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There's been a big slowdown in new content so I thought I'd try to inject some activity. This story will contain similar themes from my other stories, but it will be a lot more lighthearted, I believe. Hopefully you'll find some enjoyment out of it as well. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ My Roommate Rivals CHAPTER ONE: “So, Rory, are you gonna live on your own now? Enjoy the bachelor life a little?” Amy questions me as I help her box up her things. Amy is my roommate, my soon to be former roommate to be exact, and also great friend from college. “I don’t think so, I’ll probably get another roommate. Maybe even two. I’m only 24 so that extra income really helps with the mortgage.” “I would guess, I still can’t believe you were able to get a house like this.” “Yeah, perk of living in the Midwest and buying in a down market. Big houses that are cheap. You’re not going to get that out in Denver.” “Oh trust me, I know,” Amy rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I’ll have to get used to a 400 sq ft apartment. You got it lucky here.” I purchased my home a little under three years ago when I was just out of college. I like my city and knew I had a very safe position in my job even back then, so I bit the bullet and bought my first home. Certainly no mansion, but as Amy mentioned it had a lot of space for a starter home. Two bedrooms and 1-1/2 baths upstairs with a fully finished walkout basement with two more bedrooms and another full bath downstairs. A little of 2500 square feet, no too shabby, even though half of that is a basement. That being said, purchasing a house so young I knew I some assistance with the mortgage would be needed. So since I bought my house I’ve had a handful of roommates over the years and it had worked out great. The house was perfect to rent rooms out with the walkout. It gave me my privacy upstairs when I wanted it and it’s hard to argue with the extra income. Plus, I was still young and more than happy to stay connected as much as I could to my college friends, many of whom were still undergrads. With a big open backyard as well, my home made for a good place to have the occasional shindig as well. Amy offers a lead as I carry some boxes upstairs, “Well if you don’t have anyone lined up yet, my cousin just graduated and is looking for a place. He’s a business major, works for the air conditioner manufacturing plant across town.” “Oh yeah? That’s cool. I already put out a feeler among my buddies on Facebook. I’d much prefer to find roommates from friends like you rather than sift through the weirdos on Craigslist and such. Then if he sucks I can blame you." Amy giggles as we load the boxes into her car. “He’s cool. He’s a frat boy, Theta Chi.” I give her skeptical look. “I know, I know! But he’s alright. Yeah, a little bit of a tool but all fratties are. If he gives you shit let me know and I’ll kick his ass.” We share a laugh and Amy tells me she’ll get me in touch with him. “Sweet, I’ll let Grif know.” “Grif? Really?” “Shut up!” Amy then gives me a devious look, “Plus Rory, regardless of their personalities, don’t act like you haven’t told me that you think frat guys are hot.” I smirk back at her, “Ok, you sold me. As long as he wears a polo. If he’s ok living with a gay dude then I could give it a try." - Seven days later I’m sitting at a BWW’s reading a menu when I see a hand reach out to me in my peripheral vision. I look up and see a stunning young man smiling down to me. “Are you Rory?” I nod. “Hey bro, I’m Griffin, nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and my eyes trace up the defined forearm, past his elbow to nicely pumped biceps which are encased in snug sleeves. I take in his torso…oh yeah, he’s even rocking a polo. I laugh inwardly wondering if Amy told him to do so to make a good impression on me. Either way it’s working. I can make just out his pecs through the polo and note how his waist is still hiding in the loose fabric, indicating its tightness. He has very broad and round shoulders, perhaps he was a swimmer back in high school. Standing there I judge him to be about 5’10 with a nicely gym built body. Far from huge, but he definitely uses the weight room on a regular basis. I look up to his face. Oh yeah, typical frat boy, but I can’t deny I’m temporarily smitten. Strong jaw, full lips, Roman nose. His face is a perfect combination of masculinity mixed with a still maturing, yet boyish face. On top of his head is neatly styled dirty blond hair contrasting his bright blue eyes. My stomach flutters as I attempt to regain my voice. “Hi Griffin. Have a seat, I already ordered a beer, the waitress should be back soon. You like wings?” “Hell yeah man, who doesn’t! The hotter the better.” We chat and I do my best to get a feel for the guy. The waitress comes by and takes our order and Griffin orders himself a beer as well. “So I guess that means you’re 21?” I ask. “Yep, just turned two months ago.” “Are you a big drinker, Griffin?” “Call me Grif, bro. I’m not a huge drinker, but I like to party, yeah.” Grif chuckles, sensing my apprehension. “But I promise I’m not one of those alcoholic frat boys. I like to party, but I keep it reasonable. Only the weekends. Plus, too much booze is bad for the abs.” Griffin smiles, leans back and pats his stomach. The fibers of his tanned forearms undulate as he does. Inside I’m wishing he would pull up the shirt and give me a glimpse. As we chat more I quickly catch on that he has the frat boy charm. He’s a guy who is used to getting what he wants, but it also becomes clear he’s worked for what he has too. He came to college with minimal scholarships and worked part time for most his undergrad. I can respect that. He lets me know he’s got a typical 8-5 job so our work schedules would be the same. We are both into watching sports even though I’m not nearly as athletic as him. It seems like a good fit, and I trust Amy’s judgement. “Well, Grif, I think this could work out if you still want to rent out my room?” “Sweet, dude! Yeah man, if those rates you told Amy are still good then I’m in for sure. Amy told me about the basement and I trust her. Sounds like you got a great setup.” “Great! Oh…um…I don’t know if Amy mentioned this, but-” Grif cuts me off “You’re gay right, bro? Amy already told me.” “Um…yeah. Is that a problem?” Grif smiles and takes a drink of his beer. “Fuck no, dude. Some of my favorite guys from Theta Chi were gay. Is it gonna be a problem that I’m a breeder?” I laugh out loud and Grif raises his glass to mine and we cheers. - It’s just three days later when Grif starts moving in. He has a couple of his frat bros helping him and I’m swooning at all the hot young men in my home. They are all boisterous and playful but I can tell they are good dudes. And their muscle definitely comes in handy and not just for my eyes and spank-bank. All the bros are wearing cutoff shirts exposing their rock arms and giving me glimpses of pecs. Their strong bodies easily handle the big items. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to help Grif move in his dresser, the thing was massive. Luckily I got to stand by and hold the door open as these jacked frat boys move Grif’s stuff in. Grif and his bros are impressed with my house as well, which I take pride in. I can tell Grif is excited, “Damn dude, Amy didn’t do this basement justice. This living room down here is HUGE! And you even got a bar down here? With fridge and microwave? This is awesome!” Grif throws his meaty arm around my shoulder, “Whenever you bring over a hot stud I got all I need to stay down here and let you have at him!” I laugh and reciprocate, “Yeah Grif. And if you have a chick down here you got all you need.” “Not ‘IF’, Rory-boy. WHEN!” Grif squeezes my shoulder and pats me on the back. I reward the guys with pizza and beer which only cements my endearment to Grif’s buddies. They ask if I ever host parties and I tell them occasionally. “But you guys can certainly come over anytime you want to hang with Grif.” Grif smiles and adds, “And to hang with you too, buddy!” Late that night after Griffin’s friends have left I leave him alone to get settled in. As he does I notice a new message on my phone from my mother. [Hi Rory. My coworker Wendy has a son who is looking for a room. He’s in his last year at the University. He was always a good kid in high school. Here is his Facebook page if you’re interested. Love you!] [Thanks mom. Give me a few days to think about it. New guy seems cool. I prefer one roommate but let me think it over. Love ya too.] The next day the decision becomes easier. I find out that all annual merit raises as work have been frozen since business is down. I grumble but I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn’t one of the 15% who were laid off last month. All of sudden the income of another roommate is very enticing so I let my mother know I’ll set something up. I bring it up with Grif too. “That’s up to you, Rory-boy. I’m good with another roommate if you are. I lived in a frat house with 40 other guys, just 2 other roommates is a huge improvement. Just please don’t bring in a weirdo.” “I won’t Grif. He’s a bartender, I’m meeting up with him tonight.” “A bartender, huh? Well that’s a good sign. Plus if he can get me free or reduced drinks at his bar then I’m in for sure!” I’ve arranged to meet up with the new prospect at his bar. He works most nights so this was the only way I could see him during my normal hours. Being a college town and with it still being summer, the bar shouldn't be too busy so he assures me via text that he’ll be able to talk. I ask the woman behind the counter, “Excuse me, is Osbourne here?” She looks at me before shouting down the bar, “Oz! Someone’s here for you!” A man comes from behind the wall of booze wiping his hands on a towel and approaches me. His is a fine specimen of man I must say. He is long and lean with dark complexion that goes perfectly with his short black hair. He either has some Mediterranean genes or he has spent a considerable amount of time tanning this summer. I take in his dark piercing eyes, he is one of those guys who looks like they are wearing eyeliner. He’s a got a couple small tattoos on his forearms which look like black flames but I don’t look too closely. His has a very tight and lithe body, sort of like a male runway model. I can tell he has some power in his taut muscles, he gives me the impression of a compressed spring. A man with a lot more power than he looks. I peg him at about 5’11, maybe 170 lbs. He’s wearing a snug black shirt which gives an impression of the firm muscles underneath. The dark jeans he’s wearing show off a surprising ample ass, which no doubt gets worked a lot, either in the gym or with the women he picks up. All in all, the guy is smoldering. The type of guys that gives ‘dark and mysterious’ its appeal. He smiles at me, “Hey man, are you Rory? I’m Oz. What can I get you, it’s on the house.” “Top shelf it is!” I joke and he grins. “Kidding, any hefeweizen will do.” “Got just the thing for ya, man.” Like any good bartender he is charming and engaging. He makes me feel like he genuinely interesting getting to know me, even if he isn’t. I certainly want to get to know him better, especially sans clothes, but I keep this to myself. “Just got a few classes left before I can graduate with my business degree,” he lets me know. “This bartending job pays pretty well so I’m not in a huge hurry to get my degree, honestly. So instead of one tough final semester I’m going to stretch what I have left over two semesters and graduate next Spring.” “Smart man. So I already have one roommate, is that cool?” “If it’s not a problem with him its not a problem with me. I just gotta get out of my current place. I currently live with four other dudes. Five guys in one big house is way too many. The place is a pigsty and I’m a very clean person.” “I like hearing that, Oz. So you’ll still be bartending for the next year then?” “At least. I’d be a great roommate. We wouldn’t even really cross paths too often. I work afternoons and nights until closing and my normal days off are Sunday and Monday. So most of the time I won’t see you. We wouldn’t be in each others way too much.” This revelation gives me conflicting feelings, I love the idea that the second roommate will almost be invisible…yet at the same time I WANT to see as much of this gorgeous man as I could. “One last thing, Oz. I don’t know if your mom told you, but I’m gay, I hope that’s alright.” Oz chuckles as he smiles at me. “She didn’t tell me but honestly I pegged you as gay right away.” “You did? How!?” Oz smirks at me, “Because I’m hot, dude. And Erica, the girl who called me over. She’s smokin’ hot too, but you were only looking at me.” I hide my face, embarrassed and Oz laughs. “No worries man. It wasn’t obvious. It’s a skill I’ve picked up being a bartender. And to answer your question, I don’t care at all that you’re gay. Love is love, man. Here, have another free beer since I embarrassed ya.” He sets a new bottle down on the bar in front of me and gives me a smoldering wink. - The following weekend Oz pulls into my driveway on Saturday morning with the back of his pickup full of of his belongings. I welcome him inside where Grif and I have been eating breakfast. Grif and Oz lock eyes for the first time in my home. Grif drops his cereal spoon, rolls his eyes and moans dramatically. “Awww man, Rory? You’re letting this loser live here?” I’m taken aback by Grif’s rudeness but turn to see Osbourne smirking at Grif. “I take it you two know each other?” Oz approaches Grif and slaps him on the shoulder with a grin. “Griffin of Theta Chi! How’s it going man? Still salty about how we beat you guys for the flag football crown?” Grif huffs, “That was a lucky fuckin’ fluke play and you know it!” “We still won!” Oz grins brightly. “So you two do know each other.” “Yeah, Grif and I here were in the top two frats at the university. Our frats were big rivals. My frat, Phi Delta Theta has won the most intramural Greek trophies in the last few years. We usually beat the little Theta Chi boys here like Grif. But hey man, 2nd place is still pretty good,” Oz says patronizingly. “The Phi Delts always got the calls by the refs, some shady shit if you ask me,” Grif grumbles. “But my frat was known for having WAY better parties with MUCH hotter girls. Can’t deny that, Oz! Sorry you guys were never invited.” The two continue to banter and I watch them close. While it’s clear they are both proud members of their frats and both extremely competitive, I don’t get the sense that they hate each other. They seem to have a frenemies relationship. Regardless I decide I better make sure this is the case. “So boys, is this gonna be a problem? You two are going to start coming to blows are you? Because you guys are both a lot bigger than me, I can’t stop you.” The two laugh and Grif answers, “Naw boss, we’ll be fine. Plus, if we fought, Oz here would be in trouble since I’m clearly bigger and stronger.” Grif smirks and quickly throws up a single arm flex. A well developed biceps muscle pops up. Oz grins and turns to Grif. He stands right up to him, “Are you sure your bigger, Grif? I’ve got a couple of inches of height on you, little guy.” “Couple of inches my ass! You are maybe an inch taller, bro. I still weigh more than you, skinny.” “Barely. Well I’m still taller!” “And I’m still bigger!” - Oz takes the day to get settled in. He is wearing a sleeveless shirt as we hauls his stuff in and I enjoy his caramel skin which is stretched tight over his very lean muscles as I suspected. Oz is much more vascular and lean than I previously thought. He’s not as bulky as Grif but has that wiry look, almost like a wrestler. I catch a glimpse of his abs through he side of his very loose cutoff tank…and it’s very nice. By that evening Oz is settled into his room in the basement next to Grif’s. With a big sigh Oz joins us on the couch in the living room. “No plans tonight, Grif?” he asks. “Did you lose all your friends or what?" “No, twat. Just a low key Saturday tonight. I went out last night.” “Got it. No friends.” Oz teases and Grif chucks a pillow at his face. Later that night their intensely competitive streak comes out again as I hear screaming coming from the basement living room. I tromp down the stairs to find the two studs playing Call of Duty. “What the hell are you guys doing down here?” “Well, Oz here is fucking CHEATING, that’s what’s happening.” Oz just laughs, “Sorry, boss. Grif here just can’t handle losing to the better man. You’d think he’d better at coping by now, poor guy.” “Fuck off!” Grif slams his controller down and stomps to his room. I laugh as I watch him sulk off, “It’s not that big of a deal, Grif,” but he just huffs as he walks by. I may have underestimated the intensity of their rivalry.

Don't worry. I haven't abandoned "The Wall," but this idea popped into my head as I was stroking this morning. It's short but should get the job done. More if you like. Let me know TANTRA Sunday Morning. I awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against my window. It had been a deep and restful sleep, and in the luxurious fog of first awakening hung heavy on my mind and body, allowing me to roll onto my back and yawn and stretch and flex without completely casting off the veil of dreamland fantasy. I arched my back, and my left hand found my morning wood. It was warm and hard… and big. It more than filled my hand and helped to somewhat compensate for the shortcomings that I felt about my still-too-average body. But that was changing. I had found the secret, and I was working toward my goal. I worked out daily. I was growing. I fantasized of muscle as I gently stroked my hardon, luxuriating in the intoxicating grip that radiated from my cock and balls, licking at my ass and surging through my body. I felt the need to flex, and I pumped my biceps into a solid ball of muscle, too small in my opinion but big in my imagination… and growing. It was dense and hard and lean and perfect in proportion; in my mind, it was enormous, peaked and hard and craggy as a boulder. I was putting in the work and slowly making progress. Someday I would have the kind of body that I dreamed of. The kind of body that made me hard when gazed upon my own reflection. The kind of body that could command attention and evoke lust and envy even from the most resistant prey. The kind of body that could provoke ejaculation with just a simple flex. Such was my desire. For now, my world of fantasy would have to satisfy me. I continued flexing and re-flexing, pumping up the muscle fuller. In my mind it mounded bigger, higher. Was I growing? Fuck! The thought of growing turned me on. I continued jacking with my left hand and flexing with my right. The palm of my hand felt rough and calloused on my hardon. So I spat into my hand and then returned it to my dick. My saliva mixed with crusted lube that coated my erection from last night’s jack off session, creating a silky, slippery substrate for my auto stimulation. God, it felt so good. My left hand knew just what to do to coax me to the edge and back. Each time I nearly crested, my skin flushed hot, my nipples hardened, and my toes began to curl. I surfed the peak but kept myself from cumming, riding crest after crest of delirious pleasure, suspended at the edge for minutes at a time, tempting the brink of total ruin and certain satisfaction before easing off just in time to delay the final outcome. Fuck! I loved the titillation, but I the final goal was cumming. I was building up a massive load. I could feel it in my balls and dick. I could feel it in my prostate. Anticipation. I wouldn’t last much longer. Soon thick jets of semen would rocket up my shaft and shoot into the air. I stroked again. Oh God! It felt so good. I flexed again. Unnghhh! I felt it coming. I was getting bigger. Flex. Stronger. I was so close. Ummph! I whet my hand with spit again and slid it down my pole. Fuuuuuuck! I felt it – the fated rumble. I couldn’t exhale. I arched my back and squeezed my eyes so tightly shut that I saw stars. I stroked my dick again. Awww fuck! One more time should do it. Ungggh! Fuck yeahhh! Oh God! No turning back this time. I stroked again, and the tantric swell expanded. Every sensation I had ever felt exploded all at once. Every nerve responded. Excruciating pain and pleasure beyond my wildest dreams radiated to my limbs and back and then concentrated in my cock and balls. Then I felt my muscles spasm. It was just as painful as before, but I knew this time that pain meant growth; so I knew the pain was worth the pleasure. In fact, I welcomed it. I had cultivated it with all the edging. Must hold out a little longer. I cramped all over. Arrrrrgh! Every muscle cell and fiber contracted to the most extreme. Hold it. Hold it… My grip tightened but was overcome by the increasing size of the hardon in my hand. My cock expanded. Time stopped as unimaginable pleasure overcame my resolve. The floodgates had opened, and I would forever be changed. My body seized in one last tetanic contraction, and then my cock exploded. A torrent of cum surged up my shaft and shot into the air. The climax lasted for what felt like hours as my cock jerked with astonishing power, ejaculating rope after rope of thick, hot, white semen that shot toward the ceiling and then rained down on my body. The warm splatter splashed hot on my torso, and then sank in through my skin. My muscles relaxed and expanded as a luxuriant warmth bathed me, replacing the pain of searing heat and icy cold I had suffered just a moment before. My weight sank in to the mattress, and the comfort of deep satisfaction cradled me in the bliss of nirvana. I felt heavy, and I relaxed completely. I took a breath, and my chest rose. It was plated with muscle that was more pronounced than before. I flexed my biceps, and a baseball of power appeared. I raised my head from the pillow to survey my own landscape, and a respectable six pack emerged from my taught belly. I wiggled my toes, and cords of muscle contracted down my thighs and my calves. It was working.

QUARY AND THE MUSCLE FAGS OF KURAI by Quote the Raven (c) JANUARY 2021 Of Quarium, all that could be shared I put forward in an ode. Chapter 1 - Desert (Sahra’) In April each year, Kurai temperatures climb to ninety degrees. They stay there and higher for half a year. - The Non-Arabs’ Guide to Kurai. A hollow concrete form in the center of the Narra al Maktoun Solar Farm 43 kilometers south of Kurai City in Kurai fills a structural role — spacing or reinforcement or something similar. The form sits invisibly amongst hundreds of acres of concrete footings and shiny black glass regiments in an otherwise barren landscape. Ejaaz Eud’laat does not know the purpose of the form, only that he has purposefully found it to shelter in its shaded interior. He swelters as he tapes reflective foil sheets to two cement openings at either end, working wall-to-wall, end-to-end, eight layers thick. The sheets block him in making it more suffocating, stifling and hot than this early July day already is. When the changes start though, the layered separation will not increase the heat, but will do the opposite and enable and protect cold. As Ejaaz endeavors at the curtaining, nerves unsteady him. They tremor his hands and intensely roil his gut. But desire pushes coveting in his veins so extreme that the rhythm of his heart pumping almost throbs aloud the needing of his efforts. He talks to himself. “You’ve done this before, Ejaaz. You’ll do this again. You can do it. You will.” When the layers of sheeting hang completed, he thinks, Get out of these clothes. Robes and keffiyeh that served his former obesity swamp off roomily and effortlessly from his coiled composition — a composition that now only strictly-dieted, intense university cricket or endurance athletics or champion swimming would have forged. He’s never done such training, though, has he. He never went for sport, fuck it, some did, but why could he never have taken to it. He does see now and feel now so palpably how worth it it would have been. He’s never put in years of those kinds of workouts — any fucking kind actually — or that disciplined, necessarily regimented, eating — The eating of the cast iron, forged iron will. He’s never cleaved himself to the half decade that would have forged this goddish muscly whippetness. Oh fuck it up, if only he had fucking done exactly that, what a jack he would have been all along, more so month by month, year by year. With the layers of sheeting and the concrete’s one-foot thickness, the space is dark now, it steams with heat. That’s too be expected — he resists the temptation to doubt how it will work. He drips with boiled sheens of fluid. The way he’s prepared the space, the change to the temperature will surely happen — won’t take long. He knows he knows that. Perspiration almost flows from his so recently chiseled jaw and rolls down his so new hard flat brown front. He takes a giant draft of ionized water. It really is the perfect environment now that it’s sealed off — what is to happen in his body will make it work — hard, foot-thick muffling and insulating walls, ultimately remote, and undiscoverable. And just how fucking remote it is, that is the key really — the ultimate reason for choosing here... oh yeah if he could be a betting man why wouldn’t he put money on that. But, fuck, he’s betting much more than money isn’t he anyway. His eyes fall to this body and he is greedy with it. It is indescribably beautiful so shredded and hard and chiseledly trim. Fuck yeah. He knows this is just the start. His eyes go also to his briefs. A snicker disrespects the member there. You’re good, baby, you really are, he thinks, I’ve been ok with you, have made you work, but really, you’re still so nothing. You’ll preen so much more, won’t you baby. Both you and muscle, when you’re both big fuck bold boys, I’ll preen you hard won’t I, fucks, you are both just part of what I’m meant for. Prior use has him to this result — improved from so pitiful, so grossly worse than average, so ignorable or really contemptible — the photo of fucking contemptible — doughy, mr full-on gigantic fat load, obese as a fucking fuck — just twenty-one days ago at 20 years old. Doses have changed him so much already haven’t they though? For sure, but changed him only because of his enduring their evil heinousness, uggghh — abiding the fucking heinous torturing violating heinousness — Allah dammit — oh well, he’s done it now — three times — but he won’t stop now — can only dream now to do it over and over and over and over and over and over again. He mouths, “I. HaVE. to.” He crouches into the wall. Remote, concrete-reduced warmth kisses the hard little sweet curvy sweat ass he has cheated himself to now. He wants it fucked right now, but thinks, Thank you. His ass is so perfectly bubbly, little, rock hard.... round. Ohh. It’s so Hard. Unnh. The location gives desolation — his torture chamber will be effectively and brutally unhearable. This jury-rigged, just-passable buffer will grow to be an ample deep freeze chamber against the outside heat, and will let cold accumulate and oh so drive the compound to work. “Fuck you,” he enunciates, knotted inside.“Fuck the fuck.” Bad language has emerged in him destroying what he was. Self-abuse, even just three doses worth, have rape-assaulted him, roughened him, made it so dirty words vulgarize the changing him — oh how they overthrow his twenty years of prissy, pussy, repressive, Arab-old-lady dictated, fucking mores. Urges ejaculate all over that fucked submissiveness, don’t they? His upper lip curls back from his teeth and his breath makes an exhaling snarl. He reaches out now and eases a vial from a cooler. “Fucker!” he spits. It is this vessel’s transforming compound that births the emerging man’s crudities. Tilting the vial, its liquid shifts between silver, green, gold, and blue. Saliva attempts to gather in his mouth, but his pouty lips crack from heat, and from both the charge and the fears. Opening it, the tube puffs a vapor cloud — a shimmering fog. “Slut,” he seethes, “I hate you,” but also he adds, “I fucking worship you, baby.” He’s so incredibly tempted to snort the Quarium, right then and there, and just have it over, just have it so that he feels...feeeEeeEeels it all here and now — euphoria, greatness, grandeur — everything. But he exerts every last tiny kernel of his too limited willpower — snorting isn’t the way. He needs what’s harder but so much more. So, instead, a syringe draws up the liquid beneath the mist. The liquid is called Quarium. “It’s go time. It is. Now is the time to go. To say go. To do it. Please! Come On. It’s go go go go go fucking go gotime to go.” The dose, Quarium loaded all behind the needle, threatens now and he points the ministration at his so alien taut trim crushingly desirable obliqued side, determined to survive and thrive, but not able to escape feeling totally in danger. He’s engaging in absolute self-deceit when he says, “This is completely safe and easy, Ejj!” What, without exaggeration, would be described as unlimited fear jarringly jitters his hand as he attempts entry and the needle jabs a slashing plunge, nothing that remotely approximates a calm, controlled pin. Nearly no part of Ejaaz’s conscious brain can register anything but anxious terror at this moment. The insertion tolerates the gross inaccuracy of his stab though and offers a still acceptable option for pushing in the dose. Just be fucking brave and do it, dammit, Ejaaz!! a shred of his will finally proffers, penetrating into the haze of his alarm. A workable command, his fingers, almost on auto-pilot, squeeze; rivulets thread continuous cold virulence into his flesh. “Yess,” he hopes to say, but more rawly what comes out is “NOOOoOOOoOoOOO!” — so emotional, so afraid at what he knows in an instant is to be intolerable excruciation. The green-silver squelches in, indifferent to any feeling — particularly the rising pulsing fear. The serum, loosened, oozes. It is irretrievable. The poison takes occupation, assumes its subject territory. Ejaaz clenches.... resistance the definition of fucking futility though. Like his prior uses, it’s possible to feel the liquid chill consuming his veins, spilling everywhere through his flesh, ignoring humanity. The blood’s additive pushes advancements depravedly into his body, pillaging, cold-raping, violating progressive landgrabs as it goes. Panic pushes Ejaaz’s stomach into his throat. Ejaaz prays if it would just spew from his mouth, oh, if only that would possibly carry this bottomless fucking fear and destruction from his body. “Oh AllAH. FUCK the great god Quarium!” he shouts. And then, because his brain is heavy already, he slurs, “You NASTY naStY nassttyt..... fu..fu...fuck-devil...” From the wall, he lists forward and then falls forward. The ripped trim body that is so very very hot — perfect long toned curved legs, cinched ripped waist, jockey shoulders, and rocking swimsuit-model arms, and all still new to him — languors out ravishingly as he smothers into the pillow of the thermic insulating sleeping bag prepared there. A deepening ice age gradually and progressively submerges him, annexing his sylvan flesh, his wiry, whippety torso and limbs, his blood, his bones, his genitals — all that had been obese, fetid, abhorrent just weeks ago. Unconsciousness claims him. **** Twenty hours pass. If unconsciousness cleft the ice shelf of his mind from the main and sank it in North Sea waters, the berg breaching the surface reawakens him. Insulated by foiled layers at the tunnels opening and the sleeping bag, while Ejaaz is gone from this world, his temperature and that in his crafted space dropped to below 0C/32F degrees. In the chamber, rime coats walls and ceiling and everything, even the foiled barrier. It’s a cold dark freezer of isolation — extreme to a degree far eclipsing even any previous shot. Brutally bare except for orange underwear, Ejaaz’s raw skinned body prostrates a heartbreaking, snowstormed, make-model purple corpse — hipbones and ribs and solidified sinews. He’s so abominalized he’s almost beyond aching — but he aches, aches gravitationally. Hoar glazes his skin and the cloth over his tantalizing pubes. Fog streams in and out of his ajar mouth. Invisible Kelvinic blades mutilate his striated flesh in the shoveling thousands. Daggering vectors spear viciously into his drop-dead skull. He can’t move, he’s so ice-tombed. “Noooo,” he whimpers, “enshallah, pleahhe.” Then he gathers his objections and yaps, “No” — A sound agonized and croaky struggles out because his vocal chords both harden in one position and because hour after hour of comatose screaming have sanded them raw. His sublime jaw mainly freezes open in place. Outside, the high unchallenged sun flames. Sand scorches about the foundations of al Maktoum, baked worse than a kiln. Concrete and steel footings sizzle. Four square miles of black glass horde sunlight then dazzle it back into the sky. How can it be so inhospitably hot when the nondescript concrete form hidden in the middle of it all shudders with the nihilation of outer space. In the tunnel, it is Quarium in Ejaaz that generates endothermic extremes, terraforming the concrete to match the exterior of McMurdo Antarctic Scientific Base upon a months-long night. Unabated by searing heat and injected instead of sniffed, Quarium molecules failed to bind to Ejaaz’s cell receptors, instead entering into his cells. Destiny now unfolds. If instead there were heat — i.e., baking direct Arabian sun — and if sniffed, it would be different. In that situation, Ejaaz’s cells’ receptors would have received the Quarium and bonded, then caused a cloning of cells to explode. A warm environment causes Quarium to make fleeting Shadowcells — desirable musculoskeletal replicas. They flourish in ratios of up to two dozen or more for each native cell. With sniffing and heat, before a Quarium user’s eyes, an Arab guy’s sweaty, perspiring body expands in girth and power with growth. Shadowcells in him proliferate as uncontrollably promiscuous as a nation’s worth of bare-assed bubbly-butted submariners occupying every square inch of a sirening 1960s erotic cartoon steamy island poster. The unbridledness of the cells’ replication rams guys’ growth — explodes them into objects of lust — sizeable, full, meaty, snorting, dripping things, like massive studs, like big bull cocks, like brimming djinns — full of libido and power — cut, jacked, huge. It happens in proportion to the Quarium and the thermic source and the guy. With extreme heat and Quarium molecules, any poxy loser becomes gorgeously muscular. Cells mass and magnificate him. They hyper masculinize him — the new found grodiness rages in a metamorphosed rippling gay or bi or even straight fagbeast who has hijacked all the trappings of ultra bodybuilding, porning masculinity while the baking heat persists. But the external heat always abates eventually and the circulatory system’s pace recalibrates, and the shadow cells subside upon loss of energy. So one ought understand: an inhaled administration of Quarium (misted up one’s nose) when done in great heat expands and then subsides. Orgasmic flexing swells into exquisite being, parades conquering raunchy triumphancy, narcisses and exhibits erectionally, ejaculates climaxingly, and then disappears as the dissipation and reabsorption of shadow cells unfold. Contemplate, a wimpy faggot sniffing Quarium with some loser friends in the dazzling Arab summer morning. See their unworked little bodies bulk up and grow fantastic before their lechery eyes. Imagine them narcissistically swept into the lording of the gigantic bodies they receive, ostentatiously wearing bikinis cut so low and so tight that they more than show off what they’ve drugged for themselves, that it reveals every aspect of what they have done on purpose — the hugening of their mountainous chests, bouldering of monumental shoulders, crowding of climbing backs and traps, rising of their incredible biceps, expansion of their enormous curving asses, and the unbelievably thick legs that stage behind awesomely transformed barely-clothed-over himbo dicks and balls. They earthquake their strength and vitality, oozing the enthrallment to feel such vast beef across their bodies, weighting them down, mountaining them up, widening them like the Ranhad T’maad span, arching them toward the sky from the great asses they have, planting them in the ground with their bridge truncheons of legs, expanding torsorally with monolithicality. They feel all these things for every minute of the Sun’s journey across the sky. And then shift to consider the late day sinking disappearance of the sun, the hot blast easing, the moisture-sparse air of an arid land not retaining the heat it has gained. Envision the gentle cooling from that. And, in conjunction, conjure the thought of thumping heart rates that release orgasms the kind of which these fuck-nothings would piss just to realize existed. They would spuge-detonate after eight or thirteen hours of oversized, so-bare-they’re-more-vulgar-than-naked raunchy foreplay. Afterward, their cumming-eased heart-rates back down from porn-horny pace. Understand that a diminished, fever-broken bloodflow brings less energy to cells, tires the hosts of those blood cells, has them doze, and know then that shadow cells in the temporary Mr. Olympians say goodbye. Over hours, the cells aerobate until a quarter day later, neither the Quarium, nor anything the Quarium dingle-servingly wrought in the sniff-poxy-pansies exists any longer. Individuals who for soul-joying hours ass-humped as gluttonous gargantuans, muscling more extremely than Grimes or Kai Greene or baby Forslin or Marcello, revert to exactly the fagstupid putrid nothing fucks they had been. But, that is not Ejaaz here, that is not him now. ———————

