growth-with-effort Father's Descent Parts 7-9

[TannerBradley]

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6 Parts 10-11

 

On gear, Bruce’s growth was explosive. A month had passed, and he had put on forty-five pounds on the scale and another four inches on his arms. His face was broader, aptly supported by a thick corded neck and traps that wrapped around like a yoke. His shoulders were globes, leading both to the sinewy ridges of his back and to powerfully separated biceps and triceps. His crushing forearms were covered in veins leading down to his meaty hands, in which he handled the large slabs of meat that were not unlike his pecs. The ridges of his back were mirrored by the ridges of his obliques leading to cobblestone abs that were now fully developed. All of this lay on the solid trunk of his quads and butt, propelled by powerful bulging calves. None of his old clothes fit and so he had torn each and every one apart with his hands and had burned them in a huge pile. He worked out now in a wife beater and shorts, and that was all he wore around the house. Even when he went out all he would add would be a flannel button-up and jeans that could barely contain his new mass. He buzzed his hair and gave up shaving altogether, choosing instead to keep a minimally kempt short beard. The meat shop, no, butcher shop as he now insisted it be called, was doing better than ever. Women and some men from all over town flocked over to chat and with a little flex here and a pec bounce there and they could be persuaded to buy almost anything. Samuel was pretty sure his father hadn’t slept with any of them but it was hard to tell, it certainly seemed like he was tempted. Ever since he realized that on steroids he no longer needed rest days, every day was workout day. Bruce pretty much just ate, fucked Vena and worked out all day. That suited Lisa just fine, who had started to show some signs of pregnancy. Her bouts with Mr. Connors were becoming less frequent as a result, but they still happened several times a week and miraculously Mr. Connors and Bruce had still never had a confrontation. Bruce was easily bigger than Gordon now. He was 245 pounds to Gordon’s 215, and Samuel had taken the chance and spied on one of Gordon’s training sessions once more. It turns out he skipped leg day every so often and his lower body wasn’t as developed. Still, Gordon was damn strong:

 

Bench press: 320 lbs

Rows: 275 lbs

Overhead press: 155 lbs

Squat: 315 lbs

Deadlift: 375 lbs

Pull-ups: 15 (1 plate added)

 

Even Bruce couldn’t match that bench press number, but otherwise he was stronger:

 

Bench press: 295 lbs

Rows: 285 lbs

Overhead press: 175 lbs

Squat: 405 lbs

Deadlift: 455 lbs

Pull-ups: 17 (1 plate added)

 

Any notion Samuel had that his father would solve his bullying problems had been long since shattered however. He tried to bring it up but Bruce had just snarled with contempt.

 

“You’re your own man, aren’t you? Solve your own fuckin’ problems.”

 

In fact, Bruce barely took any notice of Samuel at all. The bigger, stronger, and better he grew, the more he saw his son for the weak pathetic brat he was. Samuel had been to the basement many times, but the idea of him taking up weights was so incongruent to his sense of self that he couldn’t even bear to pick anything up. The one thing he could look forward to was that the school year was coming to an end. In just three weeks he wouldn’t be forced to go to the den of the bullies and he could spend time alone, away from everyone.

 

That night, he heard the first altercation from his parents for the first time since everything began. He couldn’t hear much more than the low rumble of his father’s voice and a growingly insistent vocalization from his mother, so he snuck closer, staying behind the wall next to the door.

 

“Mmm, Bruce, you know I want to, so fucking bad, but no.”

 

A growl from his father, “Fuck it, cunt. What’s it to him?”

 

He slid his large hands over to cup her breasts, then ran them down her midsection. With two thick fingers he began to rub her clit rhythmically. There was a moan of pleasure from Lisa, but then the sound of her rolling away.

 

“You’re so damn sexy now,” she admitted, breathing heavily, “but he’s still bigger than you, Bruce, way bigger. I serve him now, not you.”

 

Bruce gave a murmur of displeasure, “Rolf and I are gonna have a little talkin’ to.”

 

The following afternoon, Bruce came home to find himself face to face with Mr. Connors. The man was, as always, in his coach’s suit, tightly fitted, every line of the suit stretched along the ridges of his awesome muscles, broadening their lines even further. Bruce stepped right up to his face, using his inch of height to look down on him, but Samuel could see the difference, a sixty pound difference. His father was strong now but Rolf Connors, that man was a brick shithouse. Bruce unbuttoned his flannel, throwing it down to the side. In acknowledgement, Mr. Connors shrugged off his suit jacket. Bruce removed his wife beater, exposing his bare chest and the ripples of muscle underneath. Mr. Connors smiled and obliged. He flexed into a most muscular, popping the buttons of his Oxford shirt and shredding it to tatters. Samuel was transfixed. The football coach’s shoulders were absolute boulders, their size matched only by his powerful pecs, which twitched explosively every time he moved his enormous python arms. His abs weren’t developed in the same way as Bruce’s, instead faintly outlining a muscle gut on a waist solid enough to be worthy of his nickname “Immovable.”

 

Bruce swung first, with a right hook to the face. It hit Mr. Connors square on the cheekbone. He recoiled a bit, surprised at the force behind the swing, before taking a swing of his own. Bruce was faster though, and managed to dodge underneath. He spun around, landing a fist right into Mr. Connors’ midsection, but his fist hit a rock hard wall. He shook out his throbbing hand, and then deftly stepped back, but this time Mr. Connors was ready for him. The mustachioed man grabbed Bruce from under his arms, hoisting him up and lifting him above his head, and then threw him hard to the ground. Bruce rolled as he hit the floor, then leaped from the floor with a resounding uppercut to the jaw. Mr. Connors gave a grunt of pain, but was otherwise unmoved. Bruce, seeing how little damage he had done, stopped, and was quiet for a moment. Then, he began laughing heartily. Surprisingly, Mr. Connors joined in, and the rumble of both their voices shook the house, harder and harder.

 

“Fuck man, Immovable, huh?”

 

“Your throw a solid punch, Davidson.”

 

Mr. Connors slapped Bruce on the back, and then both men shook hands in mutual respect. Bruce opened the front door and gestured outwards, and they waltzed out together like old friends.

 

“Who’s yer dealer? Mine does most of the football team but had never heard of you. I’d been wonderin’.”

 

“Fuck, just some dealer on the internet. Just did a little research is all.”

 

“You gotta try this guy man. He deals some quality shit. Quality shit I tell you.”

 

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With Mr. Connor’s steroids coursing through his body, Bruce’s progress renewed with vigour. By the end of the school year, he had put on another forty pounds, putting him at 285. He had put another three inches on his arms, up to a total of twenty-three inches, but the biggest difference of all lay in his strength. Samuel’s notebook read:

 

Bench press: 385 lbs

Rows: 355 lbs

Overhead press: 225 lbs

Squat: 515 lbs

Deadlift: 565 lbs

Pull-ups: 12 (3 plates added)

 

The numbers boggled Samuel’s mind. He was sure his father could take Mr. Connors in a fight now, and he just dwarfed Gordon. Not that this would ever happen now. To his horror, Mr. Connors and his father had become fast friends, buddies even. They often worked out together and played football with Gordon in their free time. Bruce had ditched a layer of clothing altogether with the warming weather. Any time he spent with a shirt at all was in one of his wife beaters, now stretched to extremes accommodating his ever expanding muscles. The rest of the time, while at home or walking about or on sprints, Bruce remained shirtless. He’d also been experimenting with other body modifications. He got a tattoo on his bicep and another on the opposite deltoid. The first was barbed wire for flexing at the butcher shop, the second was a skull and two barbells with the words “Power is Everything” inked indelibly underneath. He had bleached his chestnut hair and beard blonde, looking now like a bearded twin of Mr. Connors. The two shared Lisa, taking turns with her or even fucking her together in orgies with other hot ladies from the shop. Lisa, having now not one but two massive muscle masters to serve, was catatonic with pleasure. Mr. Connors, being a physical education teacher at the end of the year with little to do, often came to the shop, now called “The Naked Butcher,” and the two of them would shoot the shit. They would take turns bringing clients to the office out back and fucking the lights out of them.

 

Samuel couldn’t imagine his life more ruined than this. He headed out past both of them in the living room desperate to get out alone and find some peace, but Mr. Connors called out:

 

“Samuel.”

 

Samuel froze like a deer in headlights. This was practically the first time they had noticed him altogether. He was like an ant to them. Even his father was now more than twice his size.

 

“Samuel. Why the fuck do ye call him that? Samuel sounds weak. Dan sounds strong. If we want to change him we oughta stop referring to him with a pussy name.”

 

“Dan it is then. Fuck me. What’re we gonna do with him?”

 

“Bruce, I respect ye, but yer son is the puniest sorry sack of shit I’ve ever laid my fuckin’ eyes on. Lay down the law. That’s what I did with Gordon and look at him now. He’s a taker. He takes what he wants and gives no fucks. Once the new baby is born, do ye want him to outgrow Dan? Cut his hair. He looks like that Bieber girl. Can’t have yer son lookin’ like a fuckin’ pussy like that.”

 

“You’re fuckin’ right, mate. Dan.”

 

“Yes dad?”

 

“No more dad this, father that shit. Either ye man up enough to call me by my name proper or it’s sir to you, boy!”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Now, while you’re in my house, there are no fuckin’ shirts. If I see ye in one, I’ll fuckin’ rip it to shreds, get me?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Mr. Connors went off and the first thing Bruce did was grab a razor and buzz Dan’s hair real short. Dan sat, dazed, as he saw chestnut pile up all around him. He felt lightheaded, but all the same Bruce pushed him down dazed and confused into the basement. He was going to start straight away with the strength training.

 

“Now, I’m going to watch you with just the bar. We don’t leave here until ye’ve performed everythin’ with the right form, perfect and to my fuckin’ standard. Bench first.”

 

He lay on the bench, and Bruce placed his hands into the right grip. He unracked the bar and lowered it shakily to his chest and back.

 

“Again.”

 

He tried again.

 

“Again.”

 

This continued until Bruce was somewhat satisfied, and he continued in that fashion all the way to pull-ups. When he saw Dan couldn’t perform a single one, he spat in disgust.

 

“Fuck, fine. Negatives for now then. Don’t know why I didn’t start ye earlier.”

 

After the session, made a meal for them, one bigger than Dan had ever seen. Bruce wolfed down a metric ton as usual, but this time, he forced Dan to eat too. Plate after plate Dan would obediently finish, but after only four plates he started to feel sick. Bruce commanded him to keep eating but he couldn’t swallow one more bite. He tried to put the food but his gag reflex triggered and he threatened to vomit out everything he just put in. Annoyance flashed across his father’s face but he laid off for now. He ordered Dan to stay put while he went to the kitchen sink and pulled out an enormous vat of chocolate protein powder from underneath. He took some bananas and peanut butter and water and blended it all up, and then gave it to Dan.

 

“Ye’ll be drinkin’ this the rest of the day. Three a day, until you can start eatin’ like a real man.”

 

Far from being the relief he had desperately desired, the holidays now filled Dan with misery. He followed the four day schedule his father had started with, but far from progressing at the rapid rate Bruce had quickly maintained, his father made him drill with the bar over and over again, calling him pathetic when his shaky arms collapsed and he couldn’t continue on for the day. He felt sick from gorging himself with food all the time and shivered every time a breeze blew past his bare, thin chest. He tried several times in secret to put one on, to even just hold a shirt close to himself to cover up for warmth, when he knew Bruce was out for work. Every time, though, he was caught, and Bruce would menacingly tear his shirt to shreds with barely any effort. He was quickly running out of spares. Every morning he woke up with aching sores across his entire body. Every night, shivering and wrapped up in his sheets, he sobbed quietly. But the only response he got was,

 

“Shit son, man the fuck up. I guarantee ye’ll look back one day and hate what a fuckin’ pussy you are now.”

 

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A week passed and finally the shaking stopped. Dan found that during the workouts the exertion gave him a sort of warmth that provided some relief, and on off days he had started doing push-ups and bodyweight squats to try to warm up whenever he could. He could now complete several reps with the bar with form that earned him a nod of approval from his father, who had decreed that he would start adding weight to his lifts. Dan had nearly passed out in fear.

 

The next workout day Bruce called out to Dan,

 

“Dan, time to workout. Addin’ weight today.”

 

Dan gathered all his courage, and spoke one word.

 

“No.”

 

“What did ye say to me, little fucker?” Bruce brought his whole might to bear in front of Dan, his face narrowed with rage, his muscles tensing in anticipation of swift, decisive action. Dan watched his father’s chest contract, the cleavage of his pecs popping out, able to crush Dan’s wrist on their own. His padded shoulders dropped aggressively, rising and falling with his angry breaths. He slightly bent his knees, flexing the powerful pistons of his quads and calves. If Dan attempted to escape, he’d be flattened before he could take a step,

 

“No… sir,” Dan squeaked, much more weakly this time, his courage ebbing away.

 

Bruce growled and started for Dan, but he stopped and considered a moment.

 

“Why?”

 

“I-I’m… I’m scared,” Dan managed to sputter out.

 

“Ha!” Bruce bellowed with satisfaction. “I know what’ll fix ye up.”

 

He slung Dan roughly over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of him and went into the office. He retrieved a cardboard box from under the table, and Dan realized what was happening. He started to kick, to struggle, but he was smothered between engorged deltoid and forearm and was unable to escape. Bruce laughed in contempt as Dan’s feet pattered harmlessly on his well-padded back. He hoisted Dan over his head to switch him over to his left side, and then with his other hand prepared the syringe.

 

“No,” Dan protested weakly.

 

Bruce shifted his grip, pinning Dan’s upper arm into motionlessness.

 

“No!” Dan cried.

 

Bruce jabbed the syringe into Dan’s upper arm, releasing the contents into the flesh.

 

“NOOOO!!!”

 

At first Dan felt only soreness, a pulsing burning sensation localized in his shoulder, then, quickly, a surge of heat radiated down his arms and body. Emotions started to well up in him, jumbled and confused. Anger at his lot in life. An inexplicable, powerful, erotic horniness, a lust for strength and power. Confidence, as if he could do anything. He was Superman, he could walk through walls and sweep anyone out of his path. But the most overwhelming feeling of all was of aggression. He felt an overpowering need to channel force, to assert himself, to take action. He opened his eyes, finding himself with his back on the bench, and then he felt a very heavy weight dropping on him, pushing down on his chest and threatening to crush him. He could feel the roughness of the middle grip of the steel bar scraping on his bare chest. He exhaled forcefully and pushed upward. This was far more weight than he had ever handled in his life, and he could feel the resistance of gravity as he struggled upward, but he locked out fearlessly. There was not an ounce of fear left in his body.

 

“One. Again.”

 

An automatic reaction had been drilled into him over the past week. Without hesitation he lowered the bar, and pushed it up again.

 

“Two.”

 

Feeling the need to exert more effort, he grunted in that guttural almost-roar he remembered so vividly he dreamed about it at night. Yes, it felt easier.

 

“Three.”

 

And so he continued, struggling with each rep but locking out each time with a loud grunt of effort. For the last one he groaned long and hard as he slowly pushed upwards, exerting more force than he ever had before. Lock out.

 

“Eight. Enough.”

 

Dan racked the bar and jumped up, yelling in triumph and pumping his fists. It felt like an eternity before the next set. He couldn’t wait to do it again. It would be easier this time, he was sure of it. And so it was. Every time he completed a set, Bruce nodded in approval and Dan was filled with exultation. When all was done Dan was able to complete the whole routine:

 

Bench press: 85 lbs

Rows: 85 lbs

Overhead press: 65 lbs

Squat: 135 lbs

Deadlift: 155 lbs

Pull-ups: 5

 

He knew those were shameful numbers, but he had seen enough now that the anticipation of his rapid strength gains was enough to give him shivers. Bruce slapped him on the back.

 

“Only one way to finish a workout like that, son. FUCK YEAH!” He bellowed.

 

“Fuck yeah!” Dan bellowed back.

 

“Louder! FUCK YEAH!”

 

“FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAAHHHHH!”

[debate1]

Yeah! Out grow his dad!

[xboy]

the 2 alpha must dominate the kid, and the the new muscuar familt, the city!

[ploder4]

sounds like someone may get their ass kicked soon.   

 

great story

[mario2007]

I fuckin LOVE this story!  TannerBradley, thanks for that!

[vga518]

Nothing against the author. Your writing is great but I'm sadly done with this series. I bearly got passed part 8 before saying done. I grew up being bullied and with an alcoholic father so I hate jerk characters and the like. At first I didn't know where this was going, then I started to see where it was going and wasn't fond of it.

Everyone has likes and dislikes and sadly I'm not a fond fan of the development that happened to Samuel's dad and how he's become the punching bag of now THREE men. Anyway to the author I give you nothing but good luck on the rest of this series and to the fans of it enjoy it.

[MrAlice]

Nothing against the author. Your writing is great but I'm sadly done with this series. I bearly got passed part 8 before saying done. I grew up being bullied and with an alcoholic father so I hate jerk characters and the like. At first I didn't know where this was going, then I started to see where it was going and wasn't fond of it.

Everyone has likes and dislikes and sadly I'm not a fond fan of the development that happened to Samuel's dad and how he's become the punching bag of now THREE men. Anyway to the author I give you nothing but good luck on the rest of this series and to the fans of it enjoy it.

Dude, you have every right to your feelings, and they're entirely valid, but part of the appeal for a lot of us is how absolutely awful Bruce is. If it's not you fetish, just politely ignore it. It's really not your place to tacitly imply that the fetish is wrong, regardless of whether or not you wish us well afterwards.

I recognize that it hits pretty close to home for you, and it's wrong that you had to have that experience growing up, but a fetish forum really isn't the place to discuss that. Please respect us enough to know that we recognize that bullying is awful, but that by fetishizing and embracing it conceptually in a controlled environment that we gain a certain amount of control over it in our own heads.

[mario2007]

Nothing against the author. Your writing is great but I'm sadly done with this series. I bearly got passed part 8 before saying done. I grew up being bullied and with an alcoholic father so I hate jerk characters and the like. At first I didn't know where this was going, then I started to see where it was going and wasn't fond of it.

Everyone has likes and dislikes and sadly I'm not a fond fan of the development that happened to Samuel's dad and how he's become the punching bag of now THREE men. Anyway to the author I give you nothing but good luck on the rest of this series and to the fans of it enjoy it.

I just like the fact that Bruce was to make his son strong & tough.  Really the worst part of the whole thing is that Bruce's tolerance of his wife whoring around in front of their son and then him joining in on a three way well knowing their son is fully aware of what's going on.  That's messed up!  Other than that, the best thing that can happen to Samuel is that he's being built up to become a tough, strong man and his father's the one helping making that happen.  Would you rather see Samuel continue to be a weak doormat to all the assholes in his life?

[convolution]

I would abhor these character's behavior in the real world, but in a story like this they are over aggsaturated characatures....

Horrible but wonderful