled at the thought. His hair was getting a bit long, but he never wanted to be anything like. What? No one could even think-

 

Not long after, however, Bruce bought a pair of contact lenses. That evening, he had spent an abnormal amount of time in front of the mirror, scratching his stubble, rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his collar. That night too Samuel noticed that his dad had pushed out a couple more reps on each of his lifts. But Bruce let Lisa cut Samuel’s hair, just as usual, and she trimmed it absentmindedly, almost as if he wasn’t even there.

 

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Samuel could tell that Bruce was starting to get obsessed. Twice a day, he weighed himself. It had been about five weeks now, and Bruce was pushing 195 pounds.

 

“Gotta get to two hundred, five more pounds, just five more,” he had been growling to himself the past couple of days.

 

He had bought himself a soft tape measure, and after every workout had started measuring his arms. Sixteen and a half inches was the last measurement, impressive by Samuel’s standard, but Samuel heard him mutter under his breath.

 

“So close to seventeen, so close!”

 

Samuel could barely contain his glee as he saw his father come down the stairs each morning, struggling to button up his shirt. Bruce had never subscribed to the new fashion of buying everything small, but unbeknownst to him it was starting to look that way. It never occurred to Bruce that he might need to buy up a size now and he was starting to fill his clothes nicely. There was a slight strain every time he moved that reminded Samuel of Gordon’s polo shirts, and Samuel froze, shivering ever so slightly in delight whenever he noticed it. He was pushing solid weight now, numbers that Samuel never dreamed his dad would be lifting:

 

Bench press: 205 lbs

Rows: 185 lbs

Overhead press: 135 lbs

Squat: 285 lbs

Deadlift: 315 lbs

Pull-ups: 15

 

His morning workouts were too getting impressive. He was now onto one-handed push-ups, pistol squats, or he would do push-ups with Samuel sitting on his back.

 

There was one worrying trend, however. Over the past week, his progress had begun to slow. Sometimes, he wouldn’t be able to add weight for a couple of workouts in a row. Every time that happened, he doubled down and beat himself up. Samuel was getting a bit worried. After all, Gordon had to be making progress too, right? Bruce’s bench was still over a hundred pounds lighter than the jock’s. If his dad was slowing down so soon, he might never catch up. Samuel dared not spy on the weight room again to confirm his suspicions. After every workout now Bruce was in a terrible mood, muttering underneath his breath and checking his weight again. Still not two hundred.

 

That Monday, Samuel watched as his dad tried 210 on the bench again. Bruce took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He lay on the bench, pressing his hands lightly on the bar in anticipation. Then, a mighty heave and he unracked the bar. He slowly lowered it onto his chest, touching lightly before pushing back out with all his strength. Slowly the bar went up, up, up… and then paused half way. He tensed up and tried to push again. It rose, but less than an inch. He struggled, pushing, pushing, his face turning red and sweat pooling on his chest but it still wouldn’t rise. Finally he growled.

 

“Help- Sam!”

 

Samuel ran over and helped his dad rerack the weight.

 

“FUCK!” Bruce snarled, “Fuckin’ useless. Fuckin’ weak! Samuel, I’m fine. Go.”

 

Samuel went up the stairs but sat at the top step. He heard his dad struggle some more with the other lifts, cursing every time. This wasn’t what he had imagined. Finally, Bruce came up the stairs, drenched in sweat, he shoulders rising and falling wildly and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

 

Samuel hurried to oblige, and Bruce went to his office and retrieved an unopened cardboard box. Samuel recognized it. The mysterious package had arrived in the mail just the day before. Bruce tore the box open and his eyes greedily scanning the contents. Inside there were rows and rows of vials, carefully packaged so as not to break. He took one out, shivering with longing and anticipation.

 

“Finally. 200 will be in reach. Yes…”

 

He took out a syringe, exposed his thigh and swabbed it with alcohol, drew the steroids from one of the vials, and then with one sharp thrust jabbed it into himself, his eyes wild and racing as if he could feel the surge of testosterone in him. He opened and closed his fist, tensing, and smiled at the feeling. Slowly he put everything away and made his way downstairs. Samuel followed behind, morbidly curious. Bruce limbered up for a bit, waiting for another surge of confidence and strength to well up within him, and then put 210 on the bench one more time. He unracked, and then down and up. Easy. Too easy. He was incredulous. He upped the weight to 225. This was more of a challenge, and he pushed out eight solid reps. He started laughing, laughing, madly, marvelling at how easy all this had become. By the end of the session, he had made a new personal record on every lift. Afterwards, he shook out his limbs restlessly, feeling he had more energy to burn. He had a realization and turned his attention to the dumbbells. Bruce then performed set after set of bicep curls. After each set, he’d throw the previous set down and pick up a heavier one. Finally, at eighty pounds, he stalled. Dropping the dumbbells, he punched a hole in the wall, roaring with untamed aggression. Samuel made a mental note to record everything in his notebook:

 

Bench press: 225 lbs

Rows: 205 lbs

Overhead press: 145 lbs

Squat: 315 lbs

Deadlift: 365 lbs

Pull-ups: 15 (weighted with 20 lbs between his knees)

 

Bruce didn’t even bothering showering after his workout. He went straight for an enormous meal whereupon several pounds of steak were consumed, and spent the next hour shirtless in the mirror, weighing and measuring himself.

 

Two hundred pounds, seventeen inch arms.

 

The next day, Samuel went to the meat shop after school. He looked in the window. There was his father, unshaven even on an off day, his hair just casually tousled, his sleeves rolled up, with no tie. He was laughing, confident and assured. Beside him on the counter was Vena. Bruce flexed his bicep and she squealed, feeling it with both of her long pale hands and then using them to probe his broadening shoulders, developing traps and deepening chest. She lifted the bottom of his shirt and ran the back of her hand down the abs that were forming. She reached down his pants and rubbed his groin, running her fingers along his growing penis as she unbuttoned his pants and pulled it out. Then, she pushed him back roughly. Startled, he fell, but she grabbed his apron, pulling it off. As Bruce rose again she stopped him by kissing him squarely in the lips, trying to unbutton his shirt. Bruce stopped her hand, and in one swift motion he ripped his shirt off, casually tearing it in two and throwing it away like a rag. He then grabbed her head and guided it purposefully towards his member, his face brimming with lust and aggression. Samuel put his ear to the window.

 

“Suck it bitch. You want this? Yeah. Suck my fuckin’ cock and don’t you dare spit out.”

 

Vena passionately obliged and Bruce closed his eyes, revelling in the pleasure. He kissed his bicep, then made Vena kiss it too.

 

“Power. Fuckin’ feel this. This is power. And I’m not going to stop. I’m gonna keep growin’. I’m gonna get bigger and stronger and you will love it. You keep comin’ to the butcher and I’ll keep givin’ you my meat.”

 

Samuel dropped to the ground, conflicted. What about principles? What about the code every man should have? What about Superman? He rode home, trying to fit this new version of his father with the father of his daydreams but with every passing minute his dream grew dimmer, the new dark side Bruce growing sharper and clearer in his mind at its expense. By the time he arrived home, the mild-mannered man in his head was replaced by a scowling figure, and he realized he was afraid. He was afraid of his father. He opened the door, and sure enough there was rattling in the ceiling.

[debate1]

Keep this up, great story, I'm wondering if the son will get to growing? 

[ploder4]

I wonder if it ends up being Mr Gordon, Mr Peters, and Bruce ending up buddy buddy after a while.  I can see Bruce having growing disdain for his son as his son reminds him of how he used to be.  Will Bruce include his son in his muscle journey or will he dismiss him?  

[brahms97]

Wow, Mom's a real Freak!  She's pregnant with Mr. Connor's child but still having three-ways with both coaches, then she masturbates with a giant dildo in front of her teenage son.  Makes you wonder why Mr. Connor needed to buy her the gifts that are mentioned in Parts 1-3 (other than to qualify her as a "whore").

[convolution]

Poor kid,

Both parents are asses:)