How Many Reps Do You Want? Part 1 After finishing another set of countless weighted pull-ups Ronja dismounted a large iron chain with four big round kettle-bells attached to it. Breathing heavily, she walked to one of the cable machines in her massive custom gym on the rooftop of her private villa. Numerous drops of sweat running all over the huge and super shredded physique of the young muscle girl, glistering under the hot southern sun. Incredibly thick veins pulsing across her rippling body with frightening intensity. Each individual muscle group bursting and trembling with lust for more workout madness as she stopped at the cable machine, which was equipped with dozens of stacked iron plates on each side, way bigger than on some usual ones. She smiled, enjoying the aspect that standardized weights were no longer satisfying her training needs, and she had to purchase almost all the equipment to be made specially for her, in order to fulfill her ever-growing desire for bigger and harder muscle mass. At this point Ronja was right in the middle of her every day hours-long workout marathon. Her ripped body has reached such a hardcore condition that all the extremely developed muscle fibers were in a permanent state of pump, constantly screaming to grow bigger even when at rest. Standing there totally relaxed, with her massive muscles beautifully illuminated by hot rays of the sun, Ronja looked like a female Adonis overlooking the hills and the sea, with all the she-beef bursting out of her own skin, showcasing mind-blowing definition and a multitude of pulsing, grotesquely engorged veins. And she was only about to let them burn more, and lift heavier weights during the upcoming excruciating workout series. Her black lycra workout top, already stretch to its limit, screamed in a painful attempt to hold all the insanely ripped muscle mass of Ronja’s man-shaming pectorals as she reached out her massive arm and lowered the pin on each side of the cable machine, placing it right at the mark of 100 kilograms on both massive stack of plates. Apart from the super tight-fitting top she had only a white thong on; their back strip quickly engulfed by her pumpkin-sized glutes. From the front the thin material was stretched tight over the 5th pair of her extremely developed abdominal wall. A wild network of plump, surging veins standing out on her shredded, gawd-knows-how-hard-to-develop 10-pack, feeding all the hardcore muscle blocks with pure female power. I watched Ronja positioning herself amid the two huge stack of weights, getting ready for the cable crossover exercise. The amazing young muscle beast grabbed the handles and looked me right in the eye, asking in voice like silk “How many… reps… do you… want…?” Her huge chest was literally yelling with thick shredded mass, inpatient to get a proper pump. Before answering, I hold a tiny pause, marveling at her two truly impressive pectoral platforms, which were already the size of kitchen toasters. “Thirty repetitions, nice and fast”. I tried to make my voice sound as cool as possible, yet the heat radiating from her impossibly ripped body and the burning mid-summer sun have almost transformed my words into ashes. Ronja licked her upper lip and whispered “Yessss... watch my chest… burn!”. Next moment the weights on both sides of the cable machine began to rise and fall in a perfect rhythm, forced by the colossal pectoral strength. Five… ten… twenty.... Ronja’s big arms pulled on the handles, bringing her arms together and her explosive chest heaved up and down, intact with the iron plates. Yet it was not her constantly flexing chest that mesmerized me the most, but the expression on her beautiful face. A look of determination and lustful fire; Ronja's desire for bigger, freakier, more sickeningly shredded muscle mass, especially in her favorite pec-department was something out of this world. During her cruel workout sessions, I’ve noticed for many times that there was something more than just a physical level that made her lift such insane amounts of weights and flex her muscles to the limit, and then even over it. Ronja's will power was so strong, that it provided her with extra resources to perform unthinkable feats of strength. Twenty-five… “Thirty…”, she exhaled and let go of the handles. Her top seemed to be at its max, losing the battle to the absolutely hardcore female pectorals. Her chest had zero amount of breast tissue, only steel-like she-beef. After she lifted 200 kilograms for 30 times the cleavage deepened to incredible 4 inches, creating a chiseled muscle canyon! Then she turned her head to me. Her angelic face of a stunningly gorgeous, youthful brunette was surrounded by abnormal amount of undiluted female muscle beef that made her look like a living embodiment of girly muscle morph artwork from the internet. Her chest and biceps forcibly smashed together with so much hyper-developed, shredded, vein-choked muscle mass that I couldn’t believe how could she reach such a development being only nineteen! The only answer could be: Ronja managed to build this extremely packed body thanks to her excruciating everyday workout sessions, which usually lasted for more than eight or ten hours, and her cosmic will power. I was lucky to be invited to some of her hardcore workouts, as Ronja once said „I like when you push me harder, it motivates me a lot and I simply love to show you what this hardcore muscles can perform“. Back to her rooftop-gym, her words came as confirmation for this wild muscle lust „Uhh… good… but I need… mmmoooreee…“. With that Ronja moved the pin under both stacks of weights to 150 kg, pulled hard on the cables and lifted the enormous load again, this time stopping at the apex of the first rep with newly increased amount of iron. Her demanding look landed on me again. „Emmm… now forty reps!“, I could only exclaim nervously, failing to hide my growing excitement. The Corners of Ronja’s mouth jumped a bit in a grin of anticipation. „Nhaaa…“, she moaned silently, her eyes rolling back, and I saw her beefy muscles energizing as the stacks began their journey down, only to be lifted again for the next series of painful repetitions. Ronja’s fists were clenched hard on the steel handles, myriads of bulging veins throbbing and squirming under the too-tight skin of her forearms as she continued pumping rep after solid rep with the increased weight. I noticed that the custom-made handles of the cable machine were substantially longer than normal would be, allowing for a much wider grip - this was a necessity due to the abnormal width of Ronja’s young muscle-loaded torso. Pulling on the 150 kilograms on both sides of the machine now, her incredibly dense pecs started to expand forward and up and when Ronja passed the rep number five her tight lycra top could not resist the young muscle goddess’ unstoppable passion for more ripped flesh any more, and exploded audibly. “Ughhh… yesss… more… harderrr… muscles… nghaa…”, she breathed out almost not noticing that. Shreds of black material landed into the puddle of her hot sweat on the floor, yet some tiny pieces got stuck between the two impossibly ripped pectoral pistons, as well as in the deep muscle-craves of her cobra-like back. “Ghaa… uuufff…”, the pace at which she was spreading her huge arms apart and bringing them together hasn’t changed much comparing to the previous set, despite the massively increased amount of metal she was hitting now. Yet her contorted face expression began to tell a story of pain and discomfort. Not to mention the physical strength of her hardcorebuilt body, I admired again at Ronja’s mental will-power, which seemed could not be resisted. Alongside with her chest-flesh, her biceps surged like colossal mountains of muscle, colliding on both sides with layers and layers of first class pec-she-beef. I swear I could hear her paper-thin skin audibly stretching loudly, as more screaming in pain muscle groups smashed against each other, vibrating and trembling with ever-increasing amplitude. Her skin truly struggled to accommodate all the flexing beef, her already mega swollen veins popping even more all over her mid-section. Even the last pair of Ronja’s chiseled 10-pack flexed harder and pushed her tiny thongs outward some more. Ten… twelve… fourteen reps. Rest pieces of the lycra top fell down, pushed by her man-shaming chest. “Aghhh… look at… them...” The groans of hard-working muscle fibers were accompanied by moans from Ronja herself as she lowered her head at the apex of the fifteenth rep in order to look down at her massively pumping chest, and it didn’t take long till her chin came in contact with the upper-side of her mammoth pectorals! “Mmmhaaa... come on, girl... more muscle…”, Ronja pulled harder on the handles and her meaty, bulging pecs smashed into her massive biceps fighting for more space. I watched in awe her pectorals projecting so far outward that when she passed the rep number 20, even her big forearms began to scratch over their sided surface! The etched cavern separating her hulking twin slabs of chest beef made me question the reality as I stared at this super huge young muscle goddess, trembling of terrible effort of this insane cable crossover exercise and at the same time shivering with pleasure in universal muscle desire. It was no secret for me that nothing turned Ronja on more than going through the most cruel workouts, so obsessed was she with her own hyper-muscular body. Especially how far beyond all limits could she had pushed herself. Twenty-five… thirty… thirty-five… Impossibly, she went on pulling the combined weight of 300 kilograms with her radiating with power muscle body. Until now, she hasn’t changed her lifting pace, however I could clearly see Ronja was struggling hard with every second. Asking for forty reps… What was I thinking… Even she has to have limits. The 38’s rep was different, Ronja started to pant really hard and deep. She slowly spread her huge arms, lowering the weights down, keeping the colossal muscles in her arms taut as she supported the weights on their descent. “Ghaaa…! So much… weight… uuuhhh…!”, at the moment I thought she would stop this excruciating set Ronja began another painful lift, chewing her bottom lip sensually as her monstrous pectorals flexed more and more, sending her thick, 2-inch long nipples to point vertically to the floor! All the swollen veins visibly wriggling and squirming under her skin as they carried more blood to her almost cartoonishly huge chest. “That's enough, please stop, you might hurt yourself!”, I exclaimed to her beginning to worry. Ronja only grinned right into her own reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us and started the penultimate rep. Her awesome biceps were already substantially larger than her own head, not willing to lose the battle to her grotesquely-sized pecs. Completing it she immediately started the final, fortieth repetition. Yet it was a special one. I noticed the wetness building between her muscle-stuffed legs as she pulled the colossal weight halfway up and paused, holding them there. Looking down at her screaming chest Ronja whispered „Please… add… more… weight… nghaaa…“. My eyes widened. Gosh, how could she ask for more after all these lifts! However, knowing from my previous experiences with her hardcore sessions, I rushed to the stack of plates, grabbed two 25-kg ones and placed them on top of each side, increasing the weight she was struggling with to 350 kilograms in total! „GRRRHAAA…!“, a wild guttural roar escaped into the clear summer sky. Honestly, I expected the weights to drop down, but somehow, Ronja managed to keep them in that agonizing half-pulled position! Tears began to run down her cheeks, yet she kept holding! After about a minute the beautiful muscle girl lifted her head up a bit, looked at me from the mirror and said „Eeehh… add… more… ghaaa…“. Her painfully trembling chest grew more outward and higher, closer to her angelic face, I saw her nipples got thicker and longer! What left me shocked was a couple of streams of her pussy juices. Mixed with her hot sweat they were constantly running down in the musclecraves of her super-jacked legs! Quickly smashing two more plates I stepped back. This time the walls of iron started to slowly drop down, causing her Adonis arms to painfully spread apart. Ronja’s huge body trembled in agonizing effort and, to my disbelief, she managed to stop the descent of the 200-kg stacks on each side and, with a loud groan Ronja brought her arms back into the impossible half-pulled position! Incredibly, her bulging pectorals grew larger, and larger! In awe, I could see the skin on them tightening with each second as she held the insane amount iron in the air. Striations chiseling deeper, her muscles pumping bigger and fuller all over her physique, erupting with power. The Next moment happened something I would never forget. With all her ripped body shaking wild, Ronja looked me right in the eye and murmured between sobs of pain and pleasure „Uuughh… this… is… for… you…“, her monstrous pecs bulged ever-higher, cradling her cute chin, she stuck then her long tongue out and began to leak their upper surface, reaching extremely far and tracing with it some fat pumping veins on her colossal chest! Then her head rose up and with a deep guttural scream „Mmmmoooorrreeee… Mmmmuuuuscleeee…!!!“ Ronja pulled hard on the handles and brought her arms together, finishing the mind-blowing fortieth rep!!! Right after that she let go of the handles and fell on her hands and knees. The terrible weights crashed down loud, bringing me back to reality with that sound. To my astonishment, Ronja turned to both stacks of weights and moved the pins on each them to the lowest plate, which indicated 250 kg! Her packed with hardcore muscles trembling legs brought her up and, without giving herself even a slightest break, she reinforced her hold on the handles and whispered to me “How many… reps… do you… want…?” To be continued… If you like it check for more stories at my https://www.patreon.com/foker

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this is what happens when you're too damn clever! Twenty-years ago, I wrote the first two chapters of CYCLE ONE -- each imply a malevolent force behind the creation/ distribution of the sports drink, but who was it? I never answered that question within the text of CYCLE ONE, but while I was writing the original KING REX series a few years later, I playfully connected the two universes, revealing that the secret ingredient in Cycle One was the mystical cum of the super-villain, King Rex. (Here I am twenty-years later trying to crawl out of the mess created by that decision! So, as you will see in the coming story, characters from both "franchises" populate these pages. You don't necessarily need to read both of those stories to understand this one, but... it's kind of fun, in a completest kind of way... (Let me know if you think I succeeded or not. Hope you enjoy!) ******************************************************************************************************* CYCLE ONE: FOUR BACKSTORIES ONE: There’s a mom&pop coffee shop in Ellicott City, MD, that the writer favors, not just for the view and the free wi-fi, but because it’s intimate and quiet -- he can sort his thoughts before he writes without worry of distraction. He leaves his little apartment, walks the steep downhill toward the Patapsco River, and spends his mornings writing at the coffee shop, enjoying the sunrise over the rushing water. He’s a big man, thick and solid -- not at all the build one would expect a writer to have -- but small compared to the bodybuilder that suddenly enters the shop, a very muscular man dressed in tight joggers and matching jacket over a t-shirt that fits him like spandex. The guy moves like he’s not used to the dimensions of his own muscular body. Awkward. The writer has seen this kind of thing before -- although, it’s been long enough that he’s surprised to see it again. It’s possible that the guy has never adjusted to the change, the growth, but that seems unlikely, not after nearly twenty years. This is too fresh. The bodybuilder spots the writer and a small, hopeful expression appears on his face. He crosses to the writer’s corner booth in a few heavy steps. “Sam Bennett?” he asks. The writer sighs and looks up, locking eyes with the bodybuilder. “Can I help you?” he asks. “I sure hope so,” the bodybuilder says. “My name is Ben Fortunato and I’m in desperate need of help.” He indicates the seat on the opposite side of the booth. “May I?” he asks. Sam nods and the big, Italian bodybuilder squeezes into the booth. “Mr. Fortunato…” “Ben.” “Ben... “ The writer draws a breath for strength. “What brings you by?” (He asks in a tone that implies he knows the answer already.) Ben pulls something out of his jacket pocket and sets it on the table between them. A crisp new bottle of CYCLE ONE, a magic potion disguised as a sports drink. There is a growing horror on Sam Bennett’s face as he stares at the bottle. “What the fuck?” he asks. “Are you kidding? Is that real?” He pushes it back toward Ben. “Jesus Christ, do you know what people would DO to you to get that? Put it away before someone sees it!” He looks around, paranoid -- nothing’s amiss, nobody else is even in the room, but it doesn’t stop his panic. “Put it the fuck away!” Ben is confused, but does as he’s told. “I just wanted to prove I was legit.” But Sam didn’t lose his intensity. “You realize people will fucking KILL you for that? You know that, right? There are some crazy motherfuckers out there, Ben -- addicts, all of them! And they will do anything for their drug of choice. Where the fuck did you find that? No, wait, don’t tell me -- I don’t want to know.” “I have a lot more than this one bottle.” Sam Bennett, the writer, takes another breath -- he likes to believe he’d be stronger than this, but it’s right there in the man’s pocket… Sam could just TAKE it… Why is he even entertaining the thought? It’s been nearly twenty years… Does he really still want it that badly…? “Ben,” he asks instead, “do you understand what addiction is?” Ben’s expression is unreadable. “Yeah, I’m getting a pretty good idea…” “Imagine you’re taking a drug that makes lifting better than sex, and sex better than anything. Imagine that you spend a good few years of your life getting other guys hooked on it, turning them into addicts, too. Imagine that you do that for pay -- good pay -- and INCREDIBLE bonuses! And the world is just one powerful playground ripe for the taking. “And then one day, the drug disappears -- it goes out of production, the magic formula is lost, whatever -- new stock isn’t being produced. What’s left is what’s left. “And people go fucking crazy! First, it’s the guys with money -- they try to stockpile it -- the would-be dealers and petty hoarders. There’s fights over it, attacks, takeovers -- guns are always blazing and bodies -- big, muscular bodies -- begin piling up. Gangs form -- safety in numbers, right? -- some become cults, worshipping the drug and the drug’s creator. They isolate, hiding with their horde, fighting to be the last guy with the last drop. It’s the Supply War -- it’s a dark time led by power-hungry addicts. “But there’s another type, too -- another kind of guy, fewer in number, of course. Guys who understand and accept that it’s addiction -- they form support groups specializing in this drug. And there they learn how to navigate their lives without it, without this incredible drug that makes lifting better than sex and sex better than anything. Without it, they don’t get pumps at the gym anymore -- so lifting loses its… magic. No pumps, no good workouts, so bodies… don’t remain in the same condition. They still keep most of the size, but they get softer, saggier. “And of course, sex loses its vibrancy. I mean, what’s the use? You don’t feel attractive, so you stop attracting and pretty soon self-gratification is your only option -- and you don’t feel much like pleasing yourself, either.” He sighs, looking far away. “I know you didn’t come all this way to hear that, Ben,” the writer says, re-establishing eye-contact, “but you should know there are no happy endings when it comes to CYCLE ONE.” Ben speaks quietly. “I’m really sorry,” he says sincerely. “It wasn’t my intent to trigger you. I just wanted to have a conversation with someone who understands and can help me.” The writer does something mildly out of character and lays his hand on Ben’s arm. “Ben, I can connect you with several support groups…” Ben almost laughs. “It’s not that,” he says. “Honestly, I don’t care if I never drink another drop of this shit again! Isn’t that funny? As a kid, I dreamed of having a body like this -- getting a body like this by drinking a magic potion, in fact -- super-hero shit -- and now my life is one big fucking nightmare. No, the problem isn’t with me -- it’s my brother, Glenn. I mean, you wanna talk about addicts…? He’s been on a two-week binge…” Sam Bennett cocks his head curiously. “Two weeks…? How much CYCLE ONE do you have?” They make eye contact and Ben speaks quietly. “About twelve-hundred cases,” he says, waiting for a reaction like he’s revealed a poker hand. But Sam Bennett is silent, immovable -- stunned. “What the fuck..?” he finally whispers. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in?” Ben shakes his head -- he’s being misunderstood. “It’s not me, so much, it’s my brother. I need to know how to stop him from drinking it -- like, separating him from it, you know? I just… he’s not listening…” “No, I mean your life is in danger! There are people who will kill you for the bottle you have hidden in your pocket, much less a case!” He forces himself to a whisper again. “And you have a THOUSAND cases!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You have clearly stumbled across someone’s stash and it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for it -- or for you. This is like mafia-shit, Ben -- I’m totally serious! And just by talking to me, you’re risking my life, too!” There’s a moment when Ben considers continuing this conversation, but then realizes there’s nothing to gain in it. He sighs and stands. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you,” he says, offering his hand. “Thank you for talking to me.” They shake and Sam partially rises. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I don’t mean to be so… well, it threw me to see the stuff again… I hope you understand. But I still hope you take my words to heart.” “I will,” Ben says. “There is someone I can connect you with,” Sam says. “He can probably offer a solution for your brother, but, um… I wouldn’t tell him about the stash. I wouldn’t trust him.” Ben nods. “Thank you.” And just as Ben is about to leave the coffee shop into the warm, morning sunshine of Ellicott City, Sam calls him back. “You know, Ben,” he says, swallowing his guilt, “on second thought, I will take that bottle.” Knowingly, Ben nods, smiling slightly in support. The writer doesn’t make eye contact with him, looking shamefully at the floor, broken by his confession, his own addiction. Ben places the bottle on the table and leaves -- he doesn’t see how long it takes for Sam Bennett to touch it. Imagine, lecturing Ben Fortunato on addiction -- or warning an Italian about the mafia! Jesus God, ridiculous! Still, Sam Bennett is right about one thing: there are no happy endings with CYCLE ONE. *********************************************************************************** TWO: “Welcome, brother,” the nearly naked bodybuilder says, wrapping Ben in a hug in the doorway of the church. “I’m glad you’re here.” For Ben, who’s never considered himself gay, this connection is a little too intimate, but there’s a strange masculine pleasure brewing, too. (He can’t help but remember what he and his brother had done when he first…) Fucking CYCLE ONE… “Thank you for meeting me,” Ben says, trying gently to pull away -- the bodybuilder doesn’t just let him. Instead, the moment becomes awkward -- especially when Ben can feel the nearly naked bodybuilder start to get hard in his tiny little thong, pressing against the inside of Ben’s hip. Worse, Ben can feel his own dick start to respond. “The pleasure’s all mine,” the bodybuilder says. “You smell fresh.” Ben breaks the hug and steps back. “Excuse me?” “It’s still in your system, the Cycle One,” the bodybuilder says. “You’ve had it so recently, I can smell it. I’d consider it an honor if you let me have your cum.” Ben is shocked -- speechless. The bodybuilder smiles, adjusting his hooded cape back across his shoulders, slitted open in the front to reveal his pouch. “It’s a sacrament, not sex,” he says. “You ARE new! Come inside and let’s talk -- welcome to the Brotherhood of Rex, the last remaining sect.” He leads Ben into the large, airy cathedral. “I’m Father John J,” the bodybuilder says warmly. “I’ve been the leader of this sect since our Lord plunged into the Multiverse.” They enter the sanctuary, Ben notes the lack of pews and such, just soft matting on lounge chairs set up to face the Altar, a towel on the back of each seat -- the place smells immaculately clean and fresh. He sees that there are superheroes on the stained glass, not religious figures, but he doesn’t have much time to process that as they come upon the altar. Ben swears it’s merely a California King-Size Bed with a black spandex/neoprene fitted sheet, but in this atmosphere, it feels more important. At the head of the bed -- of the altar -- stands a marble statue of a hugely muscled, hyper-masculine god -- an ancient greek statue given a 21st century physique. He’s a handsome man, with strong features and a build that would seem impossible if Ben hadn’t seen what he’s so recently seen. Ridiculously wide shoulders sloping to the tiniest of waists then exploding out again in a sweep of thigh. But that’s if you could NOT get distracted by the statue’s overladen balls and fantasy cock, erect and gently bending up. It’s so lifelike, it’s as if Father John J had poured white paint over a live model who’s eight feet tall and just standing there frozen -- it’s disconcerting. Father John J genuflects before the statue and speaks, looking only at the statue’s face. “This is our Lord and Creator,” he says reverently. “The Living God now lost in the Multiverse, King Rex. I am honored to be among the first he transformed -- I even aided him in the acquisition of Superion, His Majesty’s consort and husband. Pardon my prideful bragging, but there’s a reason I am where I am, and I sincerely doubt you’ve read my resume.” Ben legit smiles -- strange as all this is, he still maintains his humor -- it helps diffuse the anxiety. “No, I haven’t. The truth is I was sent here by Sam Bennett.” “Sam Bennett?” asks Father John J. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a few years. How’s… um… how’s Sam?” “He seems well,” Ben says, shrugging. “I mean, he was a little surprised to see me and warned me extensively about continuing this journey -- he made it all sound very mafia.” Father John J nods understandingly. “His perspective has always featured a little paranoia -- it’s one of the things that makes his fiction so good. Come, let’s go to my office where we can talk a little more comfortably.” HIs office is surprisingly simple for a religious leader, fairly modern and standard but for another… altar in the back -- this looks more queen-sized than the altar in the sanctuary, same sheeting, though. Father John J directs him to the sitting area by the window and Ben takes one of two comfortable chairs. Father John J removes his cape, draping it across the altar and, dressed only in his golden thong and slippers, takes the other chair. Ben is still awed by the Father’s body, the impossible made flesh. (Nearly as big as his brother…) “I’m sorry,” the Father says. “I’ve been rude. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water… Cycle One?” Father John J smiles in a teasing way. Ben snorts and unconsciously crosses his arms. “No, thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice -- time is… important.” Father John J nods. “Tell me what brings you here, Ben.” Ben is thoughtful for a moment, as if he’s debating whether to confess at all, much less to what extent. “You’re safe here,” Father John J says. “You’re Catholic, right? Let’s consider this confessional.” He leans back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and inadvertently flexing his abs -- not many priests do that. “Thank you,” Ben says, still not at ease, but he sighs audibly and starts his monologue. “My brother and I… purchased a storage lot, three connected units. It was a blind buy, so we had no idea what we were getting, just someone’s abandoned junk, we assumed. It turned out to be a stash of Cycle One. And someone had clearly been living there, guarding it -- hell, one whole unit was a gym for this poor guy, and the next was the living quarters. “So we find this stash of Cycle One -- there’s something… familiar about it in the back of my mind, but I can’t remember what, and my brother drinks one like they haven’t been sitting there twenty years! I mean, like, who the fuck knows what’s really in the bottles and have the preseratives turned to poison or has there been some kind of freaky fermentive process? I mean, he’s fuckin’ CRAZY!” Father John J is thoughtful, curious. He gently asks, “How many bottles were there?” Fortunately, Ben is not so far gone that he doesn’t recognize the ploys of priests -- he WAS an altar boy, after all. He’s deceptive. “Let’s just say, quite a few,” he says, which doesn’t satisfy the Father, but it will have to do. “And he starts exercising, you know, playing around on the gym equipment, feeling all energetic and silly. I immediately blame the Cycle One -- so does he. And he starts slugging them down like it’s a frat party and he’s arrived late. “Because of some… bungling on my part, I ended up getting locked outside with my brother trapped inside and I had to run home to get the tools necessary to free him! It was an incredibly stressful few hours, but I did take the time to do some internet research on Cycle One -- that was how I connected it with King Rex. “I was fifteen, sixteen at the time that all went down, when all the superheroes suddenly became hypermasculine homosexuals -- I had no idea it was connected to Cycle One!” The Father smiles. “The cum of our Lord and Creator, the Living God lost in the Multiverse.” Ben is quiet again, lost in his own thoughts. The Father prods him. “Is your brother still trapped?” “Hmm?” Ben says, coming back to the moment. “No, not anymore. Not by accident.” Father John J tilts his head like an interested dog. “So, I went back. I got tools and I went back to free him. I’d only been gone, like, five, five-and-a-half hours -- it was crazy. I had no idea what Cycle One could do! I mean, I’m trying to free him and from inside he suddenly… rips the sliding door from its track and destroys it and… he’s HUGE! I mean, bigger than you and you’re fucking HUGE!” The Father can’t help but run a hand over his massive torso, and neither of them miss the twitch of his dick. “And he’s dressed the same way as you, in barely nothing, and he’s roaring and flexing and his cock is hard and um… I trip back over a piece of cinderblock and whap my head against the wall and pass out.” He smiles. “Glamorous.” The Father is wise enough to know that he shouldn’t interrupt, but he does offer a comforting smile. “When I wake up, I don’t know how much time has passed, but I discover my brother has chained me to one of the pallets…” “‘ONE of’...?” “Yeah,” Ben says, unthinking, lost in his own story. “And in order to get to the keys, I’d have to be strong enough to drag it across the room.” He swallows. “Only one way to do that.” There is another awkward silence as Ben gathers the strength to continue. “And as if that weren’t enough, he literally sealed me in, cemented the wall with old cinderblocks -- real Edgar Allen Poe shit, you know? He’s crazy, right? I mean… I had to… drink or die. Worse, he’s FILMING the fucking moment, too! So I get to have my humiliation digitally preserved forever. I was so fucking pissed…” The Father reaches over and puts his hand on Ben’s knee. They make eye-contact briefly. “You don’t have to tell me…” “I do,” Ben says. “I need you to know why I need your help.” He places his hand on top of the Father’s -- Father John J adjusts so they can hold hands. Ben is near tears. “You know what the stuff is like,” Ben says quietly. “The way it makes you feel -- the power and the masculine explosion of strength and desire and will. At first, it feels like it’s churning there in your balls, forcing the creation of testosterone, linking sexuality with the spirit, the cock and the muscle. God, I’ve hardly talked about it, because I’m trying so hard not to want it again -- because it’s fucking incredible, that feeling! That like… righteous anger that fills you with the belief… that you’ve gained power -- that you’re somebody!” Even Ben can’t help his cock’s reaction, that twitch of desire -- or memory. “And you feel like you can do anything, like even drag a heavily laden pallet across a cement floor. And if you fail, you just slug back another bottle of the magic potion until it amplifies everything all over again -- but especially the emotion, the masculine connection. It’s like coke, or meth, like that -- this… false sense of power. “Pushing the pallet was easier than pulling it -- it was like hitting sleds at high school football practice -- and the pallet scraped its way slowly across the floor. Each inch it moved was a triumph for me -- I swear, I’d celebrate by downing another bottle of Cycle One, like a fucking addict lost!” “Sounds like a lot of Cycle One,” the Father said, unable to hide his growing erection. “It usually takes only ten-to-twelve to complete the transformation.” Ben scoffs. “I had way more than that,” he says. “Maybe it’s old.” Father John J smiles gently. “Maybe,” he says. “Go on.” “Well, I had to… uh… get through the wall,” Ben says, trying to hide his own hard-on. “My brother had cinderblocked me in, remember.” Father John J shakes his head in disbelief. “Amazing…” “Turns out he had it wrong -- moving the pallet was WAY harder than destroying the wall. The wall was just… a couple of punches and some torn stone. The cement hadn’t really set -- there hadn’t been enough time -- so it wasn’t that difficult to get through. Though, I admit, I did get a couple of scratches and a shit-ton of semi-wet cement in my hair. But right then I was flying so high on the Cycle One, I wasn’t feeling ANYTHING real. “And I break through this wall and I’m feeling mighty and manly and there sits my brother on the cot, jerking off. He’s huge, I mean, bigger than when I’d seen him when he’d torn the door off its track, just… impossibly huge. “And his cock…” Ben almost doesn’t continue, looking down, remembering, then he speaks on. “I never wanted a cock before. I never… desired…” He licks his lips. “And it wasn’t that I wanted his cock so much as I wanted what was inside him -- his essence. His power.” “‘Well, look at you,’ my brother said, playing with himself. ‘You got BIG!’” “And instead of being weirded out by that, I realized he was right -- I HAD gotten big! I hadn’t really paid that much attention. My loose t-shirt was now too tight because of the muscle I’d never had before -- I ripped it off with glee, flexing my big pecs, my insane arms! I was rock hard celebrating my rock hardness! “So, the whole gay incest thing was unexpected -- at least it was for me, maybe Glenn had had some more time wrap his head around it, but I sure hadn’t considered the sexual response. For me, it was all about the Me Big, Me Strong thing -- it wasn’t until I realized that my cock was part of the equation that I got Me Horny, too! “And it just felt so weirdly natural, jerking off with my muscular brother while we flexed for each other. He had me wear this electric blue thong he’d found in the dresser -- I’d never worn anything like it, so scanty and sexy -- but I looked AMAZING in it! My fucking body -- in the mirror, hypnotized by my own reflection, so turned on by myself. “We worked out and pumped up and flexed and he kept pounding back the Cycle One, bottle after bottle. “Pretty soon flexing and jerking off weren’t enough anymore. Men fuck. And um… when my own brother tried to fuck me… that was the end for me. I… I couldn’t.” A tear rolls down Ben’s cheek. Father John J hugs him, drawing him in close. Ben tries not to weep, but loses the battle, hugging Father John J back -- he’s ashamed of his erection. Father John J seems to be okay with it, pressing himself even closer against the hardness. “Everything’s okay,” Father John J whispers. “I will help you with your brother, but first things first.” Using his right hand, he casually strokes Ben’s erection. “Let’s make an offering to God.” ******************************************************************************* THREE: In the Beginning, Rex the Almighty was born on this Earthly plane, a mutant to two normal mortals. His Divine Power manifested as He ascended to manhood -- transforming mortals into His worshipful slaves by granting them muscle mass and a spark of His Hyper-Masculine Energy. Finding himself ready to accept His destiny, our Lord Rex began His Holy Crusade, the elevation of the Super-Hero. Until this time, no one had submitted the Mighty Superion, the greatest of all the mortal heroes. His power and will were legendary, until humbled by our Lord. Rex not only enslaved Superion, He took the hero as His Royal Consort. And unlike most marriages of powerful families, these newlyweds truly and deeply loved one another. This marriage was blessed by the gods themselves. Rex continued His Divine Campaign and recruited the Justice Club itself to His cause -- at one crucial point, He absorbed the mystic lightning used to transform Timmy Thompson into the Planet’s Most-Powerful Protector, Captain Thunder, and Rex was elevated even further, truly becoming KING Rex, the most powerful man on the planet! His Majesty discovered that His ejaculate had been mystically enhanced, as was fitting for a living god -- with little more than a drop, He could transform a mortal man into a hypermuscular slave without using His God-gifted powers. Diluting it, packaging it, and marketing it as the sports drink, “Cycle One” was a stroke of His genius -- it began the subtle transformation of the masses into His worshipful followers. These were the Glory Days of the Church! The Acolyte John J was the first man transformed by His Majesty, King Rex, the Living God. A museum security guard, the skinny waste of a man John J quickly cast aside his old life to follow His Saviour and Transformer. Blessed by the gift of Rex’s power, John J now had the body of his dreams, power he’d only imagined, and finally, a purpose for his purposeless life. He was more than happy to recruit other men into the fold, to help them experience the bliss of worshipping King Rex, their creator and Living God. The Acolytes John J and Sam Bennett distributed the Cycle One, turning gyms into churches and athletic departments into sects. All of that male sexual energy further empowered His Majesty, creating a never-ending cycle of growth. A worship service could have as many as a thousand muscular men cramming the sanctuary, praising His Majesty as they edged themselves into Bliss -- it was possible to actually see King Rex grow from the worship. There was no greater reward. And then, the Great Tragedy -- King Rex lost in the Multiverse! Thus began the Period of Despair -- the Consort Superion went into mourning, completely unable to function or uphold his duties, emotionally devastated to lose his King and lover. For weeks, he remained cloistered in their marital chambers, not seeing visitors, not spending time in the sun -- he weakened, some thought, hoping to die. There was dysfunction in the Church, suddenly lacking a spiritual leader. With their Lord and Saviour trapped in the Multiverse and Superion unwilling to take His place as figurehead, there was nothing to hold the flock together. The men who’d been transformed by His Majesty, the Almighty King Rex, suffered only emotionally. Those who’d been transformed by the Cycle One lost touch with the magic, their masculine spirit. With Rex gone, the supply of Cycle One was suddenly finite -- that was the conclusion many reached at once. The fight for the remaining reserve became the next battlefront. Men who’d been long-addicted to the stuff suddenly lost the will to train, the ability to get a pump, their interest in sex -- they knew they’d never again get that rush, that high without Cycle One. And thus began the Supply War. It was during this low-level, guerilla-style warfare -- bloody and heartless as it was fast becoming -- that the Acolyte John J began to counsel the Consort Superion, trying to get him past his crushing loss to see how badly the world needed a champion again. All this bloodshed, all this death for a drug made out of his husband’s cum -- this is what finally brought Superion to action. In less than a week, he’d recovered most of the lost stock of Cycle One, returning it to the vaulted catacombs in the bedrock deep beneath the Church. He still refused to participate in Religious Services, but created a statue of his Husband and Lord that stands in the Sanctuary today, as a reminder. Instead, it became the Acolyte John J’s mission to save the Church -- but he immediately realized it wasn’t religion these men needed, it was counseling. They were addicts and their god was gone. Without the drug, they were unable to access their own masculine energy. Workouts lost their meaning -- sex became impossible. And thus evolved the practice of Group Masturbation, sexual stimulation with the goal of connecting to the masculine spirit, building energy by edging, the harnessing of energy rather than ejaculation. On Cycle One, sex had always been about power -- now sexual energy was used to build power. Men who were used to getting powerful, rock-hard erections now had to take a step back, relearn stimulation and fantasy, enjoy the other wonders of the body, the taint, the balls, the asshole. Sex was more than penetration. Training changed, too -- the evolution of Connective Bodybuilding, forging a link between cock and muscle. In the Before Time, the gym had become a place almost as sacred as the Church. Cycle One had always made working out better than sex, but now there was no more Cycle One, so no connection to masculine energy. Weight training required almost too much adaptation, further separating those who’d been transformed by the Almighty from those who’d only had the Cycle One. Imagine how disheartening it would be to see some men still achieve the kind of pump you used to be able to get, but now could not -- to lift the kind of weights you used to handle with ease, but now could not. It was too hard for too many. The Acolyte John J -- now FATHER John J -- protectively doled out the Church’s supply of Cycle One in the form of Communion. A shot glass of Cycle One for the faithful once a week, then engaging in Group Masturbation while singing the praises of the Almighty Rex. Many men lost the Path, strayed. Spiritual readiness takes patience and no one began taking Cycle One because they were patient. Some men preferred their misery to the challenge of rebuilding their sexual power. After the deaths, the abandonments, the suicides, there were just a few hundred in the congregation, masturbating together and praying. As the years passed without a Second Coming, more and more fell away -- then it was a decade, then it was two. “And so here we are,” Father John J says, gently pushing Ben to a seated position on the Altar, facing the statue of King Rex. “There’s only a handful of us now, awaiting Him, praying for His return.” He kneels between Ben’s legs and unlaces Ben’s tight joggers. “But we have learned things in this time,” he continues, pulling Ben’s joggers down over his newly-muscled thighs. “Things about pleasure, the giving and receiving of it.” Ben wears a sparkly thong, barely holding his enhanced genitals -- his erection fights the material. “Let me show you,” Father John J says, releasing Ben from the confines of the thong -- his hard-on flops up on his muscular abs. “I’m not gay,” Ben mumbles, leaning back on his elbows, the soft matting of the Altar accepting his weight. “But ever since the Cycle One…” “It’s not about labels, Ben,” the Father says, gripping Ben’s erection at the base. “It’s about pleasure.” He licks the head of Ben’s cock and a shudder goes through the man. “Cycle One just bumps up your hormones and lowers your inhibitions -- neither of which will hurt you, unless it builds up in your system too much. Then you need release. Holy Release.” The Father’s hands are smooth and skilled -- a firm grip on Ben’s balls, thick fingers riding down the sides of his perineum, giving him sensations he’s never felt before -- strange new pleasure. Ben is losing himself in it. “What you feel is a gift,” says the Father, expertly swallowing the whole of Ben’s big new cock. He constricts his throat around Ben and waits for Ben’s natural thrusts before continuing. “A gift from His Majesty,” he says, lapping the tip of Ben’s cock, before descending on it again. “King Rex.” Ben looks up at the statue as the Father continues to work -- it’s unbelievable physique and impossible cock, so masculine and perfect. Ben can feel the Father fingering his asshole, gently teasing his way inside, searching for Ben’s secret button. The statue holds its arms open, as if ready to accept worship -- or orgasm -- or offering. What happens next makes no sense. The Father’s skilled mouth works in tandem with his talented fingers and, just as the Father discovers Ben’s prostate, Ben swears he sees the statue open its eyes and look directly at him, into his soul. “REX!” he screams as his orgasm overwhelms him! Not that the Father lets any get away, but Ben knows there’s a lot of cum -- he can feel it like his cock is a firehose. He shoots and shoots, crying to Heaven, certain the statue is real. “Yes, my brother,” the Father says, lapping Ben’s fading erection, cleaning every delicious drop away. “Now you feel Rex’s power. Give yourself up to it.” “I… I…” “Say it,” the Father says, standing, masturbating his own giant cock. “Let me hear you say it.” Ben smiles. “Hail King Rex,” he says, as the Father allows himself to orgasm, as if the words put him over the edge. “HAIL KING REX!” the Father yells, echoing through the sanctuary, shooting a thick rope of cum across Ben’s face. Father John J smiles again. “You’ve been baptised now in the name of our saviour, King Rex,” he says calmly, milking the last drops of cum from his cock and offering his finger to Ben -- Ben gratefully takes it in his mouth. “You are now one of us.” “Thank you,” Ben says, relieved, watching the Father refit his big package into that tiny little thong. “I actually feel better -- I feel the release. But what do we do now?” “Now we save your brother,” the Father says. “And I know just the guy…” “You’ll do that for me?” Ben asks, suddenly joyful, standing and redressing himself. “Thank you!” “Well,” the Father says, playfully kissing Ben, “we should first discuss a TITHE…” ******************************************************************************** FOUR: Ben parks the truck outside the ETERNAL STORAGE building, an old, abandoned facility scheduled for demolition (to build an Amazon distribution center -- welcome to the modern world). The parking lot is cracked and broken, stray grass and weeds growing wherever they can, reclaiming the land. It’s surrounded by a rusty chain link fence topped with barb wire. The building is in no better shape, holding its form only because it’s made from cinderblocks, but suggesting the same sort of neglect. Behind the wheel, Ben forces a deep breath before exiting the cab, in an attempt to settle himself -- it’s obvious he’s nervous, no matter the supportive talk from his passenger, Father John J. Ben is dressed in the same tight gray jumpers he wore to the Church -- the Father wears black spandex shorts, black wrist gauntlets, sandals, and a form-fitting white t-shirt that reads “REX = KING”. Exiting the cab, the Father, looking around, says, “You’re right. This IS the middle of nowhere.” Ben nods, shutting the driver’s side door behind him and looking toward the building. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.” “Who?” Father John J asks. “Oh, you mean your brother! I thought you meant…” And then, from out of the sky, a being lands on the ground before them with a surprising amount of force, breaking into the cement and creating a small crater from his weight. It’s the hero Superion! Ben has seen pictures, of course, but has never seen him live -- and the pictures don’t do him anywhere near justice! If he’s not seven-feet tall, then he’s six-and-three-quarters -- it doesn’t seem possible that a being with a build like Superion’s could exist at his height. He’s almost a giant in a children’s story, he’s so colossally large -- human proportions, but so much taller! And the muscle -- the mind-boggling muscle! Like Father John J, Superion has been transformed by King Rex, given the Royal Gift of Mass and Power, Hypermasculine Endowment, and Sexual Realignment. As Royal Consort, he’s second only to Rex Himself -- and with Rex lost in the Multiverse, Superion reigns supreme. He wears black combat boots and bright blue leggings, accented by black piping, that proudly display his oversized package and seem to barely contain the mass of his leg muscles or his thick, ripped glutes. They’re low-waisted, so that the buckle of his belt sits at the base of his cock, allowing us to see his extremely ripped abs unencumbered. Shirtless, he wears only a harness that supports his “S” shield and acts as the anchor for his red cape. Bigger than the biggest bodybuilder, his pecs are round and thick and his pink nipples hide just below the bottom edge. But it’s the width of shoulders that gives Ben pause, those crazy way-larger-than-coconut delts -- bowling ball delts! -- the strong, confident arms, the artistic curve of the lats. And if you can take your eyes from his body, to see his thick neck, his square jaw, his sunny blue eyes, his very kissable lips… Superion strides toward them, breaking Ben’s thought. He smiles, glowing white teeth catching the light. “Hello, Johnny,” he says, opening his arms for a hug. Father John J takes a knee. “Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head. Superion puts his finger beneath the Father’s chin and raises his head. “Johnny,” he says earnestly, “it’s been twenty years. We have to move on.” He takes Father John J’s hands and raises him to his feet, then they hug. They hold each other very closely -- Ben isn’t sure if Father John J is crying or not. “He will come again,” the Father says, into Superion’s pec. Superion holds the back of Father John J’s head and whispers, “I dearly hope so” into the Father’s ear. He kisses Father John J’s forehead and releases him, turning his attention to Ben. “You must be Ben Fortunato,” he says, holding his hand out to shake. Ben considers dropping to his knees, that’s how strikingly beautiful this man is. Instead, he stammers, “Um… yes. Ben. And you must be… incredible!” Superion smiles broadly -- he’s heard this joke. “Superion,” he says, shaking Ben’s hand. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.” “I’m so grateful for your help,” Ben says. Superion grunts. “Anything to put another one of these fires out,” he says, looking up at the building. Something happens to his eyes as he looks, but Ben can’t say exactly what. “He’s up there,” Superion announces, studying. “He’s okay -- he’s pretty big.” “Thank God he’s okay,” Ben says, crossing himself. “How big?” Father John J interrupts. “Is the Cycle One okay? How much is left?” They both look at the Father dryly. Superion says, “Do you know, Johnny, nothing would make me happier than to destroy this building and all the Cycle One in it -- you know that, right?” The Father squares off with him. “I do,” he says, trying to maintain his bravado. “But you won’t, right?” Superion smiles enigmatically. “I’m gonna go get your brother,” he says to Ben. “I won’t be a minute.” He enters the building and disappears from view. Ben and the Father don’t even have time to begin a conversation before the wall above them blows out, throwing chunks of cinderblock, cement, and bottles of Cycle One raining down like shrapnel as Superion’s body comes crashing through, flying about twenty feet before slamming into the ground. Superion stands, wiping the dust from himself -- with the back of his hand, he strokes the side of his jaw that has just been punched. Superion is clearly unhappy. He strides toward the building, kicking away the stray bottles, determined. “You guys might want to stand back,” he says. “He’s not being cooperative.” Superion flies back into the hole he just made. Seconds later, a different body crashes out through the roof -- not Superion -- a hugely muscled man dressed only in a pair of neon green short shorts that ride into his ass-crack. “For the love of God!” Ben yells. “GLENN!” His brother sails up about thirty or forty feet into the air before arcing down toward the ground. He lands hard on his back with a wind-losing smack. Trying to shake it off and stand, he snorts like an animal. Ben is trying to comprehend what his brother has become. Even in the few days since Ben last saw him, Glenn has grown. His brother had always been a heavy-set, snowman/ pear-shaped guy, wide hips and narrow shoulders. Now he’s a freak bodybuilder with a roidgut that rivals a beach ball, supporting these thick and ponderous limbs. It should be impossible for him to move, given the size of his muscle -- traps that almost keep him from turning his head, a back so wide he can’t lower his arms completely -- yet move he does, with confidence and surprising grace. Superion flies up out of the hole in the roof and lands about ten feet away from Ben’s brother. “Stop!” he commands, holding up a flat palm. But like an angry bull, perhaps egged-on by Superion’s flowing red cape, Glenn charges, gaining steam with each step. It takes little effort for Superion to side-step him, trip him, and force him forward till he slams into the side of the building. Glenn roars in anger, throwing a chunk of broken block at Superion. As Superion knocks it aside, Glenn takes advantage of the distraction and tackles Superion from the side, taking him to the ground. His brother is bigger than Superion! “He’s in a rage!” Father John J says as he and Ben seek a better observation spot, running to the far-side of the building -- Father John tries to grab the extra bottles. “His energy is out of control.” Glenn has Superion in a schoolboy pin, squatting across Superion’s torso, kneeling on his biceps, punching him over and over in the face, raging. “GLENN!” Ben calls, distracting his brother for just a moment, but enough. Glenn looks at Ben and Superion grabs Glenn’s fist, halting it mid-strike. Superion stands, holding Glenn by the wrist, spins him around and around like a lasso, before throwing him to the other side of the parking lot, where he lands with a loud crunch. “This guy’s pretty far gone,” Superion says to Father John J as Glenn starts to charge back across the lot -- a rhino. “Any ideas? I don’t want to hurt him.” “You have to release his pent-up energy,” Father John J frets, shaking his head as Glenn leaps into the air. “You have to…” Glenn lands within their circle and the reverberation knocks them all off their feet. He steps toward Ben, fierce anger filling his eyes, no recognition, but the hard-on beneath his spandex shorts is more than obvious. Before he can strike, however, Superion grabs him from behind in a full-nelson and flies them up about ten feet into the air. Glenn is trying to shake his grip, thrashing about, but he lacks leverage. That he’s sexually stimulated is lost on no one -- his erection throbs. “You have to make him cum!” Father John J yells. “You have to make him release!” Superion’s grimace speaks volumes, but he sighs and reaches around Glenn, grabbing Glenn’s erection at its thick base, rubbing his hand over the spandex material. Glenn reacts in a surprising way, moaning in his deep throat -- his whole drive seems to shift from “rage” to “lust” as easy as the stick on an old jalopy. He starts dry-humping the air, rubbing his ass against Superion. Horrified, Ben can’t look away. Of all the things he didn’t think he’d be seeing today, this had to top the list. On the other hand, his brother had tried to sexually engage Ben after Ben’s transformation, which had freaked Ben out so much he ran away and brought back Superion. And now it looks like Superion is enjoying himself, too -- there’s no hiding what’s going on in his blue leggings. Father John J had said Superion hasn’t had sex since his lover -- this King Rex -- got tossed into the Multiverse. How does someone go twenty years without sex? MONKS don’t even do that! “It’s not enough to jerk him off,” Father John J yells. “You have to... press his button!” Superion’s frustrated reaction weakens his grip on Glenn, who breaks Superion’s hold and suddenly drops to the ground with a heavy, dull thud. Superion is on him in a flash and the two of them wrestle in the parking lot -- but it isn’t to fight. This is different -- it’s two men squaring off. This is foreplay. Other than size, Glenn has no real advantage over Superion. And now that Superion has a new drive, there’s really no stopping him. Superion is erect himself, his cock as supremely out of proportion as everything else about him -- whatever else this Rex favors, it’s big-dicked muscle-bottoms. They flex at each other, Superion and Ben’s brother, a Most Muscular, an ab/ thigh -- showing off, mutual worship -- double biceps, erections straining flimsy material. Glenn smacks Superion’s pecs with an open hand, then squeezes the muscle as Superion flexes -- fucking rock hard -- punching cement. Looking each other in the eye, Glenn falls to his knees and begins mouthing Superion’s cock through the heavy spandex of Superion’s leggings. Superion unclasps his belt and releases it, allowing Glenn to take it in his mouth. Clearly at some level, Glenn knows what he needs. Or what he wants. “Get it wet,” Superion orders him. “Get it good and wet -- or it’s gonna hurt.” “What’s going on?” Ben asks Father John J as the Father collects stray bottles of Cycle One. Father John J looks at Superion, then at Ben. “He’s going to fuck him,” Father John J says. “He’s gotta fuck him and press his button, release the energy. Same as I did with you at the Church!” Ben crosses himself. “But you just used your fingers,” Ben says. “Why does he have to…?” Father John J shushes him. Glenn holds Superion’s cock in his fist and spits on the head, immediately putting it back in his mouth, soaking the thick, super-shaft. Superion pushes him onto his back, straddling Glenn’s chest to allow Glenn to continue sucking his cock, but putting Superion into a dominant position. Superion licks his fingers and reaches for Glenn’s hole -- so tight -- Glenn squirms, discovering a new sensation. “Yeah,” Superion says. “Big boy likes that.” “All Hail His Majesty’s Consort, the Mighty Superion,” Father John J intones, falling to his knees with an armful of bottles. “All praise King Rex!” Superion shoots Father John J a snide look. “Don’t do that shit, Johnny,” he says. “This is pragmatism, not Church! Toss me a bottle of that stuff!” “It IS Church!” Father John J argues, still on his knees. “You engage in the holiest of acts, a sacrifice -- an offering! I must pray!” Superion shakes his head but doesn’t argue. “Throw me a bottle of that stuff!” he says again. Father John J won’t release what he’s gathered, so it’s Ben who throws one to him -- or overthrows, actually -- he doesn’t know his own strength. Superion catches it with such confidence and ease that it makes it look like it had been intended that way. Superion cracks open the Cycle One, sniffs it -- a memory floats across his features -- and he pours a tiny bit over his cock, into Glenn’s desperate mouth. Glenn groans again, desperately lapping it off. Superion pulls his cock out of Glenn’s mouth and says, “On your hands and knees -- NOW.” He levitates slightly, allowing the three-hundred-plus giant to spin beneath him -- moving from one submissive pose to the next -- then he slowly pours the Cycle One down Glenn’s ass-crack, until it reaches the fingers Superion has against Glenn’s hole. Using the honey-thick Cycle One as lube, Superion pushes his fingers in. Glenn’s moan is a roar that can be heard for miles. “Bigger than that coming,” Superion says, pushing his fingers in and out. Father John J weaves while he prays. “We commend this energy to you, Great Lord, lost in the Multiverse, that it might find you and strengthen you for your journey home!” Superion yells. “Johnny, please!” as he pours the Cycle One on his hard cock, like sauce on a meaty rib. “Just let me do what I came here to do!” “Release it!” Father John J prays. “Give it back to the Master!” Superion slams his foot-long cock into Glenn’s waiting ass -- they both scream, both of them from a different sort of denial, but coming together here in this parking lot. Has there been a change in the light? Ben wonders, unable to take his eyes away from his brother’s submission. Where did this wind come from? “Can you feel it?” Father John J shouts. “CAN YOU FEEL THE MASTER?” Superion begins fucking Ben’s brother, doggie-style, gently at first, even then, barely keeping control of himself -- it’s been so long, Superion -- but then, even Glenn wants him to go harder, pushing his ass back into Superion’s cock, trying to form words. Trying to find his own button. And there’s something else around Superion, something familiar, whispering in his memory, filling him with strength and power -- a masculine spirit. Making him fuck -- forcing him to connect and dominate. It feels like his husband… Is he feeling the effects of Cycle One? He releases -- who fucking cares? Fuck -- Superion wants to fuck. He drives into Glenn’s ass, fucking so hard they break the pavement. It’s power and forgotten masculine urges, decades of repression. “CAN YOU FEEL IT?” Father John J yells above the din, the wind, the energy. “PRAY WITH ME! PRAY TO OUR LORD, LOST IN THE MULTIVERSE!” Superion fucks Glenn with his super-long cock, pounding a forgotten, manly rhythm in his loin, awakening something deep within him. The energy crackles like lightning around them. Ben falls to his knees, his legs weak -- what is he seeing? They’re fucking there in the broken parking lot, his brother and Superion, it’s broad daylight, but there’s a sense of darkness around them, reality seems to shift as their sexual energy grows. Superion groans. “I’m so close…” Glenn rises up on his knees, exposing own erection that rises exactly along the curve of his distended belly, almost to his navel. Glenn is flexing his arms in a double bis -- Superion uses them as anchors, deep-thrusting. “Gonna… cum…” “WE CALL ON THEE, GREAT LORD! WE GRANT THEE THIS OFFERING!” Superion, a being that hasn’t orgasmed in nearly two decades, shoots his almost impossible load -- Glenn, who has never anally-orgasmed, explodes with incredible pent-up masculine energy, his “overdose” on Cycle One, and climaxes simultaneously. They scream together, too, full-throated and deep. There’s an explosion -- well, something very much like one. It’s like nothing Ben has ever experienced before. There’s no sound, no BOOM -- it’s almost as if someone takes reality, twists it, and then releases it to snap back into place. The explosion -- if one can call it an explosion -- is energy, electricity and force, concussive and multi-layered. There is a soundless brightness that blows them all back -- Ben’s back slams into the wall of the Eternal building, cracking the brick. There’s a hissing in the background, like pink noise, that settles out of the silence -- and then Ben’s hearing comes back. Or reality comes back -- it’s hard to say. His brother Glenn’s body slams on the ground before him, steaming a little, digging up the asphalt a little more. He rolls over on his back directly in front of Ben. “GLENN!” Ben calls, scrambling over to his brother. He slaps his face. “Glenn, wake up! Oh, God… Oh, sweet God be okay.” Glenn comes to, a little disoriented -- the crazed, drug-addled look in his eye is gone. “Ben?” he asks, looking Ben in the eye. “What’s going on? I… Bro… what happened? You’re huge! Wait, I’M huge!” Ben chuckles. “It’s a long story,” he says, nearly in tears. “And I don’t think it’s over yet…” Both Superion and Father John J had been knocked back, too, in opposite directions. Superion is already recovering, steaming himself, studying the blast area. The spot where they’d cum is now a blown out pit, smoke and steam and electric crackles encircling it. Superion immediately checks on the others, locating and diagnosing their injuries -- bumps and bruises, but generally okay -- when he hears a moan come from the pit itself. What? How is that possible? Father John J hears the sound as well, and draws up onto his knees like a hopeful teen. As Superion stands on shaky feet, the figure in the pit finds his footing, too, his face hidden by the steam, the unnatural shadow, and electrical snaps. He is a giant of man, bigger than Superion, more powerful, more muscular. His god-given body beyond fantasy, his muscle on the edge of impossible. In his purple shorts with the gold piping, the golden boots and gauntlets, the simple over the shoulder cape and the electric-metal lightning bolt emblazoned on his chest, he is instantly recognizable. Especially to Superion. “Rex…?” he asks, a smile finding the corner of his mouth. “Is it really you?” The muscle god smiles. “Superion?” he asks. “Am I home? Am I finally home?” They fall into each other’s arms, laughing and kissing, relieved and amazed. Even Ben smiles, happy that there’s a happy ending with Cycle One for once. Glenn, confused, asks his tearful brother, “What’s happening…?” He’s answered by Father John J. “It is the return of His Majesty, Rex the Almighty!” Rex and Superion continue to kiss, flying up into the air together. Father John J opens his arms to the world. “IT IS THE SECOND COMING!” **************************************************************************************** EPILOGUE: “Hey everybody, this is Glenn!” “And this is Ben!” “We’re the Fortunato Brothers! And you’re watching another episode of ‘Can You Believe They Bought That Shit?’” TITLE -- THEME MUSIC “In this episode, we’re actually gonna be talking about SELLING shit for a change.” “Hey! Before we go on... Viewers, did you notice our new logo in the opening?” (CUTAWAY: the old logo, the Fortunato Brothers looking like cartoon Laurel & Hardy (one fat, one thin) fades to the new logo: Laurel & Hardy as bodybuilders, one arm wrapped around their brother and the other flexing their biceps. (CUT BACK to the live Brothers in the same pose as the logo, barely holding their laughter.) “If you’ve noticed we look a little different than we have in past episodes, but you don’t know why, it’s possible you missed our TRANSFORMATION SPECIAL that dropped a couple weeks ago.” “I don’t know, Ben. With over two-hundred million downloads, I don’t think many people have missed out TRANSFORMATION SPECIAL!” “It’s still available if you have, that’s all I’m saying…” “But what you HAVEN’T missed is what transformed us into this muscled perfection, the awesome sports drink CYCLE ONE!” Glenn reveals a bottle in frame, holding it for the camera to see -- plain, ordinary looking stuff for what it could do. “It took about a dozen of these to transform my skinny brother Ben there into THAT!” Ben flexes for the camera, his muscle pumped, his confidence high. “No lie,” Ben says. “Believe me, I would never have done this without CYCLE ONE -- I was too lazy and too weak. Not anymore.” Glenn wraps his massive arm around Ben’s neck and pulls him close -- he kisses the side of Ben’s head. “Isn’t he cute?” Glenn asks. “So, we’re doin’ something we don’t normally do: we’re selling some shit. CYCLE ONE, to be specific. You can get to my brother’s size with a twelve-pack -- you can get to mine with a case!” The brothers flex for the camera -- the spandex shirts they wear ripple with muscle. “We haven’t even talked about the biggest bonus!” Glenn continues to flex for the camera. “Tell ‘em, Ben!” “When you go to the bidding page, click the link to join King Rex’s Holy Order and be a Knight for His Majesty, the power behind Cycle One, the Living God, King Rex, once lost in the Multiverse but now found! Be His Knight, His Holy Warrior, and join the Crusade in His second coming!” Glenn laughs. “Geez, Ben, you sound like a fanboy!” Ben is sincere. “I witnessed God’s Second Coming, Glenn,” Ben says simply. “That kind of thing… changes a man…” ************************************************************************************* Sam Bennett pauses the video. He’s watched it a thousand times -- he knows what it says by heart, by now. Still, it’s the first thing to give him an erection in almost a decade. How should he feel about that? He presses Play. “...sound like a fanboy.” “I witnessed God’s Second Coming, Glenn. That kind of thing… changes a man…” Pause. Not really believing he’s doing it, but somehow certain it’s the right move, Sam Bennett presses the link to join the Knighthood, the Holy Order of King Rex. He does it because he wants to believe in Happy Endings.

The Prologue of the story, both on Jason and Nikolas background, can be found Here and Here Part Two is found here Part 3 is found Here —————————————————— He told him his name was Jason. Nikolas, Subject 001, arrived at the facility, having many second thoughts. He was barely material for such experiment, but there he was, the poor man, barely on his 20s, shaked in fear. Before he could be moved to his facilty for the next days, someone did notice his fear. "Hey, is anything wrong?" "Who are you?" "My name is Schwartz., Jason. I am a lab assistant around here" "Are we allowed to speak? Many rules were explained to me about what to do and what not to do." "Rules are the core of the military, it is what makes the world go round, after all. But I suppose there is no harm in ask: why so shaky? Is anything wrong, at all?" They weren't the ones at that gallery, that smelled like concrete, but the guards around, on their nightly shift, couldn't care less about them. Nik, decided that his situation couldn't go worse just by speaking to a stranger, so he explained some of his situation. "I don't know if I made the right decision, that's all. This classified project, feels more than I can chew" "You know, when I arrived here, some years ago, I felt the same way. It's too much, too big of a step for a chemistry major like I was at a time." Jason sat on the steps of a staircase nearby, and glanced over his past. "Mr. Schwartz, I don't know if our situation is similar." "Please, young man, call me Jason!" "You don't look so old to be calling me young man" "Well, how old are you, soldier?" "25" "I'm 3 years older than you!" Nik chuckled, even if he was still afraid, there was nice to have him being kind towards him on such a situation. Helped alleviate the seriousness of such place. "I was 22 when I got here" Said Jason, looking at the horizon, talking both to himself and to Nik "I applied for a position in a private lab, but ended up here. I heard my study on altering the human anatomy through DNA changes caught some eyes, word spread around somehow and, I was recruited by the government itself" he looked very proud of his achievement. Nik noticed that. "Before you go, what is your name?" "I'm recruit Johannes, Nikolas. I am subject 001". They went their both ways, but it wasn't the first time they'd see each other. Jason found himself meeting the young recruit again, as the scientists explained to him his future. "You are to become the Supersoldier, a man to grow beyond measure, a glorious statement, symbol of a nation." Those were one of the sentences said by the scientists, who weren't as fun to be around as Jason, he thought. He saw Jason at the bottom of the room, crossing his thin arms while listening carefully to the words of his colleagues. Nik smiled, though still feeling shaky, unsure of his choices still. Jason noticed that. After the whole presentation, having some time at hands, he went to speak to Nikolas. Putting his hand on his shoulder, he said. "My fellow scientists can be intimidating. I know. What they mean is: you will be alright, and your future is glorious, young man! At least that's what I believe" He sat next to Nikolas and kept talking "There is no need for fear, don't shake like that. Hey, it will be alright, your future is glorious." "Can you exactly translate what they said, Mr. Schwartz? I couldn't understand the scientist language too much" "But of course. Hey, no worries, I'm here to help, I'm an assistant, anyways. You will go on the chamber, we will administer some formulas into your body, and around you, through some injections. My fellow scientists will be monitoring the procedure through the control panel over there, making sure nothing goes wrong" "What if something goes wrong?" "We'll stop the procedure and you'll be taken out, discharged with honors and you won't have to worry about much further that." "And what are the chances of that?" "I'd say 25% of it going wrong, but we ran so many tests on VR before, I'd say I'd shrink it to about 5%. It will be alright." Jason held the shoulder of Nikolas again, in a calming way, he appreciated that. Jason felt good on helping the future of the army, the culmination of his efforts in the lab, being less afraid of his big choice. Nikolas felt he had a friend in Jason, and that was enough for this solitary fellow to keep on going on this "madness". Days passed and they didn't see each other much, but Nikolas thought about Jason, and cherished his words. The day of the big transformation came. Jason said one last time to the soldier, on a plaid shirt and khaki trousers, about to enter in the chamber, putting his hands on his shoulders one last time "you got this, don't worry". And then, it started. Jason knew great things were coming for Nikolas, and he saw in awe through the glass chamber a monster of muscle being born. Tearing his clothes apart, revealing his increasingly enhanced body with proud, roaring in pleasure, as he felt in need of sexual release, consequence of the drastic injection of testosterone in his system. After 20 long minutes of such spectacle, Nikolas stepped outside the machine as a newborn man, everything about him was glorious, like everyone told him. His smell, his shoulders, that previously Jason held to calm him, a pack of rocks that Jason wasn't able to reach anymore. Previously, he would need to be calmed, now he needed to hold back on his masculine proudness. His pecs, his abs, all of him, pure masculine power. Jason then aknowledged the exposed manhood of Nikolas, and he blushed on the size of it. "Wow I wish I had one of those" he thought, but he went beyond that, even if he felt awkward to admit it, experimenting what he haven't felt before until that moment. Once Nik stopped beating his chest with his huge veiny hands, with the applause of all his audience, he was cleaned and scorted back to his facility. Later that night, Jason sneaked into there, to see if everything was alright. "Hey there, our biggest achievement" Said him quietly, with proud and with gentlenenss on his eyes. "Mr. Shwartz, Jason, thank you" said the man with his newly enrinched voice, deep and masculine, like everything about him. "This is all thanks to your support. I'd... I'd have given up if it wasn't for it" "So, how does it feel like? Tell me about it, soldier" "Feels fucking insane. I feel a rush of power through my body, my muscles expanding, all of me, bigger, bigger than before, my abs, I never had exposed abs, let alone abs like that before, Jason, my friend. I feel like I can do anything, I feel I want glory, I want to crush the bones of those who dare to challenge us. I will protect you all with my bare hands! But still, this is the new me, I still feel the old me, it's there, too, occupying space with my newly reborn powerful will." "Wow... We have studied the impacts of one's enhancement. But never heard something like this, wasn't expecting it to feel, so... good." "It feels fucking great, I'm reborn". Nik noticed a bit of sadness on Jason's eyes. He decided to ask him. "So, why did you decide to become what you are?" "You know, I always had interest in the particle around us, that's why I chose chemistry as my major. Incredible how everything is made of small parts, that we can't even begin to understand. And how to apply that in our favor. Imagine, all our superheroes that we grew hearing about, coming to life, thanks to science! All the possibility of the human body, and those muscles..." "What about them?" "Huh? Oh, nothing, don't worry about it." "So, are you interested in superheroes?" "Yes, yes I do" "Do you have a favorite?" "I don't know, probably Captain America and his powerful transformation, I could say the Hulk has my interest as well, but he is too unstable. Well, it only will get better for us, my friend... that's for sure" He said that, but sadness was still strong inside him. "I envy you, you know, all this power... I have a brilliant future ahead in the science world, still a lot of researches to do, maybe one day I'll even get to work on my own, being a lab assistant no longer, say hello to head of Staff Schwartz! My own department! But still..." "Hey" Said Nik, putting his big hands on Jason's shoulders, was his time to be the solid guy on the scene now. "What's wrong?" "It's just this old stupid dream of mine... Back in the days, I was all about Gym, exercising, lifting, all those muscles I wanted in me, to grow myself, but as time went by, my focus shifted, I never got any significant gains anyway. But I wish I could have the time to just go to the gym again, so I could be as big as you" he sounded like a teenager, but Nik listened "Who knows? I still got the urge to grow! But, I'm afraid it's not my world, it is what it is..." "Jason, thank you for this conversation, thank you for checking on me..." "Sure thing, friend, my big friend! Come here" They hugged in a brotherly way, then Nik caressed Jason's shoulders again and said "Great things are coming your way, Jason. Don't worry, no need to shake like that." "Look at you, using my own words against me!" He chuckled, both were very happy to be around each other. Nik saw that brilliant young fellow, so proud of himself, and yet, crushed inside.. This wouldn’t be the last time they would see each other.

Part 1 Monday, March 22 Bruiser Reeves awoke and looked at the small alarm clock. 12:45pm. He opened his big mouth to yawn, pushed the black comforter off his almost-naked body, and glided out of bed. The sun streamed in between the blinds covering his window and provided just enough light for the big man to catch his reflection in the extra-large full-length mirror attached to his bedroom wall. Wearing only his jockstrap, he stood up to his full 6’4” height, flexed his massive biceps, and flashed a smile. “Fuck, yeah,” he said. “Big stud, big muscle.” He rummaged around his dresser for some clothes and settled on a XXL plain white T and black workout shorts, and went into his bathroom to shave and brush his teeth. Five minutes later he finished and headed to the kitchen. After downing two of the protein shakes that had been prepared for him, the 23-year old walked down the street toward the gym. Bruiser didn’t need to walk – he had his own brand new truck, and thanks to the very generous allowance from his father, he also had a bank account large enough to Uber wherever he could possibly need to go. He didn’t even need to go to a gym – again, his rich dad had set up quite the workout space in the basement of their home. But for Bruiser, the journey from his house to the gym were his favorite parts of the week. The sidewalks were always crowded around noon, as folks headed out for lunches and shopping and errands and whatever, and he could command attention from the ‘normals’ with his looks. They would stare at his Hulk-like body and his handsome face with its strong jaw, short-cropped black hair, deep green eyes, and perfectly white teeth. Today, his tanned skin looked even richer underneath the bright white shirt, and his recent super-heavy leg workouts contributed to the rock-hard thighs and calves sticking out from his shorts. Bruiser not only commanded attention from those passing him by, but also commanded space as he strut down the sidewalk. He positioned his 260-pound frame right in the center of the concrete strip and forced others to move out of his way. Bruiser got a huge thrill when people scurried out of his way at the last-second – and if he had to the opportunity to ‘accidentally’ bump someone and send them sprawling to the ground, well, in those cases, his dick would get hard. It didn’t matter if he knocked over a man of a woman, Bruiser never apologized, but would usually just laugh and offer a sarcastic comment about staying out of his way. He arrived to the downtown business district in about 15 minutes and turned the last corner before the gym, which was only three doors down. Bruiser passed the laundromat and restaurant and was about 10 steps from the gym when one of its clients hurried out the door. The guy was of medium height and had brown hair, brown eyes, and a well-kept brown beard, and he probably would have been described as handsome by many if he didn’t have at least 30 pounds of fat hanging around his middle. He was wearing an ill-fitting tan suit that may have also looked good in younger years, but now was clearly straining to cover his wider body. Bruiser smirked and thought, “I doubt Brownie could even button the coat anymore with that gut.” The man rushed onto the sidewalk straight toward Bruiser, clearing expecting the bodybuilder to move out of his way. Bruiser, however, didn’t play that game. He squared up his shoulder and blitzed forward. Brownie rethought his position at the last second when he realized he was about to collide with the much bigger, and clearly much stronger, Bruiser. He sidestepped to his right, but not fast enough to prevent clipping shoulders. Bruiser stopped walking and turned to look at the man, who was now standing right behind him and holding his left shoulder with his right arm. He was waiting an apology from Bruiser and snidely asked, “Well?” Bruiser smiled, and then with speed not usually seen in a bigger person, swiftly grabbed hold of the Brownie’s tie and jerked it forward as hard as he could. The man’s head and torso whipped down in response. Brownie blurted out “Fuck!” and waved his arms to prevent falling over. Once balanced, he instinctively grabbed onto his attacker’s fingers and tried to pry them off his tie, but it would have been easier to rip the asphalt off the street than undo Bruiser’s grip. Bruiser gave the tie another hard tug and growled, “Apologize.” Staring at the swelled-up bicep in front of his face, and realizing he probably had no other options at this point, Brownie acquiesced. “I’m so sorry! Totally my fault! I should be more careful.” Bruiser tugged once more to make sure Brownie had gotten the point and then said, “Watch where you’re going, wimp, or next time you’ll really be sorry.” “Yes, yes, very sorry!” Bruiser let go of the tie and Brownie stood up, pushing his stomach forward in the process. The add insult to injury, Bruiser grabbed the front of the man’s light blue Oxford shirt near his stomach and pulled hard, ripping off two buttons and exposing the white, soft flesh underneath. “And go to a different gym from now on." Bruiser added. “This one’s not working for you.” Brownie was going to put his arms up to loosen his tie, but instead reach down and tried to cover his flabby belly. He wanted to swear again, but said nothing and stormed off. Bruiser laughed, gave a squeeze to his semi-hard cock with his left hand, and easily opened the heavy steel door to the gym with his right. The music was blaring inside, the AC was blasting even though it was only about 65 degrees outside, and the place was populated with bodies pushing, pulling, jogging, and lifting. In the very early afternoon, most of the clients were businessmen on late lunch hours trying to keep in shape, students from the local college who had already finished their morning classes, and tourists staying at the hotel next door using the free passes available in their rooms. Bruiser was usually the only serious lifter – a big fish in the little pond – and he loved that the hotel provided a steady stream of new eyes to gaze upon him. Bruiser sauntered to the free weight area and started setting up one of the bars on a flat bench. As he added plate after plate, he sensed that the smaller guys were already eyeing him. Even though he wasn’t sweating due to the air conditioning, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow and revealed his brick-like abs. Most men his size had to sacrifice a lean middle to bulk up the rest of their body, but Bruiser was blessed with the ability to achieve both a shredded midsection and big muscles. “Check it out, wusses,” he thought as he padded the non-existent sweat on his forehead with one hand and rubbed his abs with the other. “You guys could work out every minute for the next 10 years and take all the protein in the world, and you still wouldn’t look half as good as me.” When he let go of his shirt and it fell back in place, Bruiser saw he was attracting a little more attention than usual. He could generally rely on at least two or three guys looking at him when he first arrived, but he counted five already glancing his way. He decided to put on more of a show than usual. Bruiser pretended to stretch before lifting, but he made it seem more like a posing routine. He put his hands behind his head, causing his 21-inch biceps to bunch up in his tight shirt sleeves, and flexed his pecs as he rolled his head around a few times. Bruiser vigorously massaged his quads, making sure his hands lingered close to his cock for way too long, and then groaned loudly as if he were working out a kink. Finally, he was ready for the piece de resistance. Bruiser finished loading the bar with 255 pounds of iron, and sat down on the bench like he was getting ready to press it. But instead, he just retied his shoelace, stood up, and walked around to the back of the bar. Without showing any strain to the men gawking, Bruiser picked up the bar and began curling it. He lifted it up and down ten times, and put it back onto the rack with a big smile on his face. “Fuck, that’s going to get them all hard,” he thought as he wiped his brow once again of the invisible sweat. Now there were 8 men staring at the behemoth who had just curled more than twice what most of them could bench. Three were rather impressed at the feat, four were awestruck and staring with their mouths agape, and one was actually getting a hard-on. The most avid fan of the display was Luke, a slim, blond-haired man who was also 23. He was one of the hotel guests, new in town, and thought he would get in a quick workout before cruising the gay bars later in the evening. Little did he know that he’d stumble upon his personal fantasy before setting foot in any of the city’s drinking establishments. Luke liked what he saw in Bruiser…dark hair, tall, beefy, strong as a bull, and with machismo dripping out of every pore. And after curling 255 pounds, the bodybuilder’s biceps looked ferociously huge. “Definitely my type, and definitely gay,” he thought as walked up to Bruiser, who had just sat down again on the bench. “Um, you need a spotter?” asked Luke coyly. Bruiser looked over at the man who had approached him. He was maybe 5’5” or 5’6” tall, about 100 pounds, with sandy blond hair, delicate features, and was wearing a loose fitting red tank top and matching red shorts. The clothes were probably the smallest the man could find in the men’s section and were still too large for him. Bruiser couldn’t help but laugh at the question, and with his deep voice, he sounded a lot like Bluto from the Popeye cartoons. “Do these big muscles look like they need your help?” asked Bruiser. Luke stared but remained silent. Bruiser put his arms up into a double bicep pose, glanced lovingly at his right arm, and then put them back down. “Well, do they?” Luke shook his head. Bruiser continued. “And you’re nothing but skin and bones, anyway. How could someone so scrawny expect to spot me on 255 pounds?” Feeling defeated, the smaller man turned to walk away, but then Bruiser said, “But I’ll tell you what. I do need someone to buy me a sports drink or protein bars from time to time, and clean the sweat off my benches. If you can handle that, I’ll promise you a bit of fun afterward.” Luke smiled. “Deal!” Bruiser smiled, too, happy to secure a new pet for the day. “Come!” he ordered as they walked toward the dumbbell rack. He wasn’t gay, but he did like the attention from the gym twinks and used their attraction to his advantage. He completed his full body workout three hours later, now with sweat really drenching his clothes, and Luke had been right next to him the whole time. There was minimal talking during these three hours, other than eventually exchanging names and Bruiser giving out orders to Luke, but the time still passed quickly for both men. When he put down the last dumbbell, the bodybuilder repeated, “Come!” and headed for the gym door. “Don’t you want to shower first?” asked Luke, hungry to get finally his hands all over Bruiser’s body. “I can shower here for an entire audience,” Bruiser said as he gestured to the other men checking him out, “or I can shower in private for you at my house.” It wasn’t really posed as a question, but Luke didn’t care. He was so horned up, he would have done anything Bruiser told him. “Sounds good to me,” Luke replied. He followed Bruiser out the door and was so enraptured by the big man’s spell he didn’t even bother to get his street clothes from his locker. Luke tried to walk next to Bruiser and get to know him better, but Bruiser wasn’t having any of his chit chat. After half a block, he grabbed Luke’s puny 11-inch bicep in his right hand and pointed behind him with his left hand. “Just walk about 5 paces back, OK,” commanded Bruiser. “We can talk later. All you need to know is that we’re going to my place and we will have some fun.” The smaller man fell in line behind the bigger man, and Bruiser took his normal spot in the middle of the sidewalk, hoping to mow down a few folks along the way. Luke stared at his solid ass the entire time and remained quiet during the rest of the trek. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the Reeves home. It was a large red-brick mansion, with manicured grounds and a four-car garage. Luke wanted to spend a few moments to take it all in, since it was so much bigger than the one-room apartment he lived in, but Bruiser was walking fast toward the front door so there was no time to stop. Bruiser led Luke inside and went to the back of the foyer. “Dinner ready?” yelled Bruiser. Luke heard a voice respond from the other room: “Yeah.” They entered the kitchen to find a third man who slightly resembled Bruiser. He was tall, maybe a few inches shorter than the bodybuilder, and had the same green eyes and dark hair, but his was a bit longer than Bruiser’s. The rest of him, however, was very different – pale skin, like he didn’t get outside much, and heavyset with flabby moobs and a gut sticking out from an unflatteringly tight blue polo shirt tucked into a pair of jeans that must have had a size 48 or 50 waist. Luke estimated his weight to be at least 300 pounds, but it could have been more since he was so tall. On the island next to fat man were three plates of food – one loaded up with steaks, one with green vegetables, and one with brown rice. Bruiser sat down on the closest bar stool and began cutting the steak up for himself. Luke and the other man watched him eat at first, but after about thirty seconds, both decided it was too uncomfortable to ignore one another. “I’m Pete. Bruce…,” he said while holding out his hand. “Bruiser!” interjected the muscleman. “I told you not to call me Bruce, asshole.” “Sorry,” said Pete. Luke shook Pete’s hand to break the tension. “Hi, I’m Luke. Are you his…..?” Pete noted the pause and finished the statement. “Brother. And you’re his…?” Luke wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just said, “New friend. We met at the gym today.” Pete was familiar with his brother’s habit of picking up ‘new friends.’ They never lasted very long, but he always tried to be polite. “Would you like something to eat, too?” “No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.” Pete waddled back toward the stove. “Are you sure? I just made some cinnamon rolls and I would love to get feedback. Bruiser won’t eat stuff like that and so I’m never sure how good they are.” He pulled a pan from near the stove and displayed them to Luke. The rolls were extra-large and smothered in white frosting. Luke shook his head. “No, thank you. But they do look delicious. Did you make all this food?” Pete put the pan back down and turned toward Luke again, causing his moobs and belly to jiggle. “Yes. I’m studying to be a chef, and Bruiser needs a lot of food to keep up his strength. He likes his protein.” Bruiser’s mouth was full of steak, but he grunted his agreement. “Well, Bruiser, if you change your mind, the cinnamon rolls will be waiting for you.” Bruiser swallowed the steak in his mouth. "I've told you before, Pete, that’s is not the kind of food I eat. Look at this body! You think I’d look like this if I ate that shit? Just keep the steaks and the veggies coming so I don’t end up like you.” To emphasize his point, Bruiser poked his brother in the belly, flicked Pete’s flabby left pec, and then returned to eating. Pete nodded and went back toward the oven. Luke should have been disgusted by Bruiser’s rude behavior, but the domination only turned him on more. About 30 minutes later, Bruiser finally finished his meal and walked to the stairs next to the kitchen. “Come!” he ordered. Luke, who had sat down on another barstool and silently watched Bruiser eat, got up and followed him. “Do we need to clean up?” Bruiser shook his head. “Come,” he repeated. “Pete’s work.” The bodybuilder led his new friend upstairs and into a very large room at the back of the hall. In any other home it might have been the master bedroom, but Luke figured they must all be this big in such a grand house. The room was sparsely decorated – a California King bed with a black comforter and six pillows in black shams, a nightstand with a digital clock and lamp, and two large dressers. There were windows on the east and north walls, closet doors next to the bed, and another door on the far wall that Luke assumed was for the bathroom. There were no photos, no artwork, no knickknacks – the only personal items were some sports trophies lined up across the top of both dressers. Bruiser kicked off his shoes and tossed them in the corner, and then walked toward the bathroom door. “Come,” he said again. He walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and then turned on the shower. Luke followed him inside and even though he should have expected it, he was still surprised at the size of the room. It was at least four times bigger than the one in his apartment and was decked out with expensive-looking tile, marble countertops, oak cabinets, a giant cast iron tub and a shower that could easily hold three or four people. Bruiser quickly disrobed and tossed his gym clothes into the hamper next to the sinks, and Luke let out a small gasp when he saw the bodybuilder completely naked. He had caught glimpses of muscles during the workout, but seeing the whole package together in the buff really took Luke’s breath away. Every muscle that Luke could see was full and hard, and the cock dangling between his legs certainly did not disappoint. “Wow,” was the only word he could muster. Bruiser grinned. “You never seen a real man with real muscles before?” Luke shook his head. “Not one like you. You look like the guys in the bodybuilding magazines.” “That’s because I am one of those guys,” Bruiser retorted while bouncing his pecs. “I won 3 contests last year and am planning to win even more this year.” Luke continued to stare. “It’s just all so…big.” Bruiser’s grin grew into a full-on smile. “Big stud with big muscle. I’ve bet I’ve got more in my right arm,” he said while holding it out in front of Luke, “than you have in your whole body.” The smaller man should have been insulted, but he was just more turned on by the comment. His cock sprang up to its full four inches while he stared at the muscle-packed arm. Steam began to emanate from the shower, so Bruiser stepped in and repeated, “Come.” Luke quickly took off his clothes, set them on the counter, and entered the enclosure. Bruiser shut the door and then roughly pushed on Luke’s head so he would get down on his knees. Luke wanted to explore more of Bruiser’s upper body, but the big man apparently needed him to get to work. Once on his knees, he took Bruiser’s giant cock in his hand and squeezed it gently. The organ immediately began to pump up in size. It was fully hard within sixty seconds, stretching out at least 10 inches long and 6 inches around. Bruiser took a step forward, bringing his hard cock so close to Luke’s face that he couldn’t focus his eyes on it. Luke backed his head up a little and adjusted his positioning, and then put his lips around the tip and started gliding his tongue around. The cock was incredibly musky after the workout, but musky was Luke’s favorite flavor. Bruiser closed his eyes as Luke worked on him. He really wasn’t gay, but he did like getting BJs from gay men. He wasn’t sure if they had stronger mouths and tongues, or if they just understood a man’s body better, but the orgasms he received from men giving him head were always much stronger than ones given to him by a woman. Luke may have only 23, but he was already an expert at blow jobs. He took more and more of Bruiser’s cock in his mouth and licked it like the world’s tastiest ice cream cone, while at the same time fondling Bruiser’s balls. Bruiser fantasized about growing bigger as the action continued. He was 260 now, but in his mind he was growing to 300, then 350, packed full of obscene amounts of muscle. The biggest man on Earth. The strongest man on Earth. Even Superman would look like a puny weakling when standing next to him. Bruiser was so into his fantasy about getting bigger that he didn’t help with the blow job at all. He didn’t help guide Luke’s head or buck his hips, but remained lost in his own dream about growing the world’s biggest muscles. Luke had to work harder and harder due to Bruiser’s inaction. He bobbed his head back and forth, swallowed as much as he could of the giant erect penis, and eventually added some teeth to the action to stimulate more arousal. That last part seemed to do the trick, because Luke could sense it was primed to release. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was about to happen, but he was never wrong. Luke pulled back one last time and jerked his head to the side. His intuition hadn’t failed this time either, as Bruiser’s whole body shuddered and his massive cannon shot forth a torrent of cum. It sprayed all over Luke’s cheek, neck and chest, and managed to hit the wall and floor, but the jetting water from the multiple shower heads immediately began washing it away. Bruiser let out a howling “FFFFUUUUUCCCCKKK” after the spray stopped, and then smiled down at Luke. “Good job, little man. Best in a long while.” Luke smiled, too, and slowly stood back up. He was hoping Bruiser might reciprocate the pleasuring, but he was quickly disappointed. Bruiser just grabbed the soap and began lathering up, and then handed it to Luke. “You might want to clean up,” said Bruiser. The two men washed their own bodies, shampooed and rinsed, and then got out of the shower. Bruiser didn’t say a word, but grabbed a towel for himself and began drying himself off. He left the bathroom, so Luke grabbed his own towel, dried himself, and got redressed. When he walked into the bedroom, Luke saw that Bruiser had already put on a fresh jockstrap and was holding a black t-shirt in his hands. The bodybuilder pulled the T over his head, and just like the white one he had worn to the gym, it showed off his muscular body very well. “Are we going somewhere, Bruiser?” asked Luke. “I’m going out with my friends,” he replied without looking over at his guest. “I assume you’re going back to the hotel?” “Um, don’t you wanna have some more fun here?” Bruiser checked himself out in the mirror above his dresser and flexed his arms a few times to make sure his look was perfect. “Nope. I’m done.” “Maybe I could come back later?” “No need. I’ll have my pick of the chicks to come home with,” said Bruiser as he reached for a small bottle of cologne from his top dresser drawer. He spritzed some on his neck and went back to admiring his reflection in the mirror. Luke was confused. “Wait. So, you’re not gay?” Bruiser turned, his face scowling. “Fuck, no. Look, I need a release after a long workout, and you guys are the best at it. And usually, there’s no whining like with the ladies. You just go down, and then go home.” The big man took a few steps toward the little man. “That’s how it works. Got it?” Luke nodded, and then quickly left the bedroom. He descended the steps and left the house angry and upset. Pete, who was still cleaning up in the kitchen, sighed as Luke left. He wanted to warn these guys that Bruiser only wanted one thing, and it wasn’t a relationship or even a one-night stand – it was a few seconds of pleasure for him, and nothing for them. If you like this story and want more like it, please check out my GrowManGrow Patreon page: https://www.patreon.com/growmangrow?fan_landing=true

Hey guys, longtime lurker, first time poster (going back to the old forum days). Finally took the plunge and took a cut at fleshing out one of my story ideas. I hope you enjoy! —————— Today was the day. The day where he could finally show everyone what he had been working on. The day where he could finally show himself what he had been working on. For weeks, months, gosh was it years? he had devoted his life to one thing, growth. All leading up to today, his first competition. The first time he can show off the fruits of his labor to the world. — It all started innocently enough. He wanted to lose that little gut he developed in his early twenties, so he joined the gym around the corner from his apartment. He picked the place without much thought, absentmindedly noticing a flyer in their window offering free personal training with new signups. Sounds too good to be true, he thought. There’s gotta be a catch… Nevertheless, he soon found himself in the brightly-lit lobby of the facility. The chipper attendant at the desk lit up excited to spark up a conversation. He was the epitome of a gym bunny. Well built, but not to some of the extremes some guys take it these days. With ‘supps’ and all other worlds of drugs and enhancements there’s just so many guys who take it too far. Fumbling around in their bulky bodies on an endless quest to get 'swole.’ Don’t they know that it will never be enough? They’ll just keep growing and growing regardless of the impact it has on themselves, their lives, their… He shakes his head to break up his train of thought. The attendant steps out from behind the desk to greet him, which thankfully allows him to refocus. “Hi, I’m Nick, what brings you in today?” he says while extending his hand. Grasping the attendant’s hand and following it up he notices how defined his arms are. He continues that path checking out the rest of his body. His deeply cut yellow stringer top and black short-shorts don’t leave much to the imagination. Perky, defined pecs leading down to the top row of a defined 6-pack popping out right above the bottom of the stringer’s neck hole, if you can even call it that. His visage was completed by a pair of firm thighs and calves. Taking him in as a whole you notice the slight tinge of a tasteful tan, he’s damn-near perfect. Not too much, not too little. What those douchebros on Insta would likely call “aesthetics.” Snapping out of it for the second time since entering the gym, he realizes that he has been standing there staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Sorry, sometimes I get a little lost in my head,” he fumbles, “I guess… I want to look like you,” he continues letting out a nervous laugh. “Haha, if I had a nickel for everyone that comes in here saying that lately, I could practically own this place by now,” Nick replies. His carefree reply lightens up the awkwardness to my relief. “Speaking of, why don’t I show you around?” “Sure, I’m Chet by the way.” Nick guides him around showing him the various amenities of the facility while they make small talk about Chet’s goals. He opened up, explaining that he really has never put much thought into his physical fitness outside of required gym classes in school. He was average, average height, average weight, average grades, average job… he wanted to make a change and he thought investing in his body would be a good step. “I can totally relate, you sound a lot like me before I started here a few weeks ago” Nick replied. He paused for a moment, did he say a few weeks ago? but he was again distracted. This time by the sight of Nick’s cute firm bum as he quickly spins around to face him. “Our personal training program is really great,” Nick declares with his hands firmly on his hips, bunching up his stringer to show a little peek of his cut adonis belt. “So what do you think?” “Huh?…” he stammers. Nick elaborated, “Are you going to join?” “Oh sure, I mean it all sounds great and I can see this place helps produce some great results” gesturing at Nick’s body “but, I do have some questions.” “Fire away! I aim to please.” He thinks back to Nick’s previous comment. Is it really possible that he’s built up this perfect body in just a few weeks? No, that’s crazy, he must have misunderstood. To save himself from embarrassment he thinks of a more benign question to start “So when should I start?” “How about right now?” Nick answers. He’s thrown off guard from that reply “Oh, uh wow, that’s really quick… I…” he stutters “I don’t even have the right clothes or…” “Don’t worry, we can provide all that,” Nick says as he grabs a matching stringer and shorts from behind the front desk. “Oh, I don’t think I can wear that…” he replies with anxiety washing over him thinking of what his pasty slightly chubby body would look like in such a revealing outfit like the one this young adonis is wearing. “Don’t worry Chet, no one will judge you here, besides one of the stipulations of the personal training program is that we must get you started right away. We find that people are more honest off the cuff.” Nick again offers the clothing and gestures to the locker room. Still uneasy, he takes the clothes and gets changed. He avoided any mirrors while walking out, not wanting to see what his body looked like. He walks back up to Nick displaying his best awkward shrug. Nick flashed him a smile “You look great buddy! A lot better than I did the first time I put those clothes on for sure.” Nick puffed his cheeks out at the end of his sentence to make his point, before they sucked back into his chiseled face. Okay, this is getting weird he’s gotta ask him, he thinks. Is he really to believe that Nick went from tubby to this just by working out here for a few weeks? He starts “Hey Nick, I gotta ask,” but just then, he catches a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrored columns of the gym, the anxiety builds up in him again. He changes his question on the fly, looking for comfort in the only person he knows so far, “will you be my personal trainer?” a nervous smile creeps onto his face. “Haha, no, we’ll pair you up with someone with a lot more knowledge and experience than myself.” His smile dissipates. “Speaking of, let’s get you set up with a consultation to get you started!” Nick leads him down a hallway with 5 or 6 doors, they stop midway. CONSULTATION ROOM #3. Nick opens the door to lead him in. He stops in the door frame, “wait, this is all going so fast, isn’t there some paperwork or something I should be filling out first?” “Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of in time, just take a seat and your trainer will be in shortly.” He turns back. The room is empty aside from a chair in the center near the far wall. He sits and waits, the strange thought of Nick’s quick results still festering in his head. — The door begins to open and he looks up. As it starts to reveal the man that is walking in, presumably his trainer, his jaw drops further and further at the sight he is seeing. The arm pushing the door open is larger than any he has ever seen and lean enough to see every fiber twitch even with the simple movement of opening the lightweight door. More is revealed as the motion of the door and the man continues, delts like bowling balls, a wide bloated chest, quads the size of cannons, and a thick quilted midsection all coated in a network of thick veins. The man had to angle himself sideways to complete his entrance to the room due to his wide back. Closing the door behind him he walks, or more accurately waddles, over to face Chet, towering over him in his seated position. Though, truthfully even if he was standing the man would likely still tower over him. He was wearing the same stringer and shorts leaving most of his obscene body on display. He was a human anatomy chart taken to the extreme. Muscles bumping and fighting for space, surely limiting his range of motion. His skin looked like it was shrink wrapped to his body with a dark tan, much more so than Nick’s, which served to exaggerate his already deep cuts and pulsing veins. Sitting there in matching clothing, he thought about the ridiculous disparity between his body and the man’s. Shame and anxiety started to return, but this time he easily dismissed it as his thoughts of the man soured. He is too much. He’s taken a beautiful thing and pushed it too far. He’d much rather have his pudgy body than this walking, ahem, waddling, meat parade. “Chet” the man’s voice booms. “The name’s Alan. I’m the owner of this gym and I’ll personally be in charge of your training.” “Based on your intake assessment, I think there is a lot of potential in you that I will develop.” Intake assessment? He doesn’t have any recollection of doing anything of the sort. He’s hesitant to do anything this man says, but is also intimidated by his presence, so he shyly nods along. “I’m willing to personally take you under my wing, but that comes with some stipulations. One, you must do everything I say. I will take full control of your training plan, diet, everything. Two, you must make every effort to shield yourself from the sight of your body during the program.” With that he pulls out some baggy sweat pants and hoodies. “I think we’ll start you with a large.” “I know this probably sounds like a strange requirement, but we only develop clients here who are fully committed and I don’t want any outside factors influencing your progress. You can admire your physique when we’ve completed your prescribed program.” “Finally three, your training starts now.” With that last sentence he stops and stares at Chet with a stern look. His large chest heaving up and down heavily. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Alan booms. He takes the hint and puts on the sweats. “Oh and Chet, I am deadly serious about number two,” he tenses his muscles, they explode with size letting out a deep GRRRR, “got it?” He had never been more terrified in his life. What had he gotten himself into? What is this man going to do with him? Alan heads to the door as he follows. I’ll just get through this one session as to not tick off this brute. He gulps thinking of what lies ahead. He’s never once stepped foot in a gym before and any hopes of this guy starting him off easy are straight out the window. Alan hands him a protein shake and directs him to the floor. The workout is brutal going around from machine to machine with Alan instructing him how to use them and putting him through grueling sets. By the end he is exhausted and his hoodie is drenched in sweat. Alan hands him another post-workout protein shake. “Drink up. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” We’ll see about that, he thinks. On the short walk home he ponders the events at the gym while trying to ignore the soreness of his body. Especially his legs. He takes a look at his phone, he had been there for just over 4 hours. Not that he would have known since he can’t recall a single clock in the building. He arrives back at his apartment and makes a b-line for the bathroom so he can get out of these sweaty clothes and clean himself up. He turns the hot water on in his shower and strips the drenched clothing off. In the process he unconsciously avoids looking at his body with Alan’s voice and powerful muscles echoing in his head. Ha, that’s silly, he thinks, that guy is crazy. There’s no way I’m following his rules, let alone stepping foot back in that place to begin with. He smirks and starts to turn towards the mirror, but something stops him before he makes it. He thinks to look down, but similarly feels stuck. He can’t put his finger on it, but it’s like something is physically keeping him from doing so. God this day… am I the crazy one now? I just need to relax. He steps into the shower, the warm water soothing his tired body. After the shower he slips into a robe and collapses onto his bed out of exhaustion. — The next day he awakes feeling downright amazing. Wow, thought I would have been more sore after a workout like that, he thinks. Maybe I will go back to that gym… Wait, no, that was insane, I’m not going back, his mind in quick disagreement with itself. Just then, he hears a loud pounding at his apartment door and jumps out of bed to answer. The door opens and to his surprise, it’s Alan in all his imposing glory. “Morning Chet, here, put these on.” Alan commands handing him another identical set of sweats. “We got work to do, both here and at the gym. Step aside.” With that, a team of people from the gym burst in, some carrying boxes in and some with bags to carry stuff out. “Woah woah, what’s going on here, how do you even know where I live?” he exclaimed. “I’ll ask you kindly to not raise your voice to me like that again,” Alan scorned “I knew exactly who you were the second you walked into my gym. As I explained, we only take on clients we know will commit and have potential, so to that end I have implemented a system at my gym to make sure that happens.” Alan’s ominous reply does noting to dissipate his feelings. He looks around at what everyone is doing, some appear to be restocking his kitchen with clean foods, proteins, and supplements, everything the gym-goer needs. A similar transition is happening in his bedroom, with his wardrobe being swapped with the requisite sweats. Another worker looks like he is removing all the mirrors. “I don’t understand, I don’t want this, I didn’t sign up for this,” he pleads. “Actually you did,” Alan replies showing him his tablet displaying an agreement with a signature that looked a lot like Chet’s. “What? I don’t remember signing this.” “Enough of this, get dressed, we have work to do. I won’t ask again,” a not-so-subtle flex of Alan’s bicep accentuating his point. He found himself following Alan back to the gym for another round of workouts. He didn’t feel like he had a choice. There was nothing he could do in this puny body of his. He resolved that his only option was to continue with the program, to what end that meant, he didn’t know, but hopefully it wasn’t an outcome similar to Alan’s. He observed Alan as he walked in front of him. His gargantuan thighs slicking past each other causing his bubble butt to pump along. His thick arms laid high on his inhuman lats. Both contributing to his wide stance, easily three times as wide as his own. His gait was reflected in his upper body as his arms swing widely in sync. What an ape, he thought. Once back inside the gym, Alan produces another protein shake for him and leads him back to the floor to start another grueling session. This time, he tries to not think about the predicament he has found himself in. He luckily finds it easy to lose himself in the workouts Alan has designed. The day is a blur of sets, shakes, and hydration. “Alright, now that’s a real day’s work,” Alan says to him, snapping him back to reality, “Go home, eat, and recover. You’ll find a schedule on your fridge that you will start following. See you tomorrow.” He walks outside to a low hanging sun. Gosh, what time is it? His phone display reads 6pm. He is stunned, this latest session was 10 hours long. How is that possible? “I guess yesterday was a light day to start,” he nervously laughs to himself. Arriving home he takes stock of the changes Alan has made to his apartment. Sure enough any reflective surface has been removed. He opened his dresser and closet to find nothing but sets of sweatpants and hoodies. Opening his fridge he found it stocked with pre-portioned meals. Finding some solace he at least is happy he doesn’t have to think about cooking while in the program. He spies the schedule Alan mentioned. On it are details of his meals, workouts, and to his dismay supplements. He looks to the right and sees them all lined up on his counter. He’s not happy about starting to take such things, but he knows he must. Alan will know if not. Curiously the workouts on his schedule don’t appear to have a firm start and end time, just generic things like Tuesday: Chest and Shoulders, Wednesday: Legs. Likely means he can expect more marathon sessions like he has already started. His workouts continue in the same fashion. He’s finding it easier and easier to get lost in his mind while working out. He’s actually kinda enjoying it despite all the circumstances surrounding it. The days begin to blend together with everything in his life so regimented. — It’s a few weeks later, he’s in the gym with Alan. Thursday, that means back and abdominal. He wonders what his abs look like, if he has them yet, if they look like Nick’s. That day with Nick seems so long ago. He sees him around the gym, but he’s so lost in his workouts, he doesn’t focus on much else then that while there. Alan appears to be pleased with his progress. “You’re doing great Chet, I knew you were built for this.” Alan’s approval fills him with joy as fucked up as that is. “So listen here, it’s time to take this to the next level.” With that Alan pulls out a syringe with a mystery substance in it. “What’s in that?” he asks. “That’s for me to know, it’s all part of the program. This isn’t a request.” He snaps into a hyper-focus, more than he has had in weeks. His mind races. He is not going to do this. He can’t believe he has gone this far already, with Alan controlling his life so completely. He’s already rearranged his whole life, starting taking all these supps and guzzling protein shakes, this is a step too far. He will not inject any sort of drugs in his body. With rebuilt force he blurts out “No! Absolutely not, this.. this is too far, I’ve already done so much for you. I will not.” Alan doesn’t seem to be surprised by his response. His lips curl up into a cheeky smirk. “Wow, I thought you were never going to say no,” he replies as he forcefully jabs the syringe into his arm, right through the hoodie fabric, and forces the mystery substance into his body. “What the…” is all he can start to muster as he feels the effects of whatever chemicals were in there. He feels a jolt of energy, but at the same time, he feels the world around him slipping away, first a blur, then completely gone. — Chet was giddy on the day of his first show. Not only because he was going to show off his hard work to the audience, but because Alan is finally going to allow him to see his body for the first time since he started his bodybuilding journey. He had made every effort to avoid spoiling this for himself and Alan by checking himself out. He knew this was so important. He had worked so hard for Alan to get here. Regardless of the baggy clothing that Alan and the gym provides, he knows there have been huge changes going on underneath and he can’t wait to finally see them. He checked all the boxes to prepare for this first showing like a true bodybuilder. Alan has had him on a cutting routine as of late to make sure his body is in the absolute best condition it can be to wow the judges. He’s also been running him through all the requisite poses and even booked him a spray tan like his own to accentuate his musculature. They check in at the hotel front desk where the competition is being held. With the key in hand, Alan hands it over to him with a bag as well. “Here, put this on when you get to the room. I will hang back here for a bit to really let you take yourself in.” Once in the room, the anticipation is killing him. He pulls the garment out of the bag that Alan handed him. To his surprise it is a pair of the brightest hot pink posers he has ever seen. He quickly slips them on, still avoiding checking out his legs as he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise at the last minute. With the posers in place he finishes disrobing. Standing in the entry of the room, he closes his eyes takes a deep breath before walking over to the full length mirror. He opens his eyes… oh… my… god… Is all that leaves his stunned mouth. Just as he finally takes sight of his insane body, he feels woozy and is struck by a flash of light which causes his head to fly back. — Where am I? you ask yourself. You’re staring at a ceiling that you don’t recognize as your own, but you can definitely feel yourself standing, not laying down. You can’t put your finger on it, but something about your stance feels off. You start to lower your head as you scan the room. You appear to be in a hotel room, but where? That thought is quickly interrupted as you look and realize you are not alone in the room. Across you see what must be the largest man you’ve ever seen in your life. His presence startles you, not expecting someone else, let lone someone as freaky as this guy. His expression looks to be one of bewilderment as well. You start “Hey, do you…” but trail off as the words are mimicked on the other man’s mouth. “What the,” you say as you raise your hand to your face, but to your astonishment the other man’s beefy arm raises up with it. You touch your face and it sinks in, the other man… is you. Your eyes go wide as you finally recognize the face in the mirror as your own. Of course it’s your face, you realize, but it’s taken on harder, more chiseled features, not to mention that it’s flanked with thick pulsing veins. You hold the arm out in front of you taking it in. It’s absolutely massive. It amazes you that you’re even able to move its mass at all. Your palm is rough and wide, veins snaking up the flip side leading up to your forearm, which looks like it could give your former legs a run for their money with its size. Your biceps were no less freaky easily out-measuring your head. You give your arm a tentative squeeze and see it jump to life. The thick vein splitting the head of your bicep pulsing with blood to feed your engorged muscle. Your arm is capped off with a delt the size of a medicine ball. It’s likely no less weight than one either, you think to yourself. You attempt to look down to continue your fevered assessment of the wild changes to your body, but quickly find that you can’t see anything over your puffed out pec shelf, your chin colliding with the cavernous crevice between them immediately upon looking down. You return to the mirror. For the first time really taking your whole body. Your skin is covered in a dark tan, the point of which seems to be to further accentuate your musculature. It looks so foreign, much like everything else, not just due to its complexion, but also due to the fact that it is so tightly sucked onto every crevice of your body. Your conditioning is to the point where you have to start questioning if your skin is even there, or if it’s just pure musculature showing through. Your head is perched on top of a set of traps that look like they’re close to touching your ears. You turn your head from side to side, feeling the way they restrict your movement. Your head looks comically small compared to every other part of your body, further highlighting the total growth encompassing every other muscle your body contained. You had already gotten a sense of the size of your pecs from what you could see in your limited range of sight, but you were not prepared to take them in fully. They dominated your upper body, wide and thick, reminiscent of the fluffy pillows on the hotel bed. Your nipples nearly out of sight as they point downward to the floor from the sheer mass contained in the muscles. Behind them, thick lats jut out, forcing your heavy arms to rest high on your body as they fight to occupy the same space as each other. Below your pecs you gaze upon your abs and obliques. Your midsection is a crazy amalgamation of cuts and bulges. Some of these muscles you swear you didn’t even know existed. Your 6-pack, or was it an 8-pack, no to your amazement you count a 10-pack, is blocky and deep. You could lose a finger, maybe even a hand in those cuts. Regardless of its thickness, your waist tapers down tightly, especially compared to the width of your upper body. Your adonis belt is thick enough to cast a shadow upon the top straps of the hot pink posers you have on as your only piece of clothing. You stop at the sight of the posers, for the first time really noticing them. Their bold coloring not having been enough to distract you from all the other changes in your body. What an embarrassing garment, why would you wear such a thing? Even from the front, you can feel the growth in your glutes and can see them jutting out ever so slightly underneath the straps of the posers. You stop to think if your new body would appear taller sitting down with these massive bubbles than standing up. Your quads may be in the running for the most ridiculous transformation. They are massive, the size of barrels, forcing your stance apart wildly as you feel them pressed up against each other firmly. Deep insertions give way to a sweep that goes on for days. Teardrop doesn’t even begin to describe their shape. Even if your quads weren’t keeping your legs from standing next to each other with ease you guess that your calves still would. Shaped like diamonds, you’d never seen anything like them. Your thick quads coupled with your tight waist and wide upper body give your whole body an unmistakable “X” shape. Everything feels so tight and not talking just about the posers pulled tight over your bum. Everything is tight with the mass packed onto your frame. You trace the network of thick, pulsing, veins crisscrossing muscle groups back up to your face as you finish your assessment. With everything taken in and made sense of as much as it can, you finally have the time to think. Your mind goes into overdrive. “No, no, no, what the hell is going on, this is insane, this is all too much!” you yell out to no one. Taking a step forward to begin pacing about the room nervously you immediately trip over yourself, not used to having to move your quads out of the way of each other to simply move. As you begin to move you feel bulky and awkward, muscles colliding with muscles, a warmth building between your quads as they rub past each other. Your heart is racing as you struggle to come to grips with the body you now apparently inhabit. This causes a vicious cycle as the blood coursing around your body only serves to pump up your already exaggerated muscles even more. You hold your arms up in front of you to examine them again, the sheer sight of them causing you to quickly lower them to your sides to get them out of your view. As if you could even hide away arms like this. You stop at the mirror again. This is not normal, you think. Humans are not supposed to look like this. How can they look like this? Can I even call myself human at this point? I’m more muscle than man. When your biceps outsize your head, it’s clear who runs the show. This body, it’s incomprehensible, it’s obscene, it’s grotesque, it’s disgusting, it’s exactly what you would never want for yourself. You’ve had enough. You can’t look at it anymore. You scan the room to find clothes to cover yourself up so you can try to think straight. You find a tent-like hoodie and pair of sweat pants discarded by the room’s entrance. You clumsily drape the hoodie over yourself, your bloated muscles keeping you from having the amount of range needed to slip it on easily. On the way down muscles jutting out constantly catching it up in its path. With great effort and squirming you finally get it on. How pathetic, you think to yourself. You throw the sweat pants on the floor and step into them, slowly pulling them up your legs. Widening your stance to allow them to slip between your quads. They need to be tied off at the top, otherwise there would be no way they could pull past your bloated quads and cinch tightly to your tiny waist. You look back up at the mirror to accomplish this since looking down is not an option. Your arms struggle to grab the strings at your waist, your biceps colliding with your thick pecs as you attempt the motion. You sigh at the realization that even though you’re covering yourself up, the bloated muscle mass is still there underneath continuing its assault on everything you do. Fumbling with the strings, you pause. The sweats trigger something in your mind. Memories of the gym, of Alan, begin to rush back in. You come to the realization that he is the cause of this. You’re angry at him, but also at yourself for letting this happen. All you wanted was to drop a few pounds, but instead you let yourself get taken in by this man. I had no choice, you think as you flash back to his imposing form and a further realization begins to take shape. Next to you now, he would look downright puny. This thought terrifies you as the memories continue to fill back in, all the way up to the day when Alan injected you and your world went dark. This final memory begins to cloud your thoughts. Oh no, it’s happening again, you think as the familiar blurriness begins to take shape before the inevitable darkness. You’re terrified of what will happen next. How big will you be next time? Will there be a next time? oh god… A cocky grin creeps back up on Chet’s face as the pants drop back to the floor. First try at a morph too. Saw the original of Nick by Hardtrainer01 and decided it fit the story well so I tried my hand at making it even freakier. Not sure if it's something I always want to do, but those neon pink posers are undeniable

Helping my muscle dad pipes (part 2) So… ya, what can I say? In a matter of minutes, my dad flexed his powerful muscles like I never seen it before, I jerked off to it, we both shoot waves of cum to his muscles and I finaly told him that I am gay… What a fucking mess! - So… here we are hã? - Well, ya son… - So… - … - We can pretend that this never happened if you want… - Damn it son, im the older one here, I should start this. From the beginning ok? - Ok… - You know I always been into sports right? Hell, even when I think about school time I always remember me doing push-ups and lifting chairs while the other kids were just playing around with cars and stuff - I believe dad, and you always been built as far as I remember, since I was born in fact - Exactly kid, growing my body always was important to me, long before you were born you know. At 17yo I was entering the gym for the first time. In 2 years I was already the biggest kid around. I will never forget when I turned 19yo and my arms were the same… - You mean… 19 inch biceps! - Yes son, 19 inch cannons! Some fat, got admit, was eating like a lion, all I wanted was to GROW. - That’s fucking amazing dad, had no idea - I was around 195 pounds that time, everyone called me the bull. Then I start having nutrition tips, got my first supplements, always lifting more and more. LAter i start working, I met your mom, then you came to our lifes, so many things happened. But my desire to become the biggest muscle guy around never went away… - Dad, what were your max stats? How huge? - Will never forget son, about 1 year before you born, 225! - No way!! - And this pipes exploded up to 21 inches!!! Dad flexes his big biceps again, staring at them. My god, they were about 19 inches now and already so round and freaky, I can’t even imagine them at 21!!! - Damn your body is fenomenal dad, but those arms are just surreal - Not only the size son, but the shape too. This fuckers always had insane peaks! - Yeah and they are like rocks! - Well you felt them kid - I sure did, it was… intense… - Ya… well you love muscles right? - Alot dad… I hope… well I hope its ok with you - Son I love my muscles so fucking much too. And knowing you love them too really makes me push myself extra hard - Oh man I hope you get as huge as you can dad, but you know, it really turns me on… - That’s ok, you are my son. You saw me cum to my muscles too. How more awkward can it be? - Well, that’s a good point - Come on grab this cannonball again! - Jesus dad, look at the difference in size between my hand and your peak!! - Growing everyday, and I want you to measure me daily, so we can make sure im maxing out my gains - I sure will! - So as you can see, im proud of my body at my age, but I´ve been bigger son, and I miss those days - I understand - And that’s why I decided, you know… - Roids… - Well, yes… Smart boy - Had to be dad, I mean, for the last 4 or 5 years you been very consistent on your stats, and all the sudden this last month you added very noticeable size, and just minutes ago when you posed… Man you are hulking out - Son I have no words, I can feel it 24/7 - How long already? - 2 weeks, this is a 10 weeks cycle. All my stats are increasing!! - You always been natural right? - Yes - So this stuff is new to your body and you were already very big… man you are gonna explode dad!! - I really believe I can rich my prime shape again! And maybe even more… - Oh man, I cant wait dad, I will help you in whatever I can - Thanks son, this will be our journey - But tell me, is it safe? This cycle? - Well, the guy says it’s a new but well known cocktail used by the big bulls in the middle east. - Awesome, is he your friend? - Well, not realy, like kinda? - … - Well its not like a normal friend you know, more like a client… My dad suddenly looks away and starts to turn a bit red. Maybe he is ashamed of who is getting him the drugs? Or is something else? - You ok dad? - There are some more things I need to tell you son… - Sure dad, anything you want - Well, you know that some guys are into, you know, muscles - I sure know… - Ya, well exactly, and as I got bigger, some guys started to ask me for… well - Worshiping… - … - Dad, you must understand that’s my territory. Im gay, I love muscles, I love muscle worship. That’s why I jerked off to your muscles… - Ya, its just that, never tough I would have this kind of talking with you, you know? - That’s ok, if you are ok with it, so am i - Well, its easy money I won’t lie. And all I need to do is what I love doing, flex and pose my muscles - So, its just that? Any touching? Or… - You mean, anything more sexual? - Ya… - No son, they can touch, lick and kiss my muscles. And well, some just cant control it and just start cuming all over them sometimes, but that’s it. And believe me, many were the times that I could have won much more money, but I have my limits - Sure dad, was just asking - So this guy, Cesar, is a long time client, and even loving my body as it is now, he really wants me even bigger - Damn, perfect combo. - Exactly, he had the contacts, so I said yes! - And you… - He can worship me for free and follow all my process of growing huge - Damn… Now im the one that needs time to process all this… - I know… But it is what it is son - Yeah, at this point we better have no lies between us Dad waves his head in agreement. I don’t know what to feel about all of this. My head is running 1000 miles per hour and as much as I’m trying to be serious about all this, I can fell my cock swelling again, knowing that I will now see my growing muscle roided father flex his massive muscles many more times… I will cook the best protein meals, get our basement gym always clean and ready for him to use, hell even inject him if he… Oh wait, bytheway… - Hey dad, who is injecting you? - Oh about that son. I sure know and im very proud that you are a nurse now, but I couldn’t have ask you, well not back then, so Cesar said I could inject into my biceps - Into your biceps? Never heard about that - Yeah, he said glutes were ideal, but was too complicated for me to do it to myself. And legs were too painfully so he said this cocktail could be shoot into my biceps, but the side effect would be that they would grow a bit more… - As if that was a problem… - Haha, not at all! GRRrrrrrrrrr Damn, my dad doesn’t lose an opportunity to flex his cannon biceps! I swear to god that the more he flexes, the more those peaks grow! And not just his peaks, but his bulge is always very alive… - Dad, I see you are much more into your muscles too… am I right? - Oh, son, sorry. Yeah, you are right… My cock is always hard since I start roiding - That’s fine, but I was really not expecting it. I can tell you cant stop admiring your growing body - Cesar said I would feel very horny during this cycle. And boy am i, im cuming 2 to 3 times a day! - Damn dad, that’s alot - Alot indeed, and by cuming I mean waves of it. You saw it - Fucking unreal, you are truly turning into a muscle freak! - Haha, I hope so son, and now with your help I feel more confident than ever! - So whats the first goal? - All about balance and size son, I will add as much mass as I can but I don’t want it to be fat. And some of my muscle groups needs more attention. Of course my arms are almighty but I need bigger pecs. And i know I can get much wider, plus my middle section needs get tighter too, I miss seeing my bulging abs - Damn dad, I don’t know what I will do when you finally reach all those goals - Well I think I know judging by your bulge… Oh man, I really need to be more careful. Look at this, I already have another wet spot in front of my just new fresh pants… - Damn it! Sorry dad, is just that you are so big and getting even bigger… Its too much for a muscle worshiper like me - Its ok son, we both are turned on by my muscles. I stop denying it too. If worshipping me makes you happy, then that makes me happy too son. Besides, as I said, muscle worshipping is not new to me - Thanks dad, you were always amazing to me - I love you son I lift my arms and we both hug each other. What a turn of events, and I am feeling the luckiest guy in the world… So, days are passing and dad is just bursting with pure mass! This will be a different Summer indeed, not beach and partys at all, oh no. My priority is having everything ready for my hulking dad so that he can maximize his gains, helping him reach the freakiness that we both want! Dad is getting wider so fast, almost like a fucking inverted pyramid… - Dad, lunch is ready! – I scream from kitchen - Hold on… Mmmmm… - Come on, you need to feed those muscles - … Tuna, rice, broccolis and pineapple, 3 full plates for my champ. Third week ending and dad already added 10lbs more! Now I can clearly see why he says he thinks he can get even bigger than his prime shape. I just cant stop boning to his hulking lats. His traps are popping from his neck, pecs are swelling so fast and his biceps… I don’t even try to hide my wet pants anymore, one quick look at those mountains and cum just starts to run all down my legs… - Don’t complain that is cold champ - Mmmmm… - Are you alright up there? - Son… You better come here… GRrrrrrrrrrr…! I quickly go upstairs. Is my dad hurt? What the fuck is happening? I enter his bedroom… - Dad?! - … - DAD !!! - It´s, it´s happening again… GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! With nothing more than some black workout pants and with his hands on the floor in a crouch position my hulking dad is sweating like crazy, veins bulging everywhere, his face turning red with each heavy breath, his big bare feet stretching… - MMmmmm… im… im ok - Dad! Look at you… - It´s another growth spurt son… It happened before - Growth spurt…? - Yeahhhhhh… Mmmmmm, My muscles just start… BULGING - But you look in pain… - It´s just that, Mmmmmm…. I can feel my muscles expand… I always get great gains when its… over… - Cesar told you about this? - Yes… Oh boy… Its ok, all I need is to… FLEXXX !!! - OMG!... Without warning dad raises up his hulking torso, hitting a colossal most muscular pose! Eyes closed, growling like an animal, his muscles bulge like I never tough it was possible… - Fuck dad, you already look so much bigger… - OH yeah, YESSSSS… Wait till this is over! Get ready… Im gonna explode!! GRRRRrrrrrrrrrr ( ( DING DONG ) ) - Oh shit, someone is at the front door - MMmmmmmmm… its ok son, this is about to get really freaky here! GRRRrrrrrrrr - No, but I want to see it… - Go open the door!! Fuck! I want to see my dad hulkout, what the hell!! I go fast down stairs again and open the fucking door, my cock is just so fucking hard that is hurting like hell stuck inside my pants - Who is it?! - Oh hey, you must be Pedro right? - … yeah, and you are? - Cesar, im your dad´s friend. Is Hugo inside? - Yes… well, no, I mean - … - He is really busy now - It´s happening isn’t it? - … Wait, did my dad just call him to assist his growth? - Its ok Pedro, I know what is happening to his hulking body, I was the one that got the stuff… - Yeah, he already told me… - Good, you like how is working? Is he growing? - Growing? He is hulking! - Oh fuck, I knew he was the right one! - And he is having another growth spurt just now… - I know, he called me! Fuck Pedro, let’s see how is turning out! Slamming the door behind us, we go upstairs as far as we can. Entering the bedroom again I don’t hear anymore sounds… Then, at the corner left, in front of the mirror I see the form of an immense human figure… Cesar shakes his head in disbelieve - My god Hugo, look at you… With his back in full display to us, my dad almost has no space between his monster lats and his colossal arms. Yet his small waist makes him look even more freakish and powerful… Each of his hulking legs looks almost same size of his waist, and his muscle ass looks immense… - Cesar, I hope you like your investment… - OMG, I knew by the photos you sent me that you were getting so much bigger Hugo… but seeing it is just… - Freaky? - More than freaky, oh god im already precuming, fuck… - Fuck dad, I cant believe it!! You are a fucking MUSCLE GOD! Im all wet too… - Haha, you two sound satisfied… But wait until you see it all !! Dad turns around and hits his signature pose! Grunting louder in full pleasure he hits a massive double bicep! His monster arms bulge and his peaks rise like nothing I ever seen in my life!! - Come here boys, time to worship your master!! On our knees, precuming uncontrollably, me and Cesar start feeling and admiring my hulking dad muscles in what would be the first of many worshipping sessions together…

“Hey everybody, this is Glenn!” “And this is Ben!” “We’re the Fortunato Brothers! And you’re watching another episode of ‘Can You Believe They Bought That Shit?’” TITLE -- THEME MUSIC “In this episode, we’re nosing in on the Storage Auction scene!” “Yeah, my brother and I took some of the profits we’ve made from our podcast this season and -- as usual -- WE BOUGHT SOME SHIT!” “What’d we get this time, Ben?” “That’s a good question, Glenn! The truth is -- I don’t know! Like everybody in the Storage Auction biz, we bought blind!” (EXTERIOR SHOT: Drone -- camera pans across the abandoned “ETERNAL STORAGE” building. There are faded egyptian pyramids painted on the storefront, symbolizing eternity -- subtly informing the viewer that they’ll own their junk forever. We can see the cracked asphalt of the old parking lot and the dilapidated condition of the building. Clearly, from the view, we’re in the middle of nowhere.) BEN (in VO): The Eternal Storage facility went out of business about a decade ago, but they never emptied it. Scheduled for demolition, “Eternal” decided to auction off the unclaimed lots, which these sorts of companies do regularly -- it’s even easier now, thanks to COVID. We bought our booty online. (INTERIOR SHOT: Hallway. Rows of storage units, resembling garage doors, run the dusty, broken down hallway. Some are open and empty, several are locked shut. The electric hall lights work by luck alone, creating a dim, prison-like atmosphere. The Buy-It Brothers are “Live” again. Glenn steps into frame.) “But you know us,” Glenn says, smiling his jowly, toothy grin at the camera. “We don’t ever buy a little shit when a lot of shit’s available!” Ben pops in frame, interrupting. “So we bought THREE of these things!” “Well, the fact is we bought an entire lot, which includes these three units, right here next to each other!” “Who knows what wonders we’ll find?” “No one till we open it. So, what do you say? Which one you wanna start with?” “Let’s start with Door Number One!” Ben says, pulling out a tagged key. As he unlocks an ancient, massive padlock that secures a chain to keep the metal “garage door” in place, his brother hogs the camera. “The fun of this style of ‘Blind Buying’ has spawned quite a few tv shows. Who knows what will be inside? Will it have value, or is it just old furniture and clothes? Is it King Tut’s tomb or Al Capone’s vault? If my brother can ever get the lock off, we’ll find out!” Smiling, Ben says, “This shit’s old!” “So’s your Momma!” Ben snorts, turning the key with great effort. “She’s your Momma, too,” he says, as the lock snaps open with a lethargic clack. “And you know she watches this show.” Ben pulls the chain out of the grating and the two of them squat down to open the sliding door. They couldn’t be less like each other, physically -- Glenn is built like a Snowman and Ben like a String Bean -- although you can see they’re related by face. And sense of humor. The hallway echoes with the sound of scraping, stubborn metal-on-metal force, as if the doorway didn’t fit correctly into its runners, as if it had been pounded out of shape. They get it up almost two feet before it won’t budge another inch. Ben, his skinny bod already used up, sighs loudly and pants. “Okay, maybe Tut’s tomb was a little easier! Want to try one of the others first?” Glenn is kneeling down, shining his flashlight into the darkness of the storage space. “No,” he says. “I can fit under this -- it doesn’t look like it’s jammed full of stuff -- lemme find the light.” “Go, Indy!” Ben mocks as Glenn slides (barely) under the stuck door. Ben gives a side-eye to the camera and whispers, “Indiana Jones was in better shape than my brother…” He harrumphs sarcastically, indicating his lean frame. “Usually, I’m the one squeezing into tight spaces, but my brother likes being the showman when the camera’s on. What’s going on in there?” he calls. “Hold on -- looking for a light. This is crazy!” “What?” Suddenly, the interior light comes on, flooding the space and leaking through the jammed metal door. “Holy crap! Get in here, Ben -- bring the camera!” (INTERIOR SHOT: Storage Unit One, about the size of a standard one-car garage, unpainted cinder-block walls with an overhead neon light. The space is full of gym equipment, not just stored willy-nilly, but set-up as if to be functional, as if someone worked out here. There’s a cable-crossover on the far end, before the mirrored wall. A squat rack on one side, a series of benches and dumbbells on the other. Dusty and cobwebbed, it hasn’t seen use in a while -- but it once did. Lots of use from its condition.) “Look at this!” Glenn says to the camera, smiling broadly. “This is someone’s gym!” Ben looks around. “Maybe some gym went out of business or something…” “No. This looks like someone used it. I mean, this stuff is set up, not stored.” He pulls a pair of 20-pound dumbbells from the rack and struggles to do some bicep curls. “Look at me,” Glenn laughs. “I’m Ah-nold!” He puts the dumbbells back on the rack with a clang that echoes through the space. His pear-shaped body couldn’t possibly look less like Schwarzenegger. Weird. “This is weird,” says Ben. “I know,” laughs Glenn. “Can You Believe We Bought That Shit?” Even Ben laughs at this. “Another mystery for the Buy-It Brothers!” he says back, smiling. “Hey, look back here! There’s a door to the next room -- we won’t have to try and open the front slider!” “Thank God,” Ben says, pulling the heavy wad of keys, chains, and rings from the pocket of his cargo shorts and dropping them on the flat bench. Behind and to the side of the cable crossover -- almost hidden to the eye -- there’s a standard gray industrial door that leads to the next unit. The knob has a keyhole, but as Glenn grabs it, the door breaks off its hinges and falls to the side, as if someone had forced their way through it and tried to put it back in place so no one would notice. “Fine construction,” Glenn jokes. “No wonder they’ve condemned this building.” “This is all very weird.” Glenn pulls the flashlight from out of his back pocket. “At least I know where the light switches are,” he says, entering the dark room. “Be careful,” Ben calls, shooting a nervous glance at the camera. He sees the light come on in the next room, but when he doesn’t hear anything more from his brother, he steps toward the door. “Glenn…?” His brother’s voice isn’t scared, exactly, but he certainly sounds concerned. “Ben,” he says, “bring the camera.” (INTERIOR SHOT: Interior of Unit Two. Ben is clumsy, so the camera is jerky as the stand is reset. This room is identical to the other in terms of construction (and lack of color), but it has a different function -- this is living quarters. At one end of the storage unit, along the wall is a simple cot with a nightstand, a lamp, and a small dresser -- a dull, circular floor rug breaks up the cement. On the other wall, a cheap recliner aimed at a crude, old-fashioned entertainment center -- a TV, a VCR and several dozen VHS tapes. Along the back end of the unit, the opposite end, a seatless toilet, a sink, and a showerhead -- there’s a centered floor drain beneath it.) Taking it all in, Ben says, “What the fuck?” Same tone from Glenn. “Can you believe we bought this shit?” “Glenn, what’s goin’ on? Do you think… someone LIVED here?” “Or was KEPT here.” There’s an uncomfortable silence, unusual between these two. To distract himself, Glenn goes to the entertainment center and picks up some of the VHS tapes. He snorts. “What?” asks Ben, turning the camera to catch Glenn. Glenn holds up the tapes to the camera. “It’s all gay porn,” he says. “And a few bodybuilding competitions.” Even Ben sighs and jokes, “Can you believe we bought that shit?” He chuckles. “Do you think any of this has any value at all?” Glenn shrugs, indicating the tapes. “They’re vintage,” he says. “And look,” he continues, turning the TV on, “TV still works!” The TV comes to life with gay porn, two muscular men in the depths of fucking. Crude and savage, the Buy-It Brothers both turn away. “Oh, Geez… turn it off, man!” But it won’t turn off -- Glenn hits the power button any number of times, but the TV keeps on keeping on. “It won’t turn off,” he says. “Looks like it’s gay porn to infinity!” Ben side-eyes the camera. “Unplug it,” he says, which Glenn acknowledges and pulls the plug from the wall -- the TV stops, mercifully. They’re spooked enough. Glenn holds up his hands like he’s won a race. “Ta-dah!” he sings. “Anything in the dresser?” he asks, nodding toward the piece. Ben seems afraid to look, but finally opens the top drawer, which he then immediately closes. “What?” Ben swallows dramatically. “Jockstraps and thongs,” he says. He opens the second drawer. “Underwear and posers,” he says, opening the third. “Spandex shorts and muscle shirts.” He grimly nods. “I am ready to cut our losses and not look in Unit Three.” “Oh, we’re so looking in Unit Three,” Glenn says, crossing to where the doorway would be. Instead, there’s literally a hole in the wall, as if someone had torn the cinderblocks away and made a doorway. Scraps of cement pieces and piles of broken cinderblocks still litter the floor. Someone had clearly meant to fix the damage -- there are a couple of loose bags of cement mix amid the rubble -- but clearly nothing had been done, just dust and destruction with a layer of time. “I mean, obviously, someone wanted in there very badly.” “Where the hell is the door?” asks Ben, moving the camera’s tripod to a new location. “What is going on around here?” “Well, it’s pretty full in here,” Glenn says from the doorway. “But I can slide down the wall and get the lights okay.” Again, after a couple of seconds, the lights come on, though this bulb isn’t quite as good, blinking and fizzing as Ben, carrying the camera, enters. (INTERIOR SHOT: Unit Three. A slightly smaller room than the other two -- maybe half the width -- filled with over a dozen wooden pallets loaded with beverage cases, wrapped tightly in heavy industrial plastic. Some are haphazardly stacked on top of others -- each pallet has six layers of product. They are dusty, resembling forgotten furniture after a hasty move or dinosaur carcasses after a meteor shower.) Ben looks into the camera. “The mystery deepens,” he says. Glenn pulls his knife from the Leatherman attached to his belt and cuts into the heavy plastic wrapping on one of the pallets. “Let’s see what they were hoarding,” he says, pulling out a plastic sports drink bottle, gray with red and gold lettering. “CYCLE ONE,” he reads, shrugging. “You ever heard of it?” “No.” Ben pulls out his phone instinctively to search it, but there’s no coverage inside. “Fucking cinderblocks,” he mumbles. Meanwhile, Glenn cracks open the plastic bottle and chugs it on down. “Glenn!” Ben hollers when he looks up. “What are you doing?” “What?” Glenn says, tossing the empty bottle away. “It’s just a sports drink! I didn’t see an expiration on it -- it was good!” He turns to the camera and adds, “Sadly, it hasn’t fermented.” “I can’t believe you just drank that!” Ben protests. “You don’t know anything about it!” “Oh, for the love of God, Ben! Give it up!” Ben shakes it off. “I’m sorry, bro,” he says. “This whole place has got me a little spooked, is all. This is very weird.” Glenn shrugs dramatically. “What? Some guy who used to own a gym loses it all and instead of being homeless and on the streets…” “...he chooses to live in a storage facility?” Ben finishes. “With his collection of porn, thongs, and sports drinks? No, that doesn’t sound weird at all.” Glenn snorts and begins counting the pallets. “Whatever,” he says. “Ready, math guy?” Ben opens his calculator app. “Ready!” he says. Glenn counts. “Each pallet has ten cases per layer and each is six layers high.” “Sixty cases!” Ben announces. “I didn’t even need the calculator for that!” Glenn laughs. “Twenty-four bottles per case means…?” “Fourteen-hundred forty bottles per pallet.” He counts quickly again. “Twenty pallets…?” “Means we own a shit-ton of this stuff.” Glenn smiles toward the camera. “I love math,” he says. “What are we gonna do with twenty-eight thousand, eight-hundred bottles of old sports drink?” “Twenty-eight thousand, seven ninety-nine,” Glenn chuckles, tossing his empty bottle dramatically over his shoulder, where it clunks emptilly around in the cinderblock space. “That’s gonna eat into our profit margins,” Ben says, shaking his head, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Ben, even if we sell it for a buck a bottle, we still make a shit-ton more than we spent. Plus the gym equipment…” “...and the vintage porn.” Glenn smiles. “And the vintage porn -- we’ll still come out ahead. That it happens to be weird gives us a story to tell, doesn’t it? That’s why we have this camera… and the show…” They both turn to the camera and smile. “Can You Believe We Bought This Shit?” Ben asks dryly. “Okay,” Glenn says, taking charge like he usually does, “we’ll need the Pallet Jack -- we didn’t bring that, did we? -- but we have room in the Hauler to fit all this stuff.” As he talks, he steps back into the middle unit-- the living area -- Ben follows dutifully, taking the camera along. “I doubt we’re gonna want to keep much of this stuff -- I guess the TV works tho, right? And who knows? Maybe there IS a market for vintage porn.” He laughs and walks into the first unit, the one with the gym equipment. “I don’t know how we’re gonna get this stuff outta here -- maybe the guys who buy it can haul it. I don’t know…” Suddenly, he jumps up and grabs the pull-up bar mounted on the top of the cable crossover. Ben is suddenly watching his middle-aged, rugby-thick, out-of-shape brother doing pull-ups -- exercising! “What are you doing?” Ben asks, already laughing. “Pull-ups!” Glenn says breathlessly as he struggles to do a third. He drops heavily onto his feet. “We own a gym now,” he says to his skinny-fat brother. “The Fortunato Brothers Fitness Center! Maybe it’s a sign we should get these sad-ass bods back in shape?” Ben laughs. “You feelin’ okay?” “I feel great!” Glenn says. “Seriously, I feel fucking GREAT! Ever since I had that…” He stops suddenly and looks away, toward the third unit. A devilish smile crosses his face and he exits with purpose back into the other rooms. “Glenn, what are you doing? GLENN!” Ben gives a look toward the camera and is about to go after his brother when Glenn reappears in the broken doorway, holding several bottles of CYCLE ONE. “This shit…” he starts to say. Ben immediately protests, holding his hands up. “Our profit margin!” Glenn tosses a bottle with an easy lob to his brother, but Ben -- never an athlete -- bobbles and drops it. The bottle rolls under the metal gate they’d opened into the hallway beyond. “There goes our profit margin,” Glenn jokes, opening another bottle. As he speaks, he gestures with it. “Why don’t you go grab that bottle? I should’ve known better than to toss it to you.” He slugs down half his new bottle in one gulp, easily. Ben’s tone is serious. “I think you should ease up on that stuff,” he says, making his way toward the metal gate. “You don’t know what’s in it.” “It’s a sports drink.” Glenn waves him off. “It’s just sugar water.” He attempts another set of pull-ups as Ben squats down to go under the door. He’s got a little over two-feet of clearance but he’s reluctant to press his chest to the floor, all that dust and dirt he’d been able to ignore before, when the mystery had captivated him. Now there’s less enthusiasm to follow the rules -- like the game OPERATION, where you shouldn’t touch the sides… Ben’s shoulder whaps the bottom of the metal grate as he rises in the hallway. There is a grinding, loud, metallic shriek and the grate slams solidly onto the cement floor. “Oh, shit,” Ben mumbles. He hears Glenn from inside, slightly muffled. “What happened?” “I must’ve jostled it with my shoulder,” Ben says to the door, speaking a little more loudly than usual, to be heard through the closed door. “That’s why I didn’t make the Limbo Team.” No laugh. Damn. “Okay, let’s heft it back up again!” Ben grabs the handles on his side -- and he can hear Glenn trying to pull the chain on his -- but the door doesn’t budge. “Fuck -- AGAIN!” They try -- even though Ben worries about his back, he throws himself into it -- and fails. The door stays closed. “Fuck,” Ben chants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” “Well, let’s try one of the other doors,” Glenn suggests from inside. “You have the keys, right?” Ben reaches down to his pockets -- empty? Where…? Oh, shit! He’d taken the keys out of his pocket and put them on the bench -- inside the unit! “Oh, shit!” “What?” “They’re in there!” Ben shouted, slapping the metal door. “They’re in THERE! I took them out of my pocket when I was fumbling with all the camera equipment! They’re on the bench.” He doesn’t hear Glenn’s sighing exhale, but he’s certain that’s what’s happening -- his brother is collecting his wits -- it’s what he always does when he’s angry. “Okay,” Glenn says through the grate. “Is the crowbar in the truck?” “I don’t know,” Ben answers. “I’ll have to check. I don’t think so. I think we took it out when we were emptying from that last job.” “It’s okay,” Glenn says. “We’re gonna need the Pallet Jack anyway. Okay, you head to the Workshop and get the crowbar, the Pallet Jack, any kind of hack saw we might have if we gotta cut those chains…” “Glenn, the Workshop is almost a hundred miles away!” “Well, we don’t have much choice -- unless you’re strong enough to tear through these metal grates with your bare hands, we’re gonna need tools. And the tools are in the Workshop…” “Which is a hundred miles away!” Glenn laughs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere! So you might as well get to it… unless you don’t have the truck keys?” “They’re in the truck.” He can hear Glenn sigh. “You just leave keys everywhere…” Ben doesn’t laugh. “You’re hysterical,” he says. “Look, Glenn, I feel bad enough…” “It’s not a big deal,” his brother says through the metal grate. “It’s just a couple hours. I have plenty to do -- I have games on my phone and shit -- don’t worry. Hey, I can always work out and watch vintage porn, right?” That his brother, trapped because of Ben’s own foolishness, would work so hard to make jokes shows Ben how much Glenn cares. Ben can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “I’m sorry, Glenn.” “It’s just gonna be a couple hours -- and we’ll get a good story out of it. Don’t worry, Ben, it’s all good. Now go get the tools -- I’m done talking through a garage door. Frankly, I feel like working out.” “Don’t drink any more of that shit!” “Too late!” For some reason, as much as anything else, that lights a fire in Ben’s pants. He can’t shake his uneasy feeling about that stupid sports drink -- he’s sure he’s heard of it before. On the floor against the far wall sits the bottle he’d come out here for -- without much consideration, he picks it up off the floor and puts it in the side pocket of his cargo shorts (where the keys had been). Ben hurries down the stairs and exits the building -- this time smart enough to block the door with a cinderblock, so it won’t lock by accident behind him. The keys are in the truck -- thank God for small favors! -- but the crowbar is not. There’s not a helpful tool in the bed. (They’d taken the toolbox out to create room for all the loot they were gonna haul from this Buy-It score!) Just one stupid thing after the next -- and here they are now, Glenn locked in a unit with vintage porn! So it would be REALLY stupid if something happened to me now, Ben thinks, driving a little too old-lady like. But it’s better than getting pulled over, or having an accident, or any of the other myriad horror stories he imagines happening as he drives the nearly hundred miles to their Workshop while his brother is trapped. “I just got here!” he texts when he arrives at the Workshop, nearly two hours later -- the text isn’t delivered. He tries to shrug it off, shutting the door of the truck -- the one shrink-wrapped with their Buy-It Brothers logo -- and enters their warehouse (their “Workshop”) -- the one sporting that same logo over cartoon-versions of he and Glenn. (Ben thought they looked a little too much like Laurel and Hardy, but no one knew that reference anymore.) With haste, he gathers the things he’ll need, the crowbar, the hacksaw -- he has to locate the Pallet Jack. He’s wasting so much time on it, he considers leaving it behind. Fortunately, just as he’s thinking that, he trips over it. (It’s mostly hidden beneath a hastily discarded tarp.) It takes some little effort to lift it up into the bed of the truck -- lifting stuff is more his brother’s kind of thing -- but he finally does it, breathing heavily as he rolls the jack deeper into the bed near the cab and straps it in. He’s sweating a little -- and thirsty. Without realizing it, his hand touches the bottle still stashed in his pocket. The CYCLE ONE. He can’t resist. Though he knows his priority is getting back and rescuing his brother, Ben takes a moment to fire up his desktop and do some internet snooping, to satisfy his curiosity (or his paranoia). Cycle One -- there it is -- a sports drink that was all the rage twenty years ago. Internet rumors claim it was the real deal, adding insane amounts of masculine muscle and power, but there were side effects: dangerously increased libido, loss of sexual inhibition, loss of individuality. Crazy internet bullshit -- still, there are dozens of flexing testimonials, young men eager to show off their “transformations.” All of them looking a tiny bit… zealous, perhaps? Another article links Cycle One to a Justice Club Super-Villain, a hyper-muscled bodybuilder by the punny name of King Rex. The pic that accompanies this article shows an impossibly muscled man with a beard transforming a kneeling Superion, the Earth’s most powerful superhero, and turning him into Rex’s worshipful gay slave. The article claims the “secret ingredient” in Cycle One is King Rex’s magical ejaculate. A deeper dive: coincidently, upon the disappearance of this King Rex into the Multiverse, supplies of Cycle One became limited overnight -- and precious. Several would-be cults formed around the protection -- and distribution -- of this suddenly valuable resource. People went to great lengths to horde the stuff -- vaults, fallout shelters, armed-guards at storage units… Ben surfaces from his rabbit hole with the realization of what he and his brother have stumbled upon. In this instance, knowledge hasn’t seemed to give him any power at all -- other than to realize there’s danger, which he’s already suspected. Thanks, knowledge. Hurriedly, Ben gets back to the truck -- leaving the bottle of Cycle One on his desk -- realizing he’s wasted almost twenty minutes online, and heads the ninety-some-odd miles back to the storage units. He wants to floor it and speed the entire way, but he fears getting pulled over, or getting in an accident, or any of the other myriad nightmares that would end with his brother being forever trapped. “Almost there,” he texts at a red light -- the text isn’t delivered. Damn cinder-blocks -- they give little hope. He leaves the main road for the access road, the access road for the side road, the side road for the private drive, until finally, the abandoned ETERNAL STORAGE building comes into view, across the cracked and weed-filled parking lot. Apparently, this is all to be torn down to create an Amazon Warehouse. The Amazons replace the Eternals -- sounds like a bad superhero movie -- Ben can’t help but chuckle, despite the situation. A nerd at heart. He parks next to the door he’d left jammed open with the cinderblock and hurries back inside, grabbing the crowbar out of the truck bed on his way. He bounds up the stairs to the second floor -- as fast as his skinny, awkward body can “bound” anyway -- less like a gazelle and more like a clumsy giraffe with a few extra knees -- and lopes down the hall to their lot. It’s been just a little over five-and-a-half hours, and his brother wasn’t in immediate danger -- (he certainly wasn’t gonna go thirsty) -- still, Ben is worried. From halfway down the hall he can hear it. Right up next to the stuck door it’s impossible to miss: clanging weights, grunts and groans -- his brother is working out! “Glenn?” he calls, slapping the metal door. “Glenn, you OK?” “Ben?” he hears, then the thud of a barbell being dropped. The voice is closer to the door. “You’re back already? I still gotta do deadlifts.” “You’re hysterical,” Ben says, smiling with relief -- his brother isn’t dead. “Are you OK?” He can hear Glenn’s laughter. “WAY better than OK. Bro, this stuff is AMAZING, this CYCLE ONE shit! We’ve struck gold!” “Glenn…” “A buck a bottle? Fuck that. A THOUSAND bucks a bottle! For this…? Hell yeah, they’ll pay it.” “Glenn, I’ve been doing some research on it, the Cycle One, and…” “I don’t care what the Internet says right now, Bro! Let’s just get this fucking door open.” “Um… Okay, I have the crowbar!” “Great! Let’s see if you can get the bottom up a little bit.” Ben jams the crowbar beneath the door -- he’s expecting resistance, but the flat end of the bar simply slides under. Lifting the curled end, Ben slides a piece of broken cinder block beneath to act as a fulcrum. When he attempts to raise the door, the metal dents, lifting a small section up about an inch. When Ben removes the crowbar, he sees his brother stick his fat fingers through the opening from the other side. “I’m almost free!” Glenn says and laughs. Then, he says, “Hey!” like he’s had an idea. “Make another one of those dents about two feet to your left. I got an idea!” Ben shrugs -- “Okay…” -- and slides to his left. Again, the crowbar easily goes under the metal lip. Ben uses the same piece of cinder block and creates another hand-sized dent in the base of the sliding door -- the screech of the metal is almost uncomfortable. Glenn is saying, “Perfect… perfect,” from the other side of the door. “Okay, let’s give it a try!” “What?” “Let’s try to lift it! Grab the handle out there!” “Glenn, we can’t lift this…” “I told you -- I’m fresh! I haven’t done deadlifts, yet.” Bending over rather than squatting, Ben grabs the handle in the center of the roll-up metal door. He’s indulging his brother -- there’s no way they’re moving this door -- so he doesn’t give it his all. So he’s surprised when, on his brother’s count of “Three!” the door actually jerks up a foot or so -- Ben nearly loses his balance. “That’s better,” says Ben’s brother. “I can get a better grip on it now. Hold on a sec…” Ben can hear the sounds of drinking from inside and the clink clunk of an empty plastic bottle as it’s casually tossed away. He burps. “Okay,” he says, again gripping the base of the metal -- Ben can see his sneakers beneath the door. “Let’s do this. Grab on!” Ben grabs the door handle a little more seriously this time, squatting opposite his brother. “One. Two… THREE!” They both throw energy into the movement, but the door doesn’t budge. “No!” Glenn yells. “AGAIN!” A little -- it moves a little -- but nothing that’s gonna rescue anybody anytime soon. “Fuck this… FUCK THIS!” Glenn yells, then Ben can hear him mumble. “Just need a little more. Just a little more…” Again, the sound of drinking, the empty clunk of a thrown bottle. “Fuck this. Let’s get this fucking thing!” They both heave. It moves… slightly! “MORE!” And they both strain. Then, unexpectedly and suddenly enough to surprise Ben, the door doesn’t slide up so much as it gives in to the pressure and folds, shrieking a metallic screech like a tin can collapsing. The force throws Ben off balance and he trips over the crowbar, slamming into the cinderblock wall on the opposite side of the hall. So hard, it knocks the wind from him -- and from the way his head slams back into the brick, he knows he’s about to lose consciousness, too. The image he’s left with: his brother. His brother! Not the teddy-bear, snowman-shaped sibling he’s known for forty years -- not unless his brother is the Hulk and Ben has never figured it out. Standing there in the doorway, arms over his head pushing the door up further, Glenn is massive -- his muscles are impossible! Thick and heavy, but not ripped and “cut” like a bodybuilder in competition. Glenn’s lines are curvaceous, not tight, his flabby tummy has become a “roid-gut”, big, curved lines, round muscle bellies, bloated and swollen -- he wears electric blue posing trunks and a spandex half-shirt that doesn’t reach the bottom of his bulbous pecs, exposing his thick nipples. His biceps are easily as big as his head, maybe bigger while flexed like this -- Glenn’s breathless in his joy, in his win, in his show of power. Look at the size of him! Ben can see his brother is fighting a hard-on in the tiny, shiny posers he barely wears as he flexes his triumph at ripping the door from its track -- he’s so masculine, but what he wears is so… flowery. Feminine. He flexes a most-muscular, popping his traps and his pecs -- just like the Hulk used to on the old TV show when they were kids, fantasizing about being so big. And then -- helplessly -- Ben finally passes out, lost in confusion and darkness. Only certain that he’s too late. ********************************************************************************* Chock! That’s the sound he wakes to, the heavy stone stacking of brick. Chock! Or cinderblocks… Ben opens his eyes tentatively, taking a moment to process where he is. Although he’s leaning against the wall, there are pallets of CYCLE ONE all around him -- he must be in Unit Three! Why…? Chock! What the fuck is that? As he stirs, rising to investigate, he discovers there’s a chain wrapped several times around his ankle -- padlocked on! -- connecting him to the pallet. He screams. “Glenn! GLENN!” “Oh, you’re awake,” he hears from somewhere across the unit, out of sight. “And here I was trying to be quiet…” Chock! “What the fuck is going on?” Glenn laughs. “Good tv.” “What? Glenn, I’m chained to this pallet.” “Yeah, I know -- calm down. Freakin’ out is not gonna help you, bro. It’ll be easier if you think of it as an Escape Room -- the intent IS for you to get out, after all.” Chock! “I don’t understand.” There’s a heavy sigh. “Can you stand up, at least?” his brother asks. “So we can talk face to face.” Ben stands, the chain uncomfortably tight around his ankle, his headache pounding. The pallets are just under six feet high (stacked with cases of Cycle One -- perhaps the last cases of Cycle One), and Ben can see over the top. Not that that lessens the horror. His brother -- his massively muscled brother -- Ben still can’t adjust to the change -- is resealing the hole in the cinderblock wall between units two and three, using the broken pieces from before. He spreads a sloppy layer of cement with his bare hands and then drops a cinderblock into it. Chock! He’s rebuilt the wall only a little higher than his chest, so Ben can still see Glenn’s pecs, traps and shoulders -- and of course, his arms. (He’s so big -- it’s just not possible.) “What are you doing?” Ben asks, barely keeping the fear from his voice. “Okay, again -- calm down,” Glenn said patronizingly, spreading cement. “Freaking out will just waste your time. It’s easy to get out of here -- I’m even gonna tell you how.” Chock! “Glenn, what the fuck…?” Glenn reaches through the opening with his muscular arm -- he’s holding a flashlight and a set of keys (he’s getting cement on them from his fingers). He drops them on the floor, well on the other side of the room. “These are the keys to your chains,” he says, pulling his arm back and peeking through the gap. “And my torch, which is a literary allusion -- forget it. Anyway, I figure after drinking a dozen bottles or so, you’ll be big enough to drag that pallet over here and get these keys.” “WHAT?!?” “I told ya, it’s good tv.” Chock! “See, Ben,” Glenn says as he continues re-building the wall, “I knew you wouldn’t drink it voluntarily. No doubt you ran home and researched it and found all the reasons NOT to drink it -- that’s so like you -- but I say when you come across a magic muscle potion, you drink it! That’s the difference between you and me.” Chock! “Would you please stop doing that?” Glenn doesn’t stop -- he continues. “But then I thought, what if he’s his normal smart-ass self? What if he just tears through the heavy plastic and empties the pallet? That’d make it pretty easy to drag across the room, right? So I decided to create another little obstacle for you. Even if you cheat on the pallet (and personally, I don’t think you’re strong enough to tear through the industrial plastic), you still gotta get through this wall. But I figure, after you drink a case, you’ll do it with ease. Look what I did to that fuckin’ roll-up door!” He laughs. “It’s so fucking awesome, Bro!” “Glenn… please…” Chock! “I considered simply force-feeding you, but that’s kind of an overused trope, isn’t it? This way makes more compelling drama. Did you see the camera over by the sliding door?” Ben looks to his left and sees the camera on its tripod atop a pallet of CYCLE ONE, aimed at him, filming his dilemma. Good TV... “I filmed my own transformation,” Glenn adds. “Well, not so solid at the beginning, but I have a cum-shot at the end that’ll blow you out of the water! And my Scanty Fashion Show will get us a ton of views!” “What?” “Trust me, Ben -- this stuff enhances EVERYTHING!” “Glenn, please don’t do this.” “You’ll thank me, bro. That I know -- you just need the right motivation. String bean like you… it’s what you’ve always dreamed of. Big muscles. Feels good. No work. Right up your alley.” Chock! The wall is almost complete -- just a small gap at the top. Enough to maybe get a grip on… Ben pulls on the chain -- he’s securely in place. This is all a little too melodramatic for him. Would his brother actually abandon him here and let him die? What the fuck? “For the love of God, Glenn!” he shouts as the last cinderblock wedges into place. “Stop!” “Get drinking,” he hears his brother say, his voice muffled. “You can be out in an hour! I’ll be over here working out and modeling posers -- haha!” “Glenn! GLENN!” But Glenn doesn’t answer. All Ben hears is the sounds of gay porn -- vintage gay porn -- the moaning and the raw need permeating the cement wall. Beyond that, the clang of weights in the first unit -- Glenn is at it again. Ben screams out of frustration more than anything else, knowing no one can hear him -- they’re in the middle of nowhere. He’s trapped -- TRAPPED! And completely at the mercy of his brother’s dark sense of 19th century drama. He sits against the wall in a fetal position, crying. Why does this have to be such a difficult choice? At the heart, Glenn is right -- he hates being skinny -- he hates being String Bean. Muscle Zombies searching for hidden stashes of Cycle One… Transformations. He still seems like the same Glenn. (Except maybe the chaining his brother around the ankle part…) Just a fuck-ton bigger -- more masculine. Sexier. He holds the bottle in his hand -- firm, hard plastic -- unemotional, cold. What if you held a magic muscle-growth potion in your hands? Would you drink it? Knowing what it would do? (He hears his brother’s obsessive training.) Knowing what it would change? (He hears the vintage porn.) He looks at the camera and flies it the bird. Fuck you, good TV. Finally, long minutes later, the sound of him cracking the bottle echoes around Unit Three.

Muscle fog ogre’s gift CH 1 part 5 By Big-Zargo Ogres Invade the Hospital This night would be a good night to look at the stars, but Owens fog covers the sky blanketing the moon and stars in its embrace. The fog seeks and spreads finding victims to propagate Owen’s influence, turning their victims into ogres. Fat, muscular, skinny, average, gay or straight, smart or dumb, healthy or not, any man caught by Owen’s fog will succumb to his will. These ogres under Owens control had been destroying buildings of Holmes top Borough so that Owens Palace could be made and that his domain could be secured. Any humans who survived the first night of Owens takeover who were unfortunate enough to encounter Owens ogres quickly succumb joining the orgy of sex and destruction as an ogre. It has been two weeks since Owen had captured Samuel and transformed him into an ogre, and it had been a bright idea to do so. Unbeknownst to him his ogres had been degrading losing their intelligence and their memories. If it hadn’t been for the ogre-fied Samuel all of his ogres would have been degraded and he would just have to start from scratch re-teaching them all. Having a bunch of dumb ogres would have been easy to control and made them more loyal to him. But it was important that they retain their intelligence; each of their perspectives would give his town variety. Samuel’s fix for the problem is both intelligent and temporary; for by storing the memories and intelligence of his ogres he is able to stop the degrade in select few of his lieutenant ogres or even slowing it down to a crawl in others, but this leads plenty of dumb ogres, who need management to stay out of trouble. In the biggest tent in the city of tents Lord Owen sits upon his big couch like chair towering with his orange muscular body looking down at a blonde-haired man, making this man look like a child. “You’re offering to me is sufficient to attain my audience. Now tell me human what do you seek.” Owen says, while his face is hidden by shadows making the human guesses emotions. “I’ve seen the power of your gift, the strength and size it gives to the recipient and I wish to have it for myself.” The man says with trepidation in his voice. Owen’s shadowed face tilts to the side a little as he replies. “If you just wanted strength you could easily have just walked into my fog and let the transformation take hold rather than sacrificing your two friends to the fog, to make contact me.” After giving his statement, Owen gave a pause to see the man’s response. “The man- “I want to be the biggest, strongest, and the most masculine ogre of them all. But most of all I want to keep being straight. I’ve seen what happens to those who fall under your influence, I have seen how the degrade over time. I’ve noticed that some of your ogres maintain their intelligence and most of their personality. I want your strength, the powers you can offer me, I want musk that can make women go crazy for me, the same way how your ogres are able to make men do so.” Owen gave the man a toothy smile before frowning and leaning forward towards the man. “I could simply lie to you, tell you to do my bidding before turning you into a very big and strong ogre. But for me to grant your wish you must accept the possibility that you might turn out like the rest of my ogres. There is a chance that you may be able to retain that aspect of your sexuality for yourself but that requires a strong will, especially if you’re going to become a specialized ogre; For the more power I bestow upon my ogres the less their original human personality remains. I am trying to say is when I turned you into an ogre, your humanity will be gone and most likely that part of you that cares for a woman’s touch is most likely going to be leaking out of your fat Ogreish cock.” The man- “I have two questions for you my… Lord, Great, Master... How do you want to be called Owen? Owen- “That’s three questions human. But I will oblige. It would be Lord, for the first one.” The man- “Is there some way to get I want without losing my sexuality, and why do all the people you transform into ogres become Gay? Owen- “well now I think there might be a way to keep some of it, but the best I can do is make you bisexual the most. To answer your other question. It’s because I desire it and/ it is also desirable side effect of me transforming people into ogres. I give the people that I transform into ogres some of my essence, like copying and pasting a file, which overwrites some of their natural life force. It would take a probably about a year for the effects to be permanent. Hmmm.. Now I think of it that might be one of the reasons why they are deteriorating. Did I satisfy your questions?” The man- “Yes Lord Owen. What is the task you would like me to do? Owen- “All you need to do is infiltrate a hospital. It somehow is protected from my magical gaze and have some form of magical runes preventing my ogres getting nearby. I needed you to look around figuring out how it’s defended and if possible, destroy those defenses.” With a ripple of noise two ogres enter the huge tent behind the man, but he did not notice them. The man- “That’s it? It will be on my Lord.” “Indeed. I just need to give you a few things for the job.” Owen says, with a mirth in his voice. Three weeks later Deep within the hospital of Holmes Top Borough in an ideal location in the dark and musty basement two man on working air pumps sucking up all of the mysterious muscle fog. This ideal spot in the basement allows the men to work without risk of succumbing to Owens power. Like the sea, Owens fog rises and falls making it the perfect place to experiment with the fog. At the daytime is safe to go down the fog surprisingly retreats into mist or even fades away entirely; but that night the fog rises leaving only one staircase and platform safe to inhabit. These men seek to use the magical fog’s healing properties on their patients. Prof. Semih Zeki was average size man with long curly brown hair, gray eyes, average nose, and weeks cheekbones from the country of Turkey. He had spent the last five years in the USA during research, before heading to Holmes Top Borough to visit a colleague of his, at this very hospital. While Gang Jian was born in America after his parents immigrated, and unlike Prof Zeki he was athletic with lean muscle tannish skin with amber eyes, and long black hair tied up in a ponytail. Like Prof. Zeki he was visiting this hospital because his girlfriend’s mom was in the hospital. On the night of the mysterious fog’s parents all females and young children vanished. The young man latched on to Prof. Zeki like a child to candy because of Zeki willingness to study this strange phenomenon, giving gang some form of stability and hope for his girlfriend as they both investigate the properties of this fog. Prof. Zeki was nervous as they were extracting the muscle fog into an air container. For the last week someone has been attempting to destroy the runes which were protect the hospital from the muscle fog and its victims. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with the muscle fog, but there are too many patients that are to hurt to leave the hospital. With Dr. Wyatt’s help the dosage of the fogs healing property has been found one more night of extracting fog and condensing it into liquid form and they’ll have enough to start healing all the patients. Prof. Zeki hated how loud the gas collector it always makes him nervous. was if it wasn’t for Dr. Wyatt giving them a heads up and the lower floors and basement being practically empty because of the muscle fog surrounding the floors they have made been caught by now. Without Oliver’s wards, talismans and runes around the hospital the ogres would have somehow squeezed inside the hospital and started infecting them all; but at the same time Oliver’s wards do not prevent infection by the muscle fog, only slow it down and reversing the process if there’s not too far gone. Prof. Zeki and Gang knew something was wrong the minute the gas collector stopped making noise. “I’m going to assume are Semih Zeki and Gang Jian you to are not down here breaking my wards. Because if you are, I’m going to have to kill you.” The man behind Prof. Zeki and gang said. Turning around both Zeki and Gang to see Oliver. (Oliver was a middle-aged man with light brown skin and average body type but with a height of 4 feet tall made him a short person. His piercing gray eyes often distracted people from his soft round face. His dirty worn clothes and unshaven black hair gave him a homeless man look.) Prof. Zeki -“No No No I’m not breaking your wards Oliver. I am just collecting the fog for my experiments I believe with the right dosage the fogs healing properties could be used to help. It would make it easier for us to escape if did not have to abandoned anyone, especially the patients.” Oliver gave Zeki a hard look before saying. “I believe you Prof. Zeki that you guys are not breaking my wards.” Prof. Zeki gave an audible sigh of relief at those words. “But this fog collecting must end. The creature called Owen can feel any creature who comes in contact with his fog. That is why had the head Dr. Benjamin Helpmin turn your proposal down. We don’t know how much influence Owen would have a person who was healed by his fog. A person’s whose hand was healed by it may find their own hand moving on against their own volition, or for worse a man who has brain damage might strongly turned traitor on us at a key moment dooming us all into slavery by the wicked creature. That is why I had the containers of fog destroyed.” Prof. Zeki face turns red for a second before his face falls in sadness as he hears Oliver’s words. Gang couldn’t believe how easily Prof. Zeki gave up. Prof. Zeki work was helping people, it had the potential to heal anyone everyone in the hospital. Prof. Zeki research might be able to figure out a way to bring all the women and children back. Prof. Zeki and he have made too many sacrificed to turn back now. Oliver- “I know you guys have been using the patients for your experiments. I am willing to forgive you because I understand that you are trying to understand Owen’s fog; A may not agree with your methods but have enough empathy to understand but I understand why you did it. If you help me find the one who was breaking my wards and give me all your research notes on the fog, I will protect you from Dr. Helpmin and chief Carrick they’ve known what you’ve done and are willing to kill you or exile you. I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt bio have to put a magical binding upon you two as the insurance policy.” Oliver lifts his hand out as if he was going to greet the two men. “What this so-called magical binding,” Prof. Zeki asked? Oliver- “It’s like a magical promise only if you break it there would-be consequences.” The two men looked apprehensive at the thought of Oliver’s magical binding. Prof. Zeki gave a long exhausting sigh before saying. “All I want to do was help people. When I saw that one arm man transform into an ogre and his arm was fully restored. I thought that I could use the fog to heal people.” Prof. Zeki starts to cry as he continues to speak. “I got some of the first dosages wrong on the first couple of patients and the immediately transformed into ogres. I didn’t mean to turn some of them into ogres I didn’t need to turn Kenny into one of them.” Gang couldn’t believe it. Prof. Zeki a proud man was crying like a baby and confessing actions to Oliver. This behavior from Prof. Zeki was odd to Gang. Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his tongue on it. “Come you two grabs onto my hand and all will be forgiven.” Oliver says with compassion in his voice. Before Prof. Zeki’s hand could reach out towards Oliver, Gang stopped it. “How do you know of our experiments and what did you do with all the few people healed by the magical fog.” Gang with suspicion in his voice. “Because I told them.” Said the man coming behind Oliver. Both Prof. Zeki and Gang looked shocked at the site of Dr. Wyatt as he walked into the dim light. (Dr. Wyatt was a skinny man with a black curly hair, bland facial features with a slim mustache to break up the monotony, brown eyes that are surrounded by thick round glasses and dark brown skin that as dark as dark chocolate. He is currently wearing worn-out red button sleeve shirt, blue jeans, and his doctor’s shoes.) Dr. Wyatt’s face was pointed downwards in shame. Gang- “why Wyatt why?” With sadness in his voice. “Didn't you want to help your brother? we had collected enough to wake him up without turning them into an ogre.” Dr. Wyatt- “I’m sorry but chief Carrick caught me sneaking around the lower floors and I panicked when I saw him and ran; Sadly, for me, he was faster. He brought me to Oliver, and he gave me two choices tell him what I was doing down at the first floor or he would place a curse an upon me.” Something was wrong but Gang cannot put his finger on it. Prof. Zeki was giving up too easily, he had to knock him out just so he can get some sleep three days ago. Dr. Wyatt and himself had made plans just for this occasion, although he wasn’t a great liar, he was good of the subterfuge of half-truths. Something was definitely up with the situation. Looking around Gang at Prof. Zeki and Dr. Wyatt he noticed that their body language was off; it was if they were drunk, the way their bodies moved side to side in a circular motion. Backing away Gang asked. “What have you done to them Oliver? What kind of spell had the cast upon them?” Oliver - “MMMM… You seem to have a natural resistance to magic or magic of own which is defending you against my charm. Sadly, for you, I have no time to break through your defenses or to test to see if you are capable of becoming a wizard or sorcerer. My spell to secure this location is surprisingly delicate. I can’t have you accidentally messing it up by be here, neither can I allow you to escape if Owen got his hands on you, we will be doomed.” Gang- “If I’m such a wrench in your plan what about the trader? With Owen’s help he could stop whatever you’re doing.” Oliver- “I doubt that. The trader is clearly human if he had an ounce of magical power, I would’ve sensed it. I’ve been scanning all week for any magic users in the area. When the trader began destroying my wards and runes, I found you, Dr. Wyatt and Prof. Zeki through my scanning. I cannot let you and your allies jeopardize the safety of the people of this hospital, with you and your reckless experiments with the muscle fog. By you being resistant to my charm spells you can cause great trouble to me and the protection of this hospital, because of that Gang, you must die for the greater good.” With those words Oliver pointed towards Gang's chest and with a flash, a fireball hit him pushing and flipping him off the edge of the platform. His body falls onto the ground making a big flat as it does so. Oliver would have loved to simply kill all three of them and be done with it, but he needed Prof. Zeki notes, and he promised the head Doctor and the chief that he would apprehend Prof. Zeki and Dr. Wyatt for their judgment. Besides with the charm he put over them they’ll confess everything. This has been the second potential he had to kill, but it had to be done. With Gangs immunity to my charm spells and keen eye he would have found out, that I had control of the leadership of the hospital. even if you were to be executed the rumors, he would make would slow his plans down for evacuating the other potentials. Looking around he thought that this place would make a good excellent to store the other six potentials while they’re still in magical stasis on the second floor. With a wave of his hand, he compelled charmed Prof. Zeki and Dr. Wyatt to follow him. The good news or bad news for Gang when he was pushed off the platform by Oliver’s fireball, he fell directly into Owens muscle fog. If Oliver knew how powerful the fogs healing was, he would’ve aimed for the face. As it stands the fog began to work overtime to repair Gang’s broken body. Unknowingly to Owen, Oliver or any of the other guardians, Gang’s bloodline of Magic was now awakening due to the residue of Oliver’s magic and Owens magical fog. The limbs that were broken because of his fall began to reassemble themselves. The hole in his chest began to fill in, as he began to regain consciousness. The mostly dormant magic in gang body began to awaken and grow, like a plant deprived the water its greedily soaked up the magical fog. Everything felt like it was on fire to Gang as his magic transformation began. With every breath from his chest Gangs body swells with might, his arms and legs growing in the rhythm with his healed heart. Every second Gangs body grew and grew with muscle and height quickly stretching out his of clothes. Boiling magical blood flow through his body feeding his grow of his muscular body. His cock quickly hardens as it becomes erect, causing him to moans out in pleasure. With sounds of tearing and popping the remains of his clothes quickly fall to the floor as Gangs transformation kicks into high gear. Gangs fine six pack grew into a muscle gut, his biceps grew into huge bowling balls, his thighs grew into muscular tree trunks. His feet and hands became huge pads and baseball mitts with black nail like claws. Like swelling balloons his balls grew into oranges and his hard cock swells into a thick 12-inch-long monster. Two small black horns, like round triangles grow out of Gang’s head. his teeth sharpen as his lower canine grow outwards turning into tusks. His jaw turns squarish, his nose becomes more blunter, as well as his facial features. His amber eyes begin to glow a supernatural yellow, as his brow ridge grows out giving him a demonic caveman look. Wild black hair starts growing on his thick barrel chest, and spreads all over his body covering his arms, legs, back and ass and leaving a nice treasure trail to his huge cock and balls. His face quickly follows, His eyebrows thickening, as grows a wild beard and mustache and has his already long hair grows even more longer and wilder. Finally, his skin turns blue with dark patches sprinkled in. The finalization of his of his transformation causes gang to roar in pleasure as he came, shooting out all of his humanity through his fat cock. Seeing the changes to his body rekindle his lust, that he felt earlier. His fat cock rehardens, as he sets up moving his body in a sitting position. Gang’s felt his mind hazy and conscious at the same time. Like a dream gang’s body moves on its own reaching his meaty hand towards his erect cock, with no conscious control of his mind. Lightning bolts of pleasure raced through his mind as starts to pleasure himself on his fuck-stick. “My god,” Gang thought, “this feels fucking good. My whole body feels like it is on fire and it makes me so fucking horny. I feel like I can run all day and still have enough energy to fuck all night. If this is how it feels to be one of Owens ogres, then it’s no curse. Faster, stronger and a libido I don’t know why we resisted.” After any other minute of masturbating Gang came again, shooting out his poet and thicker cum all over his big hairy body. “Fuck”, Gang mound out in pleasure. After his second orgasm Gang kept finding new ways to pleasure himself. For hours he kept playing with himself finding new ways to feed his lust. Pausing his pleasure after hearing a mysterious voice in his head. “HMMMM… Well, your different, but maybe I can help you. My name is Owen.” “Help?” Gang sniffed in annoyance. “I’m so fucking horny, I can barely think straight. I’m so fucking horny, I doubt I can even save Semih and John from Oliver.” Owen- “please tell me more.” And so, Gang did. Telling Owen his story and eventually telling him everything he knew. “I think I can help you Gang, with your predicament.” Owen said with a thought of a smile. Several hours later Oliver, Kendall the head Doctor of the hospital, and Carrick the chief of police in Holmes top Borough were all standing on the roof top of the hospital, waiting on the betrayer to be delivered to them. All three leaders, two prisoners, and four guards were waiting for the betrayer to be delivered both Kendall and Carrick were staring daggers at Prof. Zeki and Dr. Wyatt, Kendall with brownish gray eyes and Carrick with the green eyes. Both Kendall and Carrick contrast each other, Kendall with his average body, brown skin, black hair, and clean-shaven face, compared to Carrick’s round body, pale white skin, reddish-brown hair, and nice bushy mustache. Carrick- “I can’t believe we found for traders among us. You think that being transformed into a huge muscle horny caveman controlled by a vengeful supernatural entity would unite us together.” Kendall- “Sex crazed ogres or zombies the results are the same. Some will rise to the challenge while others will be found wanting.” Carrick- “I guess a zombie apocalypse would be worse because we would have to kill our loved ones if they became infected.” Kendall- “HMM… It’s hard to say which ones worse, on the one hand, a zombie infection that comes from virus, would be no leader, both male and females, adults and children can all become infected; and eventually the infected would die out, because of exposure from the elements and a lack of food and water. On the other hand, Owens infection is magical, and it has a leader to direct be infected and maintain victim’s health.” Carrick- “Yeah you’re right it’s pretty was hard to say which ones worse. By the way don’t you find it’s pretty strange that Owens infection only effect men?” Kendall- “Yeah, it’s pretty strange.” Oliver- “I believe it’s what gives it the most power. As a God, devil or demigod he gains its power through worship. These deprived acts of sex and destruction must be would feel it is. It must not be able to corrupt females or it’s simply too hard to do so. What puzzles me the most is the children? They should be the most easily to corrupt.” The insightful conversation that Oliver was having with, Kendall and Carrick ended as the trader was escorted onto the top of the roof of the hospital with them. The trader was sickly pale tan skin man, with blue eyes, that had a rabid tint to them, long filthy blond hair, triangle like face, a short scruffy beard and a lean and muscular body, as if he been starving for days. In short, the man looked like a rapid animal. The man was easily carried by the two guards escorting him. Oliver thought that he would be too weak to interrogate and maybe too dangerous to use spells on; But he and the men knew what they had to do. Oliver- “you do not need to be here Kendall; you can stay near to the door of the stairwell. One the guards will grab you, if your medical services are needed.” Kendall- “thank you for the concern, but this must be done. I’ll be near just in case you need me to keep him alive. Besides I can always leave the range of your silence spell.” With a wave of his will, he cast the spell of silence around them, so that the interrogation of the prison there may begin. A dome of light appeared surrounding all the men on the roof top before disappearing. On the ground level an ogre with a pair of magical binoculars had been watching. One of Owens plan has come to pass in it was now time for its execution. The trader’s work was done Owen now had a direct line to the hospital in fact several lines for which he could pump his muscle fog inside the building. With his will Owen began pumping his fog through the air vents of the hospital, while casting his own silent spells with the help of Gang. Gang began moving his big body throughout the hospital beginning with the basement to the first floor; casting silent spells as well as laying the fogs magic abilities to bending reality. Rather than destroying the building and bring along noise the fog had transmuted the properties to be like soft sturdy rubber, like if the hospital was a fun house. They are very few people guarding on the first floor, and because of that they were the first to succumb to Owens will. With a blast of a fog ball striking a guard in the middle of his chest. He quickly starts changing into a muscular ogre; muscles quickly grew destroying his close. His facial features changed and tell he resembled a brutish caveman. The intelligence in his eyes quickly fading, being replaced with dumb horniness, and with a silent roar, he came shooting out the rest of his humanity through his new fat Ogreish cock. The newly changed ogre quickly fell into line, following Gang in converting the humans in the hospital into ogres. One then two then three and eventually all ten guards on the first floor, fell into line as big 10 feet tall ogres, each peppered with wild hair all over their bodies, each with horniness clouding their minds, each radiating fog all over their bodies, each leaking erects foot long cock scheming out muscle fog as their Ogreish cum by making contact with the air, and each ready to spread Owen’s gift. With a psychic command of their master, they split up each quickly taking the stairs in the hospital. The people on the second floor knew something was wrong, as everything became silent all at once. Quickly barging in through the hallway of the second floor. The ogres ran towards guards first and then people, spreading Owen’s gift with one touch. Young adult or old man, fat or skinny, sickly or healthy, injured or well, and any between felt Owen’s blessing passing through their bodies. One by one the victims start to transform and like guards on the first floor before they quickly grow out their clothing. Their big meaty hairy pecs popping out of There barrel chest, as shirts pop off of their growing bodies. Hands grew into mitts as, biceps became huge as bowling balls, destroying any shirt sleeves if worn. As their big feet quickly destroy their human size shoes. Pants and shorts rapidly start tearing and exploding off of them, unable to handle the big solid hairy thighs of an ogre. Undergarments dropping off of huge chests and wide waists, revealing their foot-long hard cock, huge orange size balls and their big thick hairy ass. Before anyone human on the second floor had knew what was happening they were all roaring as they shot the last humanity. Owen’s blessing had reached the second floor turning all the humans into his ogres. Their skin had taken and turned into different shades of orange if their skins weren’t dark already. Like the guards on the first floor, their faces became more brutish, the hair on their had grown wild and their minds have gone blank being replaced with sexual desires. Some if not all of the fat on their bodies transferred when they became an ogre. most of doors which remained close and/or locked now opened, with the fog spilling out, as the occupants came out. Even those who hidden inside their rooms were not safe, even those who were asleep or injured were not safe from Owens blessing. The sexual energy was now ramping up with so many ogres nearby each other some of them even beginning masturbating while others began to hump each other. Within another mental thought the ogres began moving towards the third floor to spread Owen’s blessing. Oliver felt the disturbance as a man outside in a hurry, passing through his invisible barrier of silence to reach them. The guard- “the ogres have invaded the hospital and they have already claimed the first two floors. Oliver, we need your help to ward them off. The talismans you’ve given us all working, but there’s too many of them and they’re quickly spreading. I fear the people on the third floor may be lost. If you don’t hurry the fourth and fifth floors will be consumed by the ogre’s sexual rampage.” Carrick- “Fuck! If we don’t, at least repel these ogres from the second or third floor we will be trapped, at the top floors of this hospital.” Oliver- “Kendall, Matt and you guards stay up here, on the roof top where is safe and watch the prisoners. The rest of you follow me we need to stop the ogres before the corrupt this entire hospital. Oliver, Carrick and the rest of the guards made their way downstairs to the fourth floor. Before heading down Oliver had cast a silent beacon spell intended for the other guardian but one unknown to Samuel. By the time they got to the fourth floor they discover that the third was lost. Oliver discovers that the floors were being silenced to prevent any attempt of a mountable defense and to isolate them from each other. Quickly taking of the situation, Oliver had the stairwells quickly secure to prevent further spreading to the fourth and fifth floors. Once the fourth floor was secure Oliver asked, Carrick to go and check up on the fifth floor and secure it. With complete trust in Oliver’s wisdom, Carrick made his way to the fifth floor. He began the process of securing the fifth floor making sure that the people were calm and not panicking making sure that everyone has the talismans. These talismans made by Oliver are like crosses to a vampire for the ogres pushing them back and re-pal the effects of the fog on people. Sadly, the potency of these talismans had limits eventually they would run out of power, then the ogres could go on to grab you, and make you join their sausage party. “Carrick Sir, Dr. Horton he has vital information for you and Oliver. This information so important that’s for your and Oliver’s ears only.” Said the masked guard, whose bluish green eyes glimmer in the light. Getting a few more commands to the people and guards, carrack made his way to the roof top. Making his way through the stairs and opening the door, Carrick wondered what kind of info was so important that Kendall had to tell him in person. Carrick- “What is it that you….” Splat!! A blast of hot ogres cum had fell straight into Carrick’s mouth as he was talking. He stuttered for a second gagging on the ogres cum in his mouth nearly falling into the stairwell before reflexively swallowing and gaining his balance. The sight Kendall, the guards, Prof. Zeki Dr. Wyatt as ogres had stunned him and arouse him at the same time. Carrick’s face quickly paled of the relays what happened to him and his friends. But sadly, for him these were his last thoughts, as his mind became foggy with lust. His body quickly changed into a big hairy ogre quickly bursting through his clothing with his new 10 feet tall muscular orange colored body. His once average cock transformed into a fat foot long monster, before shooting all of his humanity. Carrick now a big hairy ogre felt the call of his master as well as the others. the guards on the fifth floor, quickly found out that the talismans no longer work, as the ogres came into contact. Within several minutes the people on the fifth floor quickly succumb to Owen’s gift, each roaring in primal ecstasy, as they shot the last of their humanity through their fat Ogreish cocks. People on the four floors, after hearing the roars coming from third and fifth floors begun to panic. “Gather to me and hold strong, I have one last idea.” Oliver said with command and confidence. Oliver knew that they were doomed. He knew they cannot escape. Maybe he could have escaped on his own leaving the people to their fate, but eventually he would be cornered, captured and corrupted into Owen’s slave. The outcome he cannot allow to happen neither would he abandon these people under his protection. He knew what must be done but could he do it? As the ogres came closer to the circle of people Oliver lifted his glowing red hands up into the sky and cast one last great spell. In an instant, him, and the people around him exploded. This explosion creating a shockwave that blasted the few ogres out of hospital and collapsing the third fourth and fifth floors into each other. Leaving the hospital of Holmes top borough practically destroyed. A few days later Owen was both frustrated and happy because one more Guardian was gone; but sadly, he was not able to corrupt losing a potential asset. Still the prices he got was well worth it and discoveries he made with magical potentials he found in the wreckage. Gave him one more chance to corrupt a guardian, the last Guardian he thought. Next time he would have to make sure the Guardian would not destroy himself or his potential recruits. It was a nightmare to save the potentials and my ogres from Oliver’s explosion luckily, we ogres are quite durable. Now I send Leo to do one last task for me prefer giving his reward. One the last bastion for the people I must conquer before this town is mine.

Merry Christmas everybody! I've a story fresh off the presses that's Christmas themed. I tried to throw in a bit of growth for everyone. Plenty of weight gain, muscle growth, and even some macro in there with a bit of romantic fluff. I hope you all have a safe and happy holiday season and never stop growing. PS- The last chapter is loosely based off of a comic that the great artists Greggrth did called "Just Take One". Merry ChristMASS Chapter 1: The New Santa It started on Christmas Eve. They were all sleeping soundly in their beds when a mysterious figure arrived to deliver each of them a letter. As each man opened the letter and read it, they were blinded by a light that illuminated from the letter. Each of the men regained their sight in a large room with a cookie sitting in front of them. Looking from side to side, they each saw each other, and man clad in red from head to toe. “Hello gentlemen and welcome to the North Pole,” said the man. “What happened? A second ago I was reading a letter about some new job,” asked one of the men. “¿Qué?” said another. “Oops! I thought I forgot something.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s better. My name is David, and I will be your host for the duration of your stay here,” said David. “The North Pole? How did we get here?” exclaimed one of the men. “Well you see, each of you received a letter from myself asking about a job,” said David. “Yeah. It said something about becoming the next Santa Claus. I thought it was one of my friends playing a prank on me,” said one of the men as he bit into the cookie in front of him. “Not at all sir. I can assure you that this is all real. Each of you have been hand selected by me to be a candidate for the title of the new Santa Claus,” said David “Wait seriously? Santa Claus is real? I had always just kept up the charade for the children at the shelter, but I could never have imagined actually being asked to be the new Santa Claus,” said one of the men with glee. “Why did you select us specifically?” asked another. “Well let’s go down the line,” said David. He snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared in his hands. “First, there is Rafael from Brazil.” The Latino man perked at the hearing of his name. He was wearing a white button up night shirt and some pajama pants. At 5’8, he had a somewhat muscular build with a bit of a beer belly. “Born into poverty at a very early age, he struggled growing up to support himself and his siblings. With no parents to take care of them, he built a community of others that had been abandoned like them. He helped them. Fed them. Made sure their needs were met before taking care of his own. He established a shelter for anyone who were in need regardless of who they were.” “Then we have Peter.” The white man stood up when his name was said. He was about 6 feet tall and wore a pair of matching pajama pants and a shirt. He had a relatively slim build to him with very little muscle to be seen. “An all-American boy from the states. He was your typical kindhearted gentleman. What set him apart from the rest of America was his selflessness. Despite being born into a fortune, he dedicated his life to giving it all up to those who had nothing. Donating his money to charity and living the life of someone in poverty so that others would prosper.” “Next we have Bruno.” The middle eastern man rose to attention. He was wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and some boxers. At about 5’10, he had a muscular build to him. He looked like he could even compete in some body building contests. “When his country of Iraq was invaded, he was merely a boy and did not know what to do. Unlike many who fled, he saw the scourge of the war and wanted to help and make a difference. He studied to become a combat medic. Helping those who had fallen in battle regardless of who their allegiance was with.” “Lastly, we have Vincent.” The Asian man gave a small wave to the other three. At 5’5, he was definitely the shortest of the contestants. Wearing a Christmas themed onesie, he had an athletic build to him. Similar to one you’d see on a swimmer or a gymnast. “A man with a fairly normal upbringing in Japan, Vincent dedicated himself to volunteer work when he became an adult. Working for numerous non-profit organizations that deal with feeding those who are hungry and providing shelter for those in need. Rejecting what his parents expected of him as an adult and going into working for his community.” David snapped his fingers again and the scroll vanished. “You each have displayed the true meaning of Christmas throughout your lives. That it is better to give than it is to receive. Through your selfless actions, each of you have impacted many lives drastically and you are all true Saints.” The four of them looked at each other with surprised looks on all of their faces. “I understand that this is a lot to take in all at once, but do not worry, we have all of the time in the world. Literally. Father Time stops time for everyone else outside of the North Pole.” “What will becoming Santa Claus entail for us? Will we move here? What will our job be?” asked Peter. “You will be working here almost full time. Helping with toy manufacturing, the infamous naughty and nice list selections, and, of course, delivering all of the presents on Christmas. But don’t worry, you will be trained to do all of these things, but we just need to make sure to have an aptitude for it first,” said David. “How will we ever learn how to do all that?” asked Vincent. “Magic good sir! That’s how anything can get done around here. Everything we do in the North Pole is powered by magic that you will be taught how to use by one of the best magic users in existence. Myself.” “Way to be humble boss,” said a man as he walked in through two big red doors. “Joseph! You made it! Everyone, this is Joseph. He is the head of toy production here at the North Pole. You will be working very closely with him.” “Hello everyone. David can I talk to you for a second?” asked Joseph. “Sure. Here everyone,” David snapped his fingers, “have some cookies.” And the two of them left the room. “David, what are you doing? Where’s Nick?” asked Joseph. “Oh he’s been removed from service with us,” replied David as he tried to walk back in. “What? Drop the tour guide act. Who are these guys and where is Nick?” “Alright fine. He dumped me last night. I sent him to coal duty. These are his replacements.” “Get Nick out of there! We need him tonight!” “No! He can rot in the coal mines for all I care. One of them will be the new Santa.” “These are your rebound guys. Not the next Santa.” “We’d eventually need a replacement. And they are all suited for the job.” “What even are their qualifications?” “They are all charitable. Nice guys.” “David! “Okay! They’re all hot gay men who are selfless. It was a pretty quick magical search.” “I can’t believe you brought mortals here! What were you thinking?” “I was thinking that my husband of almost 2 centuries just dumped me and you weren’t picking up your phone when I was needing a hookup.” “So you just pop these random guys in here so that you can have a one night stand?” “Not exactly. We would need a replacement eventually. I can’t run this factory and deliver the presents every Christmas. One is fine, but more than that, I‘ll work myself to death. I need a partner.” “Alright fine. I’ll play this little game of yours.” “Hey, you can get something out of this too.” “What could I possibly get out of this?” “I know that Henry dumped you last decade and you’ve been lonely ever since. You get first runner up.” “Ugh you’re impossible.” Joseph started walking away. “You won’t be saying that after they go through the cookie test.” Joseph stopped in his tracks. “You’re doing that test.” David nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll go along with it as long as you play fair this time with that test.” “Deal.” The two shook hands and walked back towards the contestants. All unaware of what they had gotten themselves into. Chapter 2: Santa’s Workshop Back in the room, the four are getting settled in. Eating cookies and talking about each other’s lives. Their hobbies, their families, what they do to be so charitable. Their conversations were interrupted as their hosts walked back into the room. “Okay. If you all will follow us, we’ll get you to the workshop for one of our first tasks,” said David as he motioned them to follow him. They left the building that they were currently in and through the snow. “So we’re really in the North Pole sir?” asked Bruno. “Who’s this sir? I told you to call me David. Saint David if you want to get technical, but David is fine. And yes, you are. I transported you all from your respective homes through magic,” said David. “Is that how you deliver presents every Christmas Eve?” asked Peter. “In a way. Remember when I mentioned Father Time? Every Christmas Eve, he has agreed to stop time for us in order for all of the presents to be delivered. Old Saint Nick did use the reindeer from time to time, but ever since we made our deal with Father Time and I learned a little teleportation magic, it’s been easier this way.” “Couldn’t you just teleport all of the presents at once?” asked Vincent. “We tried that once. It was a disaster. Wrong presents were scattered across the globe,” said David “Yeah, that was a bad year. Everyone was generally mean that following year and it plunged the world into World War 1. And then there was Nick. He nearly blew up,” added Joseph. “Blew up? Santa Claus nearly blew up?” asked Rafael with concern. “He was fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle. But ever since then, we’ve just tasked Santa with being teleported to each home in order to ensure that each gift gets delivered properly,” said David. They finally made their way to a set of two large wooden doors. “Gentlemen, welcome to Santa’s Workshop.” David opened the doors, and they were met with a bright light as they entered the room. The men rushed to a railing in front of them and saw blinking lights, lifts, and conveyor belts moving toys all over the large room. Men in tight uniforms tinkering with toys below them. “Where are the elves?” asked Vincent. “Oh we got new elves a few decades ago. Far different from what you’ve seen in the media. As Christmas gained more popularity, the demand for bigger, better, and generally more presents became too much for the poor elves. We created a new type of elf in order to take their place. These new elves have the original strand of elf DNA with some dwarf thrown in for strength along with some human DNA for some height to them.” The men looked at the many muscular men that were clad in tight pants and tank tops. “And they’re pretty easy on the eyes.” “Getting back on track, this is where all of the toys are created,” said Joseph. “All of the elves are assigned a specific toy they need to make. They have supervisors that know everything about a group of toys and then each level of the chain of command is broader until you reach Santa and I. We each should be knowledgeable on all toys or any gift that someone might ask for from a teddy bear, to a PS5, to a dildo.” “I should get one of those for my husband,” said Peter. “Oh you have a husband Peter?” asked David. “Yeah. Michael and I have been together for 3 years now.” “Oh, how sweet. Want another cookie?” David snapped his fingers and a bigger cookie appeared. “Sure. These are delicious.” Peter grabbed the cookie and started eating. “Not a problem. Now to test you all a little bit.” David snapped his fingers and four doors appeared in front of them. “You will need to build a toy. Nothing too extravagant. Just a basic child’s toy,” said David. “Excuse me sir. I have no knowledge on how to build toys,” said Rafael. “This is a very basic toy that even some monkeys have been able to build. Joseph, take it away,” said David “Sure. You all will be creating a toy train. You will have 10 minutes to complete this and all of the tools you need are right in your room,” said Joseph. “Enter your rooms and we will begin,” said David. The men walked into their respective rooms. Each room was about 10x10 feet with an 8-foot-tall ceiling. In it, there was a table with various tools sitting on it. Each man took their seat behind the table and a screen appeared where the door just was. “3, 2, 1, Go!” flashed the screen. The men started to work on the trains. Bruno breezed through this task as performing surgery multiple times on people has prepared him to work with his hands on this task. Vincent also picked up on the train and the mechanics of it all. Rafael took his time on figuring out how each piece fit together but was making good progress. Peter however was having an increasingly more difficult time with putting the toy together. Hearing soft sounds from below him as he continued to put everything together. So focused in on the task in front of him, he did not notice his ball gut growing below him. He was only brought back to reality when his pajamas he had been wearing started to ride up on him. He looked down and clutched his gurgling gut as the sounds got louder and louder. He felt it pulse outward with each release. His shirt riding up on his torso as his belly fought for more space. “Excuse me David, I think I have a problem he-“ *GLOOOOOOOOORRPPPP* Peter clutched his belly as it ran into the table with that burst. The only response that was given to Peter was a blinking number on the screen saying, “7 minutes”, seemingly unaware of Peter’s grievance. Peter looked back down at his train and tried to continue as his gut only grew bigger. “What did you do to him?” asked Joseph, seeing the display going on in Peter’s room through the one-sided screen they put on the wall. “Oh nothing. Just wanted a little show before he leaves. I also realized I should have put another stipulation in the magical search. Hot, gay, selfless, and SINGLE. I’m no homewrecker. Once he loses this challenge, he’ll go back to his husband,” said David “Okay, but why’d you have to do this to him?” asked Joseph as he motioned to the ever-expanding gut on Peter that has swelled to the size of a beach ball. “Oh that’s for him and his husband. I saw that the two of them are into the inflation fetish so it’s an “I’m sorry for almost stealing your husband” gift,” said David. Snapping his fingers again, a new phrase appeared in front of the contestants, “5 Minutes”. Peter saw the screen’s warning and was getting worried. His belly had only been growing since the first warning. Letting out more gurgles as his gut started to push the table away from him. He could feel his fingers begin to chub up as he tried to work. Becoming too sausage like to work with the tiny parts. His shirt and pants began to rip as he gained more and more weight. “What is happening to me?” *BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT* came his stomach as it surged forward knocking over the table. “I know I had a few of those cookies,” *GLOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRPPPPPPP* His stomach hit the floor with that one. “But Rafael had way more!” *SWEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL* His stomach reaching the other end of the room and forcing Peter to fall out of his chair. David snapped his fingers to reveal a new message that read “2 Minutes”. Peter no longer cared about the competition. He was consumed by his growth. His body had reached immense proportions. His clothes had become just pieces of fabric thanks to his ever-growing form. Now standing up, Peter’s stomach rested flat on the floor and was getting closer and closer to the ceiling. “Fuck it!” *SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLL* “If I’m gonna be big,” *BBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTT* “I’m gonna be fucking big!” *GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPP* Peter had fully embraced his belly as he filled the small room. His gut pressing into the ceiling and beginning to press into the walls. With his back presses up against the wall behind him, he could feel the pressure of each wall pushing against his belly. “It’s getting a little cramped in here!” *SWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLL* “Please stop!” *BBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT* “I’m gonna burst!” *GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP* He braced himself when the pressure became too immense when suddenly he heard a bell. “Times up!” David snapped his fingers and doors appeared again on the rooms. The other three men walked out of their room with their finished products. David and Joseph walked by each contestant judging their work. “Excellent job Bruno, love your attention to detail,” said David. “Good work Vincent. A solid train,” said Joseph. “Rafael, your train leaves a bit to be desired. But with some practice, I’m sure you’ll be a master in no time,” said David. “Hey, where’s Peter?” asked Bruno. The five men turned to look at the unopened door. David walked up to the door and turned the knob. The door immediately swung open to reveal a wall of flesh pouring out of the doorway. “Peter, how are you doing in there?” asked David. Peter felt a bit of the pressure be relieved from his stomach when the door opened, and some of him got out. “Uh well, I’ve been better,” came a muffled voice from behind the fat. “Do you think you can get out of there?” asked David. “I don’t think so. It’s a pretty tight fit in here,” again came the voice from the doorway. “Alright then. I’m gonna get you unstuck then. You all should probably stand back,” said David as the four men took some steps back. David snapped his fingers and there was a loud *GGGGGGGGGGGGGGLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP*. The wall tore down like it was paper by the belly that surged out of the tiny room. The gut even broke down the walls of the other rooms as it fought for more space. “Couldn’t you have just broken the wall down yourself?” asked Joseph. “Of course I could’ve, but this way was more fun. James! Francis! Would you come get Peter out?” Two 6’6, well-muscled elves appeared on each side of Peter. They grabbed at the fat and pulled. With loud pop, Peter flopped out of the room. “Wait, that’s Peter? All of that is Peter?” said a perplexed Rafael. The once slim man had morphed into a large orb of lard that was well over 15 feet tall. The two men rolled the ball of a man over so that the others could see the rest of his body. “I’m sorry to say, but Peter, for not completing your train, you have been eliminated from the competition. Any parting words?” asked David “Not at all! This is incredible! It’s an honor just to be nominated!” yelled out Peter. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Now Francis and James will escort you out.” The two men got on one side of Peter and started to roll the overinflated man out. The other contestants started with a mixture of shock and lust as Peter left them. “Now gentlemen, shall we continue on with our tour?” Chapter 3: Naughty & Nice David and Joseph led the men out of the workshop as Peter was rolled out the way they came. Knocking down doors like he’s a bowling ball with him being far too large to fit in. The three looked back at the trail of destruction left in the orb’s path until David snapped his fingers and everything was back to normal. “What happened to him?” asked Rafael. “He simply did not have the right stuff to become the next Santa Claus,” replied David. “So you were gonna make him explode?!?” exclaimed Vincent. “Oh not at all. That was a little parting gift from me. Most people have fantasies they’d love to live out, but the confines of reality are harsh for some and they can’t. That all changes when you have magic,” said David as he led the group to a new room. “So you can make it so that we can live out our wildest dreams?” asked Bruno. “Indeed I can. The only difference with Peter is that this will be one fantasy, if you are to be Santa Claus, then this will be a regular occurrence if you’d like and all of your fantasies can come true,” said David. “Coming from someone who has been on the other side of David’s magic, I can confirm that the fantasies he can weave are spectacular. And everything can be reversed if you’d like. Peter will deflate after a while, but he’ll be able to grow himself at will to that size when he wishes,” said Joseph “Yes. I have done favors for my friends around the North Pole and I’ve had great reviews from all. You’d be surprised with the fantasies that are bouncing around in a person’s mind,” said David. The three men stood stunned. All thinking about what they’d all do if they were given the opportunity. “We’re here,” said David as he opened up two large wooden doors to reveal an office like space. “This is where you will be assigning everyone a ranking of naughty or nice.” “Oh so this is real? I always thought that everyone got what they wanted?” asked Vincent. “That is somewhat true. Unlike what is assumed of the nice and naughty list, and about most things, this is a spectrum. Not everyone is 100% nice or 100% naughty. We go off of how good or bad someone is in total and rank them on a scale from 0, the naughtiest, to 100, the nicest. Most people fall into the range of 40-60 from year to year with some people’s rank being changed from year to year.” “Who are the people that are on the very bottom of the list? The 0 rankings?” asked Bruno. “Those would be the worst of all people. The rapists, the pedophiles, those who commit genocide. Some notable names on the bottom would be Hitler, Christopher Columbus, and Donald Trump,” said Joseph as David pulled out a long list. “And the good end?” asked Vincent. “A much better list in my opinion. Those are the people who are notoriously good and selfless. Those who help the needy and save those in need. You three and Peter are all notable people on the lists along with Oprah Winfrey, Abraham Lincoln, and many Saints,” said David as he put the list away. He snapped his fingers and three doors appeared leading into separate rooms again. “Your task will be assigning people a rank based on the information we show you. This will not impact how they’ve actually been ranked, but a test to see how each of you morally see people.” “Will we each get the same person to rank?” asked Rafael. “Not at all. This is actually my favorite part. You will each be getting people that are significant to you. It could be your parents, a sibling, a best friend, that is for the machine to decide. Now each of you head into your rooms and we will begin the test.” The three men turned to face their doors and walked in. They each were greeted by a circular object on the floor. Each of them approached the object when it suddenly lit up a hologram. Rafael was met with his brother Fernando. Vincent was met with his mother Diane. And Bruno saw his best friend Assad. “What are you gonna do now? Some of them might have significant others,” said Joseph. “Well, first things first, I’m looking up these guys again. Rafael and Vincent are both single so that’s good. Bruno’s situation is…unique,” said David. “Unique how?” “Let’s just say this is one fantasy that needs to be granted.” David snapped his fingers and appeared in the room Bruno was in. He walked up behind Bruno admiring the stunning hologram of his best friend. The man was dressed in military gear from his head to toe. You could tell that beneath his clothes, there was a significant amount of muscle. “He seems like a great guy. Tell me about him,” said David as he paused the video recording and enhanced the image onto Assad. “He’s the best. Courageous and strong while also sweet and caring. He’s my best friend in the entire world. He always tries to protect anyone that he can in combat. Even if that means that I’ll have to stitch him up later. But I can always fix him up like brand new.” Bruno reminisced their time together as David continued to work on the hologram machine. “Yes, but I know you’d like to be more than just friends,” said David with a snap. Suddenly the hologram of Assad was a real person. He was still stuck in position, but he was in the room with them. “What? No. That’s absurd. I’m not gay. That’s an act punishable by death,” snapped back Bruno. “Bruno, magic doesn’t lie. I did some research on you before I brought you here. It revealed that you’ve had unrequited love for him since basic training but chose to shove it down out of fear.” Bruno sank into himself with the words that left David’s mouth. Everything he was saying was true. “But luckily for you, I did some research on Assad as well. He had the same story with you. You are each madly in love with each other but will not admit it to one another.” “I know.” This response surprised David. “I’ve always known. We’ve had an unspoken connection for as long as we’ve been friends. But what can I do about it? It’s illegal in Iraq.” “Well I had an idea about that.” David took the hologram’s hand and brought him over to Bruno. “You said he was a protector, right? Well now he will protect you against anyone who might try to separate the two of you. He cannot attack anyone, but he will be your shield from anyone who might hurt you. He will be your shield.” Bruno turned to face his friend. He only saw a small change at first. His already snug clothes were clinging to his muscles. His gaze began to look up more as the eyes grew towards the ceiling. Slowly, but surely, his head rose above the other two men in the room. Passing 7-feet tall quickly and looking to pass 8 feet shortly. The already well-muscled man was gaining pounds of muscle by the second. His pecs poking bulging out of the shirt. And with a “POP”, Bruno heard the buttons on the uniform begin to lose their battle with the growing chest. One by one, button after button started to rip off. Exposing more of Assad’s torso. His shoulders had broadened immensely and brought a lot of growth to his chest. Each one looked as if they were the size of dictionaries and just as thick. Bruno and David’s attention was brought away from his pec’s by a loud “RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP”. Right along the long sleeves, his bicep had just ripped through the sleeve. The man’s arm had grown to the size of a cantaloupe and continued to pack on size, soon reaching the size of a basketball. “He’s incredible,” said Bruno as he walked up to the growing man. Another loud “RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP” was heard. This time from behind the Adonis. Walking around him, Bruno got a view of his incredible backside that had begun to break out of the painted on pants. The ass had been growing out of sight and David had taken extra care with preparing the bubble butt. Not only was the booty muscular, it had enough fat in it so that it rounded out to give him a perfect round ass. Which only seemed to be pumping bigger. His hips had widened for his backside to grow more. Each cheek was easily the size of a pumpkins and still pumping up bigger. Assad’s pants finally lost their battle and fell to the floor when out sprung a foot-long cock from his underwear with grapefruit sized balls to match. Bruno walked back to the front to see the python his friend had. Reaching out to touch it, Bruno felt the still soft cock stir as he made contact with it. It quickly was both growing and hardening. Quickly filling Bruno’s hand, the cock continued to lengthen. Feeling the dick throb as it thickened so much that Bruno could no longer wrap his whole hand around it. By the time the cock was fully hard, it was easily 2 feet long, if not longer. As the growth seemed to come to a halt, Bruno stepped back from Assad. His height leveling out at about 9 feet tall, he dwarfed both Bruno and David. His once tight uniform was now reduced to shreds of fabric on the ground. “David, I can’t thank you enough for this,” said Bruno as he examined the overgrown man. “Don’t thank me quite yet,” said David as he snapped his fingers. Immediately, Assad’s pecs jumped out at them. His torso exploded with more size. Broadening even more, his pecs went from dictionary big to king sized pillow big and twice as thick. Each nipple now the size of a silver dollar and pointing straight down. But as Bruno examined the nipples, he saw a little droplet forming on it. “Milk?” said Bruno as he walked up to the newly developed pec shelf. He put a finger up to the nipple and let little white drops fall onto him. He puts the finger in his mouth and his eyes light up. “Oh my God! This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever drank,” said Bruno as he cupped his hands under the tit and began slurping up more and more. Bruno’s own body began to grow as he continued to drink. No longer using his hand, he put his mouth to the nipple and the clear liquid flowed into his mouth. His own body being pumped up like a water balloon. Starting with a small gut in front of him and spreading all over his body. Seemingly unaware of the changes to his body, Bruno continued to drink from Assad’s pecs. Bruno was only brought back to reality when he heard a loud “RRRIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP”. This time from his own clothes. His own transformation had happened much faster than Assad’s. He was 7 feet tall already with muscles to match. He had ripped out of his shirt and boxers quickly and he continued to inflate with size. His muscles reaching the same proportions as Assad’s but with one major difference. Unlike Assad’s rock hard 12-pack, Bruno had a bulging milk gut. He poked it and could feel all of the milk inside him. He moved his mouth to the other pec as the other one seemed to have deflated from all of his sucking. By the time Bruno had finished his drink from the other pec, he was just a few inches shorter than Assad. He looked down at David. “What can I do to ever repay you?” “Nothing. It’s what I do. Remember what happened to Peter, how I granted him his fantasy? Well this one is yours. Some fantasies are purely sexual, and others are ones of romance,” David snapped his fingers one last time. Bruno heard a snapping sound and looked to see Assad’s cock sprang forward. It must’ve been 4 feet long now. He also looked to Assad’s glutes now to see they had grown bigger than tires. “With just a hint of sexual.” At that moment, Assad started to move from his statue like trance. He looked all around him. He was no longer in his bedroom. “Woah! What’s happening? Where am I?” said the confused giant. “Assad! Everything’s alright!” yelled back Bruno. “Bruno? What are you doing here? Why do my nipples feel so sore?” “Don’t worry about that, but the only thing I want to tell you now is that I love you, you big lug!” Bruno latched onto his big friend with a big bear hug. “Bruno.” Assad returned Bruno’s embrace, “I love you too, but we can’t be together. You know that.” “But we can now. David, tell him,” shouted Bruno. “I’ll fill him in,” said David as he snapped his fingers. Instantly, Assad’s eyes filled with joy. He immediately kissed Bruno. “I’m so happy. I’ll finally be able to show how much I really care about you Bruno.” The giant’s eye started to tear up. “Come on you two. You’ll have plenty of time to do that, but for now I have to get you back,” said David. Assad and Bruno walked out of the room holding hands. Both giants took a note from Peter’s book and broke down the door. Joseph, Vincent, and Rafael were waiting outside for them. They were all perplexed when two 9-foot-tall naked men came out of the room. “What happened in there?” asked Joseph. “I’ll explain everything later. Francis! James! Will you escort these two gentlemen somewhere where they can speak in private?” The same two men walked in from before. They led Bruno and Assad away. “Oh and when they’re done, send them home. And then there were two. So shall we continue on to our final test?” Chapter 4: The Gift That Keeps on Giving David led the remaining men down a long hallway. All of the others were utterly confused about what they just saw in front of them. Each of them wondering what possible fantasy Bruno must’ve had in order for him to emerge a giant with another unknown giant on his arm. They all approached a large metallic door. “Excuse me David. You never mentioned what our final task would be,” said Vincent. David opened the doors to the outside where they began walking in the snow again. “Your final task will determine how well you can perform the real duty of Santa Claus. It might come as a bit of a surprise to you. What most people don’t understand is the amount of cookies you’ll need to eat as Santa. This will test how much of this sugary sweet treat you can stomach.” “Bring it. I’ve loved all the cookies you’ve served so far,” said Rafael. “Yes, but that has only been a few cookies. Santa must consume millions of cookies in one night. We’ve managed to solve most of the problems with magic, however this has not been one of them,” said David. “Can’t you just throw the cookies away?” asked Vincent. “We’ve tried. It’s never gone well. The first year we tried it, the following year was World War II. Then we tried it again to test if it was a fluke or not and then the Vietnam War happened. It’s just bad luck not to,” said Joseph. “What if you were to get rid of them with magic. with magic?” asked Rafael. “My magic is very good at creating things, hence why I am one of the biggest givers of all time. It is not engineered to destroy,” said David. “And this is why they all must be eaten. Remember the story I told you about a while ago? How Santa nearly blew up? That’s what happens when someone eats millions of cookies in an instant.” The men walked up to a cottage and entered. There they found a plate of fresh cookies waiting for them. “This will be a test of stamina, not speed. But I wanted to make things a bit more interesting. Once the plate in front of you has been eaten, many more plates of cookies will spawn all over the North Pole. But there will be a plate with special properties to it once you start eating,” said David. “What kind of properties?” asked Rafael. “You will have to figure that out for yourself,” said David. “How will a winner be crowned?” asked Vincent. “David and I will be keeping track of how many cookies are eaten by the two of you. The contest will be over when neither of you can stomach another cookie. After that, David and I will crown a winner based on the number of cookies you each ate.” said Joseph. “You may begin eating when ready,” said David and with a snap, him and Joseph were gone. The two men sat down at the table in front of them facing each other. Rafael was the first one to reach for a cookie. “Well cheers I guess,” said Rafael. “Cheers,” responded Vincent as he also grabbed a cookie. The two bit into the cookies and let out an “Mmm” in unison. “These are so good!” said Rafael. He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth and grabbed at the pile again for more. “Are you sure you don’t want more?” asked Rafael in between bites. “David said this contest was about stamina, not speed,” said Vincent. “Suit yourself URP” Rafael burped as he rubbed his belly. As Vincent finished his first cookie, his eyes were brought to Rafael when he heard a low rumble coming from the man’s stomach. Suddenly, Vincent saw Rafael’s body began to inflate. The sleeves around his arms seemed to tighten, the buttons on his shirt tightened from his large pecs, his shirt riding up and revealing a large gut that pressed into the table. “What the hell?!?” yelled Vincent as he saw the man gain about 50 pounds in a few seconds. “Huh?” Rafael looked down at his body. He saw nothing but his bloated tits when he looked down. “Woah,” said Rafael in awe. He lifted his arm up and flexed it. He watched the strains of fabric be pushed to their limit as the ball of muscle grew. “Dude…what did you do? You got-” “Big.” Rafael continued to admire his body. Putting his hand under his newly grown pecs and feeling the weight of them. “I’m huge!” Rafael stopped groping himself and locked eyes with the table. “But how? Is David doing some kind of magic on you?” Rafael reached his hand out to the table and grabbed a handful of cookies and shoved them into his mouth. “Bigger,” was all that left his lips when another loud groan was heard from the man’s stomach. Rafael grew much quicker this time. His head slowly rose up as he smiled feeling the growth spread. His gut grew out onto the table. Inflating quickly like a yoga ball. A loud “POP” rang through the air as his top button flew across the room. One by one, each button revealed more and more the man’s glorious chest. Each pec reaching the size of suitcases and continued to gain pounds. Another loud sound was heard by the men as Rafael’s fat ass ripped apart his pajamas. His ass and thunder thighs shredding the fabric like a piece of paper. With his pants gone, Rafael’s cock was freed, and it flopped down onto the floor under the man’s rounded belly. The beast lengthening under the table toward Vincent as it was now well over 6 feet long and thicker than . Seeing that the giant was growing closer to him, Vincent stood up from his seat and backed away from him. “Rafael! You need to stop growing!” As his transformation continued, Vincent heard a loud crash as the giant’s ass hit the ground. The chair that had been supporting him had snapped like a twig under his growing weight. “So big,” said Rafael as his transformation came to a halt. He was sitting on the ground and was a head taller than Vincent. His own head just inches away from the ceiling of the cottage they were in. “I need more!” said Rafael as he reached for the tray of cookies. “More?! Rafael you can’t be serious? You can’t even fit through the door!” screamed Vincent as he tried to grab the cookies before Rafael could, but it was too late. “Vincent, I’ve always wanted to be bigger.” Rafael grabbed the cookies and threw them all back into his open mouth. “Besides, David can fix whatever we do with magic.” With a gulp, the cookies hit the behemoths belly. “Yes! More!” Rafael began to grow again. Every inch of him packing on 50 pounds per second. His stomach charging forward toward Vincent like a locomotive as his head hit the ceiling. Under his impressive stomach, Rafael’s cock also lurched forward. Pressing Vincent into the wall behind him. “Rafael! Please stop and let me get out!” Vincent felt the now 9-foot-long cock continue to pulse with growth as the weight pushed against him. “Too late little guy,” said Rafael as his head started cracking the ceiling. Vincent looked up for a moment as the cock pinned him to the wall only to see a ballooning belly be pushed into his face. From the outside of the house, the walls seemed to bulge out in every direction. The first sight of Rafael’s body was his head poking out of the ceiling of the cottage. Next his massive belly and cock took their toll on the wall and they spilled out onto the snow outside. Then there was Rafael’s ass that had been steadily growing behind him. It pushed through the walls both behind it and on its side. Lastly to burst free were his arms. On each side of the cottage, his arms broke down the walls and brought themselves into a double bicep flex. Finally the entire cottage was brought down as his pecs broke the remaining parts of the roof that hadn’t been destroyed by his head and shoulders bursting through. Holding tightly to the head of Rafael’s cock, Vincent fell out onto the snow as the growing dick grew. He shimmied his way out from under the behemoth and stood up to see Rafael. He was a true giant. Sitting down, he was easily two stories tall, if not three, and looked like he weighed two tons. A lot of that weight was in his fat gut. The orb of a belly was far taller than Vincent was. It was like he had swallowed a car. “Haha, now we’re talking,” laughed Rafael as he groped his newly grown body. “I’m so massive. But I want to be bigger.” Vincent heard the giant’s deep voice and remembered the other cookies that David had put out across the North Pole. In an instant, Rafael’s big body got up from the ground and began sprinting and looking down for more plates of cookies. “I need MORE!” “I’ve gotta find another plate of cookies before he gets any bigger.” Vincent started running toward the Naughty and Nice building he was just in. Rushing in and looking around for a platter of cookies. Seeing nothing, he ran out another door and sitting just outside the door on a pedestal was an even bigger plate of cookies. “Yes! I beat him here!” said Vincent as he began shoveling cookie after cookie into his mouth. “Hey Vincent!” came a shout from the distant. Vincent turned his head as he continued chewing on cookies. “Oh no! He found me!” Vincent grabbed the plate of cookies and ran back into the building. Thunderous steps shook everything around Vincent as Rafael descended his huge body onto the building. Vincent saw his massive arm reach in through the door, but he was too far away for him to reach. Vincent still felt worried that Rafael could do what he did to that cottage and tear down this building to get to the cookies. “Come on now Vincent. Christmas is about giving. So give me some of those cookies!” yelled Rafael as he looked inside the building. “Why aren’t they working?” cried Vincent as he polished the last cookie off the plate. Right after the words left his mouth, he heard his stomach let out a low growl. “Oh.” Vincent’s belly quickly inflated inside his Christmas onesie. Rips forming all over his body as pounds were added on every second. “This,” Vincent’s pecs ripped through the neck hole. “Feels,” His ass burst apart the seat of his pants. “So,” His cock ripping out the front of his pants with a nice pair of balls to match. “Incredible!” His head skyrocketing toward the ceiling. “Vincent, what’s going on in there?” asked Rafael from outside the door. He couldn’t see clearly into the room, but suddenly his nose was met with a wall of flesh. “Bigger.” Rafael backed away from the door and saw cracks forming in the walls. “Bigger!” Vincent’s cock lurched out the doorway and hit Rafael. Landing him on his ass. “BIGGER!” Vincent’s entire body broke out from the building, leaving it in ruins. Rafael looked up at the new giant that Vincent had become. From the bottom up, Vincent’s cock was bigger than a house with balls bigger than cars. His hairless gut resembled the size of blimp and above it sat two massive slabs of meat known as pecs. Each one was bigger than 18-wheelers and twice as thick. Vincent’s head was now higher than any building around them in the North Pole. “He’s massive!” Rafael got up out of the snow and reveled in Vincent’s size. “Haha. I see why you were so eager to get your hands on more of those cookies. The feeling you get when you grow is indescribable,” said Vincent as he brought one of his biceps up and flexed. The ball of muscle growing bigger than Vincent’s own head. “I’ve gotta find more,” said Rafael under his breath. He looked around and saw the workshop they had just been in for the train exercise. Scrambling to get there, he ripped off the roof to see another tray of cookies, this time on a golden plate. “Hey! You get back here!” yelled Vincent as he ran towards Rafael. Rafael looked back and saw Vincent lunging toward him. He turned his back to Vincent and swallowed all of the cookies in one gulp. He threw the plate into the snow as he felt a new transformation coming on. “Gotcha!” said Vincent as he grabbed onto Rafael’s smaller shoulders. “Not for long,” said Rafael. He straightened his back as his body sored into the sky. Rafael’s ass was the only thing that Vincent could see growing. The already fat ass quickly bulged back into Vincent’s cock. Vincent instantly felt his cock harden as Rafael’s ass plumped up bigger and bigger. He couldn’t resist and shoved his cock head into Rafael’s ass. “Fuck” yelled Rafael as Vincent penetrated him. His own cock getting hard as he felt his ass grow further back into the cock. “I’m sorry man. I’ve been eying your ass ever since we got here and the way it was growing, I had to fuck it,” said Vincent as he started to thrust more of his cock into Rafael’s welcoming hole. “You’re good. I have to admit that I did think you were cute when we appeared in the North Pole.” “And now?” “Now? You’re fucking hot!” Rafael’s transformation seemed to subside as the two of them got started full on fucking. Rafael had stopped at just a bit bigger than Vincent, but he didn’t mind. Vincent’s 20-foot-long cock was big enough to satisfy the 60-foot-tall man. Vincent picked up the pace as he thrusted harder and harder into Rafael. The indent of his cock being seen bulging out of Rafael’s stomach. In the midst of their hot sex session, Vincent looked down and saw the plate of cookies that Rafael had tossed to the side from his previous growth spurt. It was now full! Vincent smirked as he leaned over, grabbed the plate of cookies, poured them into his free hand, and fed them to Rafael as he moaned. “Gobble these up for me.” Rafael didn’t need to be told twice. He swallowed the cookies with ease and smiled as he heard a familiar gurgle from his stomach. Rafael again shot up in height. “Bigger!” shouted Rafael. His body bulged out in all directions. His gut plowed forward destroying the toy factory below as his ass bubbled out behind him. Vincent was met with Rafael’s ass growing tighter and tighter on his cock. Vincent’s thrusting became animalistic as he grabbed Rafael’s fat ass cheeks in his hands. Massaging and squeezing them, Vincent couldn’t hold the flood gates back any longer. “Fuuuuuuuuuck!” cried Vincent as his balls seized up and cum filled Rafael’s already enormous belly. Vincent’s torrent of jizz seemed endless as Rafael continued to grow both from the cookies and the slow filling of his guts. Rafael felt Vincent’s jets start to lighten up as his growth tapered off. “That’s all you got pretty boy?” challenged Rafael. Vincent himself felt his balls beginning to empty as the cum shots began to slow down. He looked down at his hand and saw the plate. It was full of cookies again. “It refills itself!” A devilish grin sprouted on Vincent’s face. He threw his hand back into his mouth, swallowing the plate and all. “Be ready for the fucking of a century big guy!” Vincent heard a gurgle from his stomach and resumed ramming his cock into Rafael. Rafael felt Vincent’s cock begin thrusting into him again, with more passion than ever. Each thrust felt like Vincent was going deeper and deeper every time. “Now you’re talking!” He felt Vincent’s cum shots regain their previous strength. Rafael’s belly now growing much faster as cum flooded his system. Everything took a turn when Rafael saw the imprint of Vincent’s dick in his already massive stomach. Each thrust pushing out further and further as he continued to be filled up like a cum balloon. “What are you gonna do now? Vincent just ate the magic plate and he’s growing out of control,” said Joseph. David and Joseph were watching the entire display go down from a couch. Each of them naked and jerking each other’s cocks “Oh don’t you worry about that. In a little bit, Vincent’s cum should be meeting the cookies that Rafael ate,” said David “Why does that matter?” asked Rafael. “It’s milk. There will always be the combo of milk and cookies, not just cookies. When Vincent’s “milk” soaks the cookies, they reactivate themselves. So as long as Vincent keeps cumming, Rafael will grow with him,” replied David as he jerked his cock. “Now watch. I think things are about to get good.” Vincent had begun growing and hadn't stopped. Merely muttering “More” and “Bigger” as his body expands across the North Pole. The pair feel the ice cracking below them as their weight becomes too much even for the ice to handle them. Rafael meanwhile is becoming more and more ball like while Vincent’s jizz seems unending. “Vincent! You’ve gotta pull out! I feel like I’m gonna explode!” yelled Rafael as his limbs disappeared into his growing belly. Vincent in such a faze of lust could barely register that Rafael was talking. It was only when the ice below them broke when Vincent came back to reality. “Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry little guy.” Vincent pulled his growing cock out from Rafael’s ass and spun the orbs around so that he could see his face. “I got a little carried away. Guess that can happen when you’re the biggest being in existence” Vincent’s cock seemed to stop shooting jets as the cold water below him cooled him off. His body continued to grow away from the Rafael ball. His body crushing mountains all over the North Pole without him even knowing. Vincent picked up Rafael as he shrank below him. Becoming lighter and lighter in his hands. “How do you feel?” asked Vincent as he put Rafael in one of his palms. “Like I could explode. I don’t feel so- UUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP” Rafael let out the biggest burp anyone had ever heard. It could be felt at all corners of the globe, but then it started. He was growing and he was growing fast. He quickly outgrew the giant’s hand and he landed in the Northern Atlantic Ocean. Sending tidal waves out from his body. Rafael’s body regaining its shape as his limbs reappear and quickly approaching Vincent’s size. “Who were you calling little guy, little guy?” said Rafael as his size surpassed Vincent’s. Each of their bodies effortlessly crushing the Northern Hemisphere. Unaware of their own size, the two resumed their fucking. Both growing in spurts as they outgrew the whole Earth. “Ouch!” cried Vincent as something struck the back of his head. He looked back and saw that he had bonked his head on the moon. Grabbing the satellite in his hand and watching it shrink in his hands as the two men watched the Earth fade away. One by one, every planet passed by the two planet sized men. “How much bigger are we gonna get?” asked Rafael as Vincent continued to cum inside him. “I don’t know, but I don’t care! Keep it going! I want to be bigger than the whole galaxy!” yelled Vincent as another spurt came over him. Rafael simply smiled as he accepted his new reality of being pumped full of cum just for his body to break it down and make him grow bigger. It’s gonna be a happy life. For more updates, story ideas, or general MG stuff, Follow my twitter: https://twitter.com/Musclesaber

Happy Holidays from ABSMAN420! Based on Aardvark's LIFE STORE series, here's a classic absman story I found on the shelf and dusted off for you for Christmas! Enjoy a family-themed holiday muscle growth story! “Dad?!? I’m HOME!” He emerged from the upstairs bedroom, wearing only a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a black baseball cap with the gold Iowa Hawkeyes logo on the front. Barely in his forties, he was densely muscled with the kind of powerful neck that betrayed all wrestlers. Every inch the coach, every inch the man who’d devoted his life to a sport, he’d wrestled since sixth grade, made varsity in ninth, high school national champion soon thereafter, recruited by Iowa, collegiate nationals champion his junior and senior years, now head coach at the junior college that prepped talent for UI, and first in line for the assistant’s position at the big school. He looked down on me from the top of the balcony and in his gravelly voice said, “Oh, I see Loser U is finally on Christmas break. Wait, what do you liberals call it? WINTER break, right?” He chuckled hoarsely at his own joke, running a hand over his bare, muscular torso. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t react to his bait – the whole bus ride halfway across the country, I’d promised myself over and over – immediately I was defensive. “Dad… not everybody celebrates Christmas.” “Oh, Jesus, Brian! It was a joke – a freakin’ joke!” He descended the stairs as he bitched, his big muscles bouncing as he plodded down. “That’s the problem with you east coast intellectuals, you’re too freakin’ good for everything! Sometimes I wish your little Liberal U HAD a wrestling team – it’d be fun to come in there and kick their ass!” At the base of the stairs, we faced each other – at five-nine, we were the same height and structure, but he easily had me by forty pounds of muscle. He just seemed taller than me by the way he carried himself, by his confidence and posture, inflated by his ego. We didn’t hug. He only hugged his wrestlers – and then only when they won – never his son. No, he held his hand out for me to shake. And naturally, he seemed disappointed by the firmness of my grip. “So c’mon in and see the place,” he said, leading the way into the house. I followed, eye-level with his massive traps. This little off-campus, post-divorce house of his was a testament to his life as a single man and wrestler. A shrine, almost. Trophies and medals and photographs everywhere, posters and playbills from various events and contests, equipment and gear stashed here and there, a mishmash of obsession – maybe Mom had been right. The whole place was a disaster. Torn apart, laundry discarded, dirty dishes in stacks, this was clearly not the work of one man. He obviously had his wrestlers over often – the gigantic sectional sofa looked well-worn and comfortable beneath its wrinkled throw, and there was no belittling the entertainment center and the nearly wall-sized plasma TV. What college-aged guy wouldn’t like that? One of the coffee tables had been awkwardly cleared and a small, fake Christmas tree blinked merrily away, despite being decorated with a couple of dirty socks and someone’s jockstrap covering the face of the angel on top. Underneath was a single wrapped present, about the size of a shirt box. “That’s for you,” Dad said, handing it to me. “Well, really, it’s for BOTH of us, but, uh… I think you’ll get more out of it… initially. Open it.” “Isn’t it a little early for…?” “What?” he said impatiently – he wasn’t used to being questioned, some things never change. “It’s Christmas Eve, the sun’s almost down. What the fuck? Let’s start your homecoming right.” I’d never seen that much sentiment out of my father, so I sat awkwardly on the sofa arm and opened his gift, tearing through the paper and opening the box. “What is this…?” I asked under my breath as I looked inside. It was the strangest thing – he’d given me a singlet, an old Iowa singlet, black with gold piping and the word “IOWA” spelled across one leg, the Hawkeye logo emblazoned on the center front, where it would be directly over the heart when worn. It wasn’t even a NEW singlet. Beat up and flaking, stretched at the seams, as if the guy who’d worn it had been way too big for it – it was certainly too big for me, scarecrow that I am. Also a jockstrap in the same condition. Well-worn, stretched elastic, there was no mistaking that this jock had been worn by someone with monstrous genitalia, the cotton pouch was so distended. It may have been laundered clean, but it was still someone’s used jockstrap. He’d given me someone’s used jockstrap for Christmas. Was this his idea of a joke? He wasn’t laughing – rather, he had an anticipatory smile on his face. “Okay, now before you say something that pisses me off,” he said, sitting on the coffee table before me, pushing some dishes out of the way so he could, “let me explain it.” I made a fist and comfortably fit it in the pouch of the jock. “Absolutely,” I said. “I’d love to hear your explanation for THIS.” “Okay,” he said, nodding slightly. “But first, go put that stuff on.” “What?” “I bought it for you, Brian. Put it on.” He said that with a “coach” attitude, a man who wasn’t used to being questioned. “But…” He held up his hand for me to stop. “But nothing. Put it on. It’ll be like your Christmas present to me. Your old man wants to see you in a Hawkeyes uniform just once before he dies, okay? Indulge me?” “You’re not gonna die, are you?” “Just put the fucking thing on!” And so, in the filthy bathroom just off the kitchen, I shucked my clothes and put on the outfit Dad had given me for Christmas. The jockstrap didn’t even come close to fitting – or at least, that’s what I suspected. I’d only ever worn a jockstrap one time before that, and it’d given me a rash. Just a little too big in the waist, so that it fell and settled on my hip bones, and to make the pouch fit I’d need a balled-up pair of socks, or a grapefruit. The singlet was just as bad. Though its elasticity was better, it was still clearly two sizes too large. With my boney bod, I might as well have been a wire hanger for the way it hung on me from the shoulders. I looked ridiculous. Comical. Embarrassing. How could my Dad and I differ that much? When I went back to the living room, the smile on his face was the largest I’d ever seen on him – especially directed at me. A shark spying his evening meal. “This thing is huge on me,” I said, embarrassed by his scrutiny, humiliated by his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, like it was an unimportant detail. He reached down and adjusted his package beneath his sweats. “Is this one of your old ones?” I asked. “No,” he said quietly. “Mine would probably fit you, though you still wouldn’t fill it out as well.” He winked to indicate he was teasing – I let it go. “No, that there must’ve belonged to one of the big boys – maybe Gunter, or Johnny No-Neck.” “Well, where did you get it? Why are you giving it to me?” “First things first,” he said, standing. There was no hiding his dick as it pushed out against the loose cotton sweats he wore. Was seeing me in this singlet giving my Dad a hard-on? Ignoring it, and my unmistakable reaction to it, he reached in his pocket, pushing his big half-log to the side to retrieve a small plastic pouch. He tossed it to me. Naturally, I fumbled it instead of catching it smoothly. “Take those,” he said, crossing his hands before his package, lightly holding himself and tickling his dick with a finger. “Take those, then we’ll talk. I’ll explain everything.” It was a small, plastic pouch about the size of a business card, two pills inside. Stapled to it, a typed paper label reading, “WRESTLING MATT, 20, 215lb class, Coach’s Favorite.” “What is this?” “Take ‘em,” Dad said – I think he WAS playing with himself. “You need some water or something?” He picked a half-full bottle from the table and held it out to me. “But, what…?” He spoke sharply, inflating his ribcage and bristling his muscle. “Brian,” he said, “just do what I say. Don’t make me MAKE you take them.” And so I dry-swallowed them – but they must’ve been gel-coated, because they went down easy -- one tasted slightly metallic. “Thank you,” he said in a lighter tone. “Now sit down and I’ll tell you what this is all about.” When I plopped myself back on the arm of the sofa, my hands crossed before my crotch, he continued, hurrying through the exposition. “I was in the city not long ago on a tourney, staying at a hotel in this weird little neighborhood on the east side. I was coming back after practice, walking down this street with all these little shops and shit and I pass by this vintage clothing store. There’s a singlet in the window – catches my eye – an old-school Iowa lo-cut singlet, like we wore in the eighties, when I was there. “Anyway, I go inside, and the Man who owns the store, a little dumpy fag with this kind of know-it-all attitude sees me checkin’ out the singlet and the first thing out of his mouth – not ‘hello’, not ‘how are you?’, not ‘welcome to my store’ – no, he says, ‘Your son’s a disappointment to you. You wish he’d found the passion for wrestling that you have.’ “And what was I gonna do, Brian? It’s true. And it caught me off-guard. So, instead of questioning how he knew it, or what business of his it was, I nodded and said, ‘Yeah…’ “Because, it IS a disappointment to me, Brian. It breaks my heart that you don’t like wrestling – since before you were born, it was my dream to raise a little wrestler and be your coach.” It was so weird to hear my Dad talking like this – it was almost too much. I was feeling a little light-headed, so I slid down onto the seat of the sofa and leaned back against the soft material, my hands still covering my crotch. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, near tears. “I wish I could’ve been the son you wanted.” Dad smiled and barked a laugh. “That’s what HE said,” he said, “the Man at the shop. He said it was possible for me to have the son I’d always wanted. He said I could BUY that – I didn’t have to wish it, I could buy it – and he had just the thing!” “What?” I asked – I WAS feeling dizzy, clouded. I was having trouble keeping up with the narrative. I felt like I had just taken cold medicine or something. “So we’re in the back of his shop where the cash register and stuff is and we go to this filing cabinet. He tells me that this place is called THE LIFE STORE – the clothing thing is just a front – and through some unexplainable combination of alchemy and nano-technology or something, he’s able to craft complete new lives for people. He sells new lives! “Okay, NOW I think he’s crazy and I’m just indulging him. I really just want to buy the singlet and get the hell out of there, right? And he pulls out this thick file marked ‘ATHLETES,’ and it’s full of biographies and profiles of all these different jocks and all these different sports. He’s humming as he sorts through them. There’s only a few wrestlers – what a shock, right? – when he pulls one out and says, ‘This is it!’” It was still hard to follow what my Dad was talking about, but I realized that I wasn’t sick, wasn’t dizzy – no, just the opposite. I was starting to feel a buzz, like the coming wave that rides you up to drug-induced ecstasy. I was feeling kind of good. I was even starting to get a hard-on. I could feel it growing beneath the loose jockstrap. Instead of being embarrassed by it, however, I briefly thought, “Well, so does DAD…” before I dismissed it. Fuck it, let it get hard – it felt good. Besides, Dad wasn’t trying to hide his. “It was a helluva profile,” Dad continued, watching me curiously. “And I loved how the guy’s name was a pun – Wrestling Matt.” He chuckled. “Oh, Brian, you’re gonna love being him.” “What?” I asked, almost fully hard. “What do you mean?” “I’m turning you into him, into the son I’ve always wanted. I bought the profile from the Life Store and I’m turning you into Wrestling Matt, a twenty year old, two-hundred fifteen pound, cocky, nationally-ranked super-jock whose only desire is to please his coach and be like his dad, obsessed with wrestling and training hard at the gym. He loves it, he loves Iowa, he loves his teammates, he loves his jock life, and he owes it all to his Dad, his coach, and he loves to show his gratitude.” He touched his dick again and dreamily added, “It’s gonna be fuckin’ awesome to have him around instead of you....” “But… how…?” Dad shrugged, his big traps flexing and falling. “I don’t know. The Man tried to explain it to me but it didn’t make any sense. Who fuckin’ cares HOW it works? All that matters is that it does.” He looked me up and down quickly, taking his measure, then said, “And it’s obvious that’s something’s happening to you. Stand up.” I obeyed him so quickly that it surprised me. I didn’t even pause to consider any other options. He commanded and I obeyed, just like that – and it felt good to please my coach… I mean, my Dad. “You’re already bigger,” he said. “How do you feel, Matt?” Weakly, I said, “It’s Brian…” A stern look crossed his face – he didn’t like being contradicted. (How could you be Coach’s Favorite if you questioned an order, Brian?) Dad got up in my face and growled. “It’s whatever I say it is… Matt. Answer the question.” Again, without even waiting for him to finish the order, I obeyed it – and that gave me such pleasure. “I feel kind of weird,” I said, tingling, “but good. I can feel my body getting… I don’t know, THICKER almost. Inside and out. Stronger.” And before I could stop myself, I said, “But it’s nothing compared to how good it feels when I obey an order from you.” There was triumph in his smirk, even though he hadn’t won, yet. It kind of pissed me off that he thought I’d be so easy to defeat – I was starting to feel kind of aggressive, kind of angry. Masculine. I was rock hard now, and even the jockstrap wasn’t able to contain me. Turn me into some kind of super-jock, will he? Fuck, when I’m two-hundred fifteen pounds I’ll show him. I orgasmed then, facing off with my Dad. I grunted and moaned as I shot, breaking eye-contact with him – a big, wet stain immediately spreading on the singlet, but still I didn’t stop. I wasn’t even embarrassed by it – no, I fuckin’ LOVED it! It felt so GOOD! “Yeah,” Dad growled. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about…” “Fuck!” I screamed as the orgasm subsided, a few vain left-over spurts feebly making their way out of my still-hard cock. I felt so vibrant – so STRONG. “Where’s… a fuckin’… MIRROR?” I said, my voice gaining a rough edge it had never had before. That was certainly the first time I’d used the “F”-word in front of my coach… I mean, my Dad. He seemed to be taking it okay, though. He had a huge smile on his face as he led me to the full-length mirror at the end of the hallway. A light shone done from directly above where we were standing, making for kind of dramatic lighting as I saw what had begun happening to me. Mirrors had never been my friends – they always showed my flaws, my weaknesses. I would avoid my reflection as much as I could. But standing here with my Dad, I looked in the mirror and saw a whole different me. And since my dad was reflected accurately, then I must have been, too. I didn’t see the skinny, weak, loser I had always been. No, I saw a developing athlete instead, with a strong muscular base that seemed to be growing before my eyes. Damn, I looked good in this singlet, tight as it was becoming – like it was MADE for me. Made for my body. Made to show off my muscle, my power – my very generous cock. I never thought I could be so hot. So incredible. Maybe I wouldn’t mind being this Wrestling Matt after all… “Flex,” Coach said, looking at my reflection rather than me. I instantly obeyed, throwing up a double-bis, and my erection instantly returned. Look how fucking big I was getting! I went from pose to pose, Coach showing me the ones I didn’t really know – most muscular, side chest – my musculature improving and growing the more I flexed. Look at my traps, my neck – years of neck bridges showed as I flexed. “Let’s see the abs,” Coach said, putting his hands behind his own head and flexing his – no wonder he stressed core-training as much as he did. His abs were incredible, dense, thick and separated by deep, oxen-plowed grooves. I quickly pulled the straps of my singlet down, eager to see what mine looked like next to his. I wasn’t disappointed. All the hours we’d spent training together – the nearly obsessive nature of it – had clearly paid off. I remember it used to drive Mom fuckin’ crazy. No wonder she and Dad split up – she couldn’t understand men who had our priorities. My abs were actually better than Dad’s… I mean, than my Coach’s. He was thicker through the middle than me – a little middle-aged spread, I’d joke with him when I really wanted to piss him off – my waist was almost two inches smaller than the old man and my tiny little hips gave me a “V” much more sever than his. “Hard not to be envious, isn’t it?” I asked in my gravelly new voice as we fought for mirror space. Coach barked out a “Fuck you” and cocked his fist like he was gonna punch me. “Go ahead, old man,” I said, smirking, running a hand over my eight-pack. “Give it your best shot.” As soon as his fist came in contact with my muscle, I orgasmed again, this time so powerful, it brought me to my knees. My big cock just kept pumping out the jizz, soaking the material and dripping down my leg. I fuckin’ LOVED it! When I could control myself again, there on my knees in the hallway, I looked over at Coach, standing there with a triumphant smirk on his face – God damn, I loved him! After all, I owed him fucking EVERYTHING – he made me into the man I was today. He’d trained me all my life to be the best I could be – to be like HIM. His big hard dick fought the confines of his loose sweats, and as the Coach’s Favorite, I knew what my job was. Without waiting for his order or his guidance, I reached over, untied the waistband, and pulled out his thick, nine-incher. Damn, I may’ve had better abs, but I had nothing on Coach’s hot, hot cock. “You gonna stare at it,” he asked, “or are you gonna do something with it?” “Just give me the order, Coach.” That smirk – that cocky fuckin’ smirk – the one I’d inherited. Yeah, fucker, just watch what your favorite can do. Feel my talented mouth. “Suck my cock, Matt,” he said, slapping it against my face. The rush of pleasure I felt when I took it in my mouth caused me to cum again. Seeing our reflections in the mirror, this hulking college wrestler blowing his Coach, their muscle flexing, their faces locked in ecstasy, made it even hotter. I knew just what to do, just how to tickle, just when to deep-throat, and when he orgasmed, filling my mouth with his salty-sweet jism, choking me with its volume, I knew with certainty that was why I’d been created. And I’d never be satisfied. “Isn’t this better than being some pansy-ass performing arts major at Liberal U, Brian?” he asked as he leaned against the wall and I licked him clean. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked as I ran my tongue down the length of his impressive shaft. “My name is Matt. Don’t you remember, or did it take all the blood from your brain to fill this big dick of yours? I go to Iowa, like my dad before me. I’m on a wrestling scholarship that you helped me earn, and for which....” I kissed the head of his cock and slipped it back into his sweats. “…I will be forever grateful.” “Excellent,” he said, patting me on the head. “Let’s go hit the mats, then, Matt. I want to see what you learned at Iowa this semester.” It was our best Christmas ever – we could train, eat, and fuck without Mom breathing down our necks. Coach and I trudged through the snow to the Athletic Building on campus, opened up the wrestling room, turned up the heat, and grappled the night away. We started in our Iowa singlets, which was hot enough, then we stripped down to jocks and finally rolled naked together, sweaty. muscular and masculine. He was a tough bitch and I still couldn’t take him – but he took me, often and ferociously. Quite literally, too. He took me right there on the wrestling mats, fucking me the way a man uses his favorite sex toy, the same way he had for years. I loved it so much. As team captain, I always had my pick of the other wrestler’s tight little asses, but rarely had to give up my own – that’s how often I lost. But man, Coach could always do me, and do me right. He could fuck me hard on the soft mats and I always wanted more. I may’ve even shouted “I love you!” as he came inside me – I don’t remember, I was so lost in ecstasy. So lost in gratitude. I was Wrestling Matt, the Coach’s Favorite, a two-hundred fifteen pound state champion and fuck machine. And I loved it. Afterwards, I licked the mats clean and joined my Coach in the shower. END

My scientist friend was working on a secret project, and it only came to light shortly after he died, in mysterious circumstances. It was revealed to me in a note he left me, where he begged me to be who he couldn’t. The note didn’t say much, besides his plead, and a single instruction: to put the dogtag attached to the note. So I did, and so it began. My body was covered in thick metal as I screamed until the heavy cocoon hid my body from the world. I knew something massive was happening to me, for the sake of my diseased brother I didn’t want to fight it, but Fought I did, until I couldn’t, Immobilized I was. Even covered from head to toe, I was awaken the whole process, and I could experience it, the transformation. The acid metal corroded my lab coat, my shirt, my pants and trousers, until I was fully exposed, only the dogtag that started it all still pended beside me. I started to grow, slowly and massively, my muscles were developing, much was necessary to transform me into a beast, and yet this was happening, my pecs expanded and I felt my bones breaking, reassembling, changing, thickening, just like my hard muscles. My flat abdomen was utterly changed, the muscles strengthened inside me, the skin fighting to keep up with my new form. My legs grew tight in the cocoon as they transformed into colossus of meat and power, my bones reassembled and changed as my mind was bathed with thoughts and feelings I never experienced before. This transformation was changing my core. My scientific knowledge, my culture, my previous passions, all gave away to strengthen, duty, glory, war. Be a good soldier, transform for the sake of your brother in arms. Flex your arms and punch with vigor! Roar the BattleCry, and so I did, and as I did, again and again, my cocoon changed, and started to fuse into my body officially. My skin was gone, my bare muscles were in contact with the metal that now was my new cover, my natural armory. My hair was gone, and through my skull the iron merged into my bones, changing them deeply, causing me to grow powerful horns, my new symbol of virility. My cock grew beyond any natural proportion and his power as the spreader of my seed, my blood, grew. When It finished, the previously rough metal was now smooth as part of my being. I weighted tons and felt the strength of the gods above. My chest was wide, muscular, raw, my nipples pending down, dripping my seed through them, showing how much I’ve changed. My abs were powerful and I felt my new anatomy with my wide, powerful hands. I had the shoulders of the gods now, capable of supporting great weight, ability I was eager to test, as I’d like to carry those petty men in my new powerful back now. To be their eternal servant. Their bull. I had the horns, had the strength, had the vigor. I was deeply and truly changed. A different kind of testosterone flew through my veins, and I had to explore my manhood. I played with my giant cock, so hard it was, so sensitive. It was dripping precum already, as I caressed gently the powerful instrument of pleasure. I slowly roared as my movements became less kind, until finally I was fucking myself and groaning with indescribable pleasure. And then I came, jets and jets of silver came from my body, product of my powers. Sealing the pact, finally making clear I was beyond a man now. I was Dr. Atomic.

Author's note: So basically I wrote a little story about the incredible hulk told in a first person perspective. Just the typical growth thing. I posted it to the discord and one of the Mods encouraged me to post it to the forum as well, so here it is. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- PART 1: We were both working late at night in the lab. It was storming out and rain could be heard outside. I was a medical researcher and pseudo nurse for our government funded agency and you were another research working with certain chemicals to make a super soldier. Although we were paid well, we were still on overtime and having a coffee break over our rut with the new chemicals. During coffee we chatted about our personal lives and plans. Although we didn't say it, there was a spark and a bit of a mutual crush going on. You accidentally spilled fresh hot coffee on yourself, because of our ramping exciting banter. I help dress the burn wound on your hand and we lock eyes with each other. A bull necked general comes in and barks that its time to get back to work. We begrudgingly get back to our stations. You are mixing chemicals in a flask, while I am doing theory crafting on a white board. The broad shouldered general continues barking down our throats and breathing down our necks. We are short staffed and the only ones here, with him as our supervisor. He tells you to speed it up and shoves you before making his way over to me. Chemicals spill onto where you were burned with coffee. Something about the chemicals, the stressful atmosphere, the coffee even, made you turn. You hunched over and began groaning. Slowly you put on more and more size, you're skin turning jade green. The general backed away slowly his mouth wide open. You legs grew first, calves becoming rock hard and massive diamonds. Your quads and hams beefed up so much that you would put Olympic cyclists to shame. Then your back packed on slabs and slabs of muscle. Your back made you resemble the wideness of a king cobra. Your abs grew in slowly at first. Rising to the slowly to the surface like ice in a vat of water, before exploding to the surface of your skin, shortly followed by your pecs which had the same growth process. They swelled and ballooned which caused you to growl. The last thing that grew was your soon to be might arms. I couldn't measure them with my eyes but they had the general's beat by a landslide. We were both there in awe and terror. You flexed your arms in a most muscular that tore off the remainder of your lab coat with a mighty tearing sound. You looked at the general and growled, rushing him, as he pulled out his gun and fired at you. The bullets made contact with you skin and at first dented it, like a child poking holes into play dough, however the bullets didn't penetrated you skin. I could tell it stung and that made you even more irritated. The general continued firing, but now the bullets didn't even dent your skin because of how dense and thick your muscles were. Thanks to your new height you were upon him immediately; the muscle in your legs and size of your stride made you close the distance incredibly quickly. You ripped the guns from his hand and crushed it in your hand so quickly and easily there was a horrendous sound of screeching metal and heat coming off of the now paper weight sized fire arm. You then picked the general up surprisingly gently into a hug. He whimpered and pleaded for you not to hurt him. You smiled, your eyes with a green blaze. Slowly you increased the pressure of your bear hug, causing him to scream out, but soon his screams were muffled as you crushed him into your chest. You removed your arms and faced me with a satisfied look on your face, he was being slowly dragged, kicking and screaming into your body... merging and feeding your growth. I was overwhelmed but tried to process all that was happening... You locked eyes with me and I was too afraid to look away, however I already had my hand on the exit door. You raised your hand and pointed at the general that was about 25% merged into you and kicking and screaming, albeit muffled. You tensed your body and he couldn't move, and when you relaxed it he was dragged deeper inside of your slowly growing muscles. I looked at the process in horror as you repeated it several times and then had a a satisfied grin on your face. After merging with our supervisor you had a grin akin to someone who had a hearty meal and rubbed your massive hand across your abs and pecs as if to show off that he was gone. You still had smirk on your face as you sauntered over to me, swagger in your step, with your foot steps thundering and crushing the ground beneath them. You didn't roar, you didn't growl, you didn't say anything. You simply crouched down to be at eye level with me. I was afraid I was going to be absorbed next and my heart raced as you were face to face with me. You leaned in and inhaled deeply and then exhaled. Your breath was hot and knocked me back a bit. I winched and you laughed a little. You knew I was completely under your thumb and control so there was no point in trying to intimidate me. You tore off my lab coat and sniffed it, before stuffing it into the pockets of your pants that somehow still survived this entire ordeal (albeit they were now purple). I was confused and then pieced together and asked if you were going to track me. You simply smiled. I reached for my lab coat and began crying. You kept me away gently and shushed me, you brought my hand onto where your coffee burn was and smiled. I fell to me knees. I didn't know how much of my old crush was in there, but enough was there to tell me I was safe. I would have to live knowing a monster was on the loose. You stood up and walked through the door way your head scraping against the 6'9'' frame. I heard your foot steps grow faster and more distant and the screech of gun fire in the distance. I got up and collected my thoughts. I had no idea what to do, but for now I would go home until you inevitability tracked me down.

The day was there, Andrew’s 18th birthday was finally there. Andrew had seen the procedure on two of his three older brothers. David and Luke both got sent away the day they turned 18. David, Luke and Andrew were kids from his dad’s previous marriage. The three brothers had a small build. They looked twinkish; all three of them had to wear glasses, their skins were full of zits. Even on their 18th birthdays, their faces were covered in pimples. No muscles to be spotted. The first person that went away was David, his oldest brother. He was dragged away the morning of his 18th birthday. Andrew remembered the day vividly. He woke up to screaming and the sound of somebody being dragged over the floor. David resisted as much as his weak body could. Finally, they gave him an injection of some sort. Just as Andrew rounded the corner, he saw his oldest brother losing consciousness, his eyes fading away. Two bodybuilders in army clothing dragged his brother away, into an army van. Two years went by, in the beginning, his brother sent letters. They were all addressed to Andrew and Luke. Andrew still kept the first letter of his brother. The message was positive; it went on about how amazing the camp was, how good his fellow soldiers were, not a single negative thing to be spotted. Until Luke remembered that he and David used to write secret notes to each other. For the first few weeks, the two brothers wondered why the sentences had such weird structures. Then, Luke wrote down all capital letters behind each other. “HELP ME” they spelt. They told it to their dad, who laughed it off. After that, the two brothers had to make sure they checked the letterbox before anyone else, or the letters were destroyed before the boys could read it. For the first three months, all letters contained a similar message. Then the messages stopped, and the spelling of the letters deteriorated. One month later, four months after the hidden messages stopped, all letters stopped. The army must’ve found out about the secret messages, six months later, a final letter arrived. The handwriting assembled that of a child. Somebody else surely must’ve tried to write something. But this contained a message “NO HELP. ME GOOD”. After this letter, Andrew’s father and step mum seemed to start on preparing Luke to be sent away to the army. It was better for him not to resist. If he didn’t, he would be home within half a year. He wasn’t supposed to send any letters, after what happened with David. And then, on Luke’s 18th birthday, an army truck stopped in front of the door. Luke obviously chose to follow the advice. When Andrew walked out of his room to check on his brother, he saw him silently followingGeneral to the army truck outside. Before the sun shone down on Andrew’s street, his brother was gone. With his brother disappearing, all signs of him in the house disappeared as well. Andrew never heard anything from his brother again. His parents were silent about it all; all the pictures of his brothers were removed from the house. And now Andrew was here, lying in bed on his 18th birthday. He finished making up his mind about the past years without his brother, the agonizing pain of not being allowed to tell his friends that he might never see them again hit him. The distinct sound of the doorbell ended his thoughts. It was time. Andrew jumped out of bed, but on his tracksuit pants and grabbed the bags he packed the night before. Deciding also to follow the advise to be cooperative, the image of his oldest brother getting an injection still instilled in his mind. He had to to leave his bags at the door. “The army will take care of that for you, kid”,the General said. Andrew wanted to speak up, demand that he could take some personal belongings with him. Then he remembered the injection again, and he decided not to. He obediently put down the bags and walked outside to the van, not even waving his parents goodbye. The door was closed as soon as he left the house. He saw the army van for the first time up close, the first thing he noticed was that there were other people in it already. Almost all boys inside looked to be his age and one older man, who looked more like a dad himself. As Andrew entered the van, taking place on the last available seat, he saw 7 other grim faces. The older guy looked to be the most shocked. As the van began to move, Andrew could hear that the older man was saying stuff under his breath. “The guy looked like me” he put his head in his hands as he said so, “exactly like me. How will she know? They brainwashed her; they must have. I shouldn’t have resisted the offer. They brainwashed her to put me out of the house. And now, she’s with him. What about my boys?” The guy just kept on rambling completely upset with what happened. Andrew looked around the van. He could only see the people he was sitting within the back, the driver’s compartment had been sealed off, and they were unable to see anything. Finally, Andrew’s eyes rested on the blonde boy sitting next to him. He looked to be around his age, and the only question Andrew could form left his mouth: “It’s your birthday too?” The blonde gave a quick nod. Andrew immediately asked a new question: “Where, where are they taking us?”, his fear made his voice crack a little there. The boy moved his eyes to something that appeared to be a camera next to a speaker. “No speaking to each other!”, a voice commanded through the speaker. “Now that you’re all here, however, I can explain to you guys where we are going. You were selected for a special program from the military in search to create a super-soldier. You guys were lucky enough to receive warnings from your older brothers not to resist us. That’s good. We like it that way, except for Henry here. You may have noticed he’s a lot older than you guys. That’s because he has three young boys who were selected for the program when they turn 18. He decided to resist our offer, so we had to replace him with a copy of him, a copy that’s a bit more obedient to our suggestions. But don’t worry Henry, you’ll be a part of our experiments now.” After saying this, Henry started crying out loud, and the speaker shut off. Leaving the group with only the sounds of the van and Henry’s sobbing. Andrew rested in his faith, as most boys appeared to do. The road to the military facility seemed to take forever, and Andrew drifted off now and then. Just after he woke up, he guessed eight full hours had passed by now. The windows seemed to get covered by something dark. This was preventing the people in it to look at their surroundings. No idea of where they ware, the journey went on for another hour before the van finally stopped. The doors opened and the young men inside needed a minute to adjust to the sunlight flooding in. “Come out now boys!”General commanded. As the boys walked out, Andrew immediately noticed an incredibly muscled guy standing just outside of the van, looking at the boys from a little distance. Andrew’s jaw almost hit the floor when he saw the guy. The man in front of him had blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was wearing a tight green t-shirt and cargo pants that hugged his muscled legs very tightly. Andrew had seen some images of hyper muscled guys when he was looking for “chicks with massive tits” on the internet. This guy, however, dwarfed all the pictures he’d seen before. The front of the cargo pants looked like a turkey had been stuffed inside of them. His t-shirt hung loosely around his narrow waist, and the sleeves were straining against massive biceps. At that moment, to Andrew, a god himself had descended from heaven. The blonde guy that sat next to Andrew on their way here clearly didn’t share Andrew’s view of the guy. “Ronald! Ronald is that you? What the fuck did these guys do to you?” By the end of the sentence, the blonde was practically screaming, running towards the god-like figure a few metres away from them. “Rob, stay here! I command you.” General said mockingly, trying to stop him. Ronald didn’t react to his name at first, but he did respond to the guy running towards him. A slight grin formed on his face, and he retrieved a little injection needle from his pocket. When Rob closed the little distance in between them, Ronald stapped him straight in the neck. From where he was standing, Andrew wasn’t able to see Rob’s face. “Wha… what’s… happ…” Before he was able to finish his sentence, Rob lost consciousness and fell to the floor. Ronald picked the blonde boy from the floor and carried him out of sight for the others. “Okay boys, let this be a lesson for all of you; behave yourselves. Some people here might look familiar to you, but rest assured they won’t show any sign of recognizing you. So don’t end up like Rob. And now we’re off to the barracks, you will start your training immediately after settling in. From now on you guys will be on a tough diet and work out regimen. Welcome to the army boys.” Three days had passed. The first night the group was put through the most intense workout any member of the group had ever experienced. Everybody had struggled, eventually giving up on giving their full 100% in the workout. The trick was to make the general think that you were pushing yourself. It turned out the entire group would make for some good actors! Henry, the group’s dad, was the first that lost his façade. He just gave up, put down the weights and started sobbing again, calling for his wife and kids. After seeing this, General walked over to Henry, leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Immediately after this, Henry’s back straightened, and he got a stern look on his face. The rest of the workout, Henry put more than a 100% into his exercises. Nobody considered it possible, but after General offered him a special type of drink, Henry’s muscles seemed to grow with every rep. The general looked up to the rest of the group and noticed them staring with an intense stare. “Well, I tend to have some very forcing whispers as you guys see. If this causes you discomfort, feel free to get your earphones for the next workout and listen to some music during your workouts! But don’t forget, the special water will be mandatory from tomorrow on.” Indeed, the next day during breakfast a special purple drink was served. This was the only colourful thing most of the group had as a meal. All the meals on the army grounds seemed to consist of a grey goo. Andrew looked at Henry’s plate, and he noticed the goo was purple and he had a nice steak served with it as well. A weird type of breakfast, Andrew thought. As Andrew was finishing his grey goo, the ground started shaking a little. The doors to the cafeteria flung open, but where light should’ve been flooding in through the open doors, most of it was blocked by a giant silhouette. A figure that rivalled the other soldiers that Andrew grew accustomed of in the past day. The figure stepped inside, closing the doors behind him. When he turned his face towards the room, Andrew’s jaw hit the floor again. Standing at the entrance was somebody that looked like Rob’s twin brother. The guy had the same blonde hair and small nose as the guy that sat next to Andrew on the bus just a day before. But of course, somebody couldn’t grow that large in one day! The Rob look-a-like started walking towards Andrew’s table. He smiled a beautiful white smile and then asked with a booming voice: “Hey Andrew, is this spot still free?” Andrew found his ability to speak after a bit of a struggle: “R-R-Rob? Is that you?” “I’ll take that as a yes”; the blonde god spoke as he sat down at the table, the chair underneath him letting out a few noises in protest of the weight. Rob was eating a steak, just like Henry. He looked around franticly, and when Rob saw that no other soldiers were around, he bent over a bit to Andrew. As he turned towards Henry, Rob dropped his voice to a slight whisper. “They didn’t get my mind yet. Be sure to take some earphones to the gym session this afternoon. Meet me afterwards outside behind the main building in the north of the camp. Be careful not to show anybody a sign that you know anything. See you then.” Rob looked up as one of the soldiers marching in the cafeteria hushed them. “You two, eat!”, the guard practically yelled at them. Rob and Andrew finished their meals in silence. Immediately after drinking the purple drink, Andrew noticed his muscles aching less. His body was getting a nice pump to start the workouts that afternoon. He actually started to feel a little excited to workout, and clearly, the other guys felt similar. Most of them were chatting enthusiastically, and Andrew only remembered to take his earphones at the last minute before going out of the building to get to the gym barrack. It turned out he was the only one that remembered to take their earphones. As they were walking in the middle of the grey barracks, the sun burning on their bodies clad in army gear, multiple men referred to their forgotten earphones and music. “Oh men, don’t fear” Henry’s voice boomed through the group. “You’ll like hearing the General’s voice pushing you to the limit. YEAH LET’S GO!” That final statement ended with Henry clapping his hands together, flexing his arms in the process. The gym building was pretty close to the guys’ dormitory, and as they walked in rows of two, Andrew again was assigned to Rob. They were walking next to the blonde guy, seeing how he had hulked up. Henry’s dick went semi-hard. “weird”, thought Andrew “I never chub up around a guy.” Before Andrew could give his strange arousal another thought, the group arrived at the gym. The General immediately put them through the same intense session as the day before. Andrew secretly tried to check in the other guys. Henry was in a similar mood as the day before, hyper-focused on his training. He was screaming through his reps as his muscles kept tensing up and swelling. Everybody noticed the rapid muscle growth on the kidnapped dad. Every rep was bringing his body closer to giants like Rob or the soldiers outside of the gym. Henry wasn’t the only one throwing all of himself into the workout. Since almost all people except for Andrew forgot to take their earphones, the General was walking around. Whispering words into their ears, after a brief exchange of whispers, the eyes of the guy whispered to would get an overly focused gaze to them. After that, the guy wholeheartedly threw himself into the workout, immediately growing his muscles. As the General passed Rob, he started speaking out loud, and Andrew could hear his voice through the music from his earbuds. “Ah Rob, the boys did a good job on you, didn’t they? You look like a real good soldier now!” Upon hearing this, Rob’s eyes fogged over slightly, and he started pushing himself further into the workout. All the guys around Andrew threw themselves into their workouts vigorously, but the General left Andrew alone, just winking at him occasionally as he walked past him. At the end of the workout, Andrew stood up from the benchpress he was laying on and decided to still go to the place that he and Rob would meet up at. Andew stood behind the main building in the north of the camp. The late afternoon sun was shining down on his head. He looked around, looking whether Rob was leaving the gym building already. Finally, a figure left the gym building. Henry squinted his eyes against the sun, and as the figure came closer, he saw that it wasn’t Rob. The General had an evil grin as he approached Andrew. “Well, well, well. Look who’s here. You’re the first person I’ve seen so far that was able to remember to bring his earphones to the second workout. Amazing! We can’t use resisters in this camp, I’m afraid. As you may have noticed by now, we don’t really like people that resist. Let me show you what happened to the people that opposed the moment we tried to take them, I think one of them will be quite familiar to you.” The General concluded with a smirk in his voice. At this moment, Andrew could feel the earth move a little as he saw Rob leave the gym building. Rob walked up to the General with a guilty look in his eyes. “Sorry man, all I need is a trigger now, and he just made me…” Andrew could see Rob’s eyes go empty again as he saw the General squeeze the big bulge in Rob’s tracksuit pants as the muscled giant let out a massive groan. “Yeah, it takes a few days for our convicts to stay in their mental state permanently. Okay now, let’s go boys.” “YES, SIR!” Rob yelled as he started marching further towards the edge of the army camp. After a walk that was relatively far considering they were just inside an army camp, the threesome stood in front of a rather high building. From behind the blinded windows, Andrew could hear sucking noises and faint moans. A glance at Rob’s pants showed that at least someone was exciting to stand close to this building. Andrew just got a bad feeling from it. The General slid open some doors that made the building look more like a barn than an army building. As the General closed the doors behind them, Andrew’s eyes needed a second to get used to the lack of lighting, caused by the black paper covering up the windows. His mouth opened in shock, another door was in front of them, the moans behind it unbearably loud. In front of the door stood two guards, just as muscled as the other soldiers in the camp. Andrew focused his gaze on the guard standing on the left side of the door. While all other soldiers he had seen so far were wearing camouflage coloured pants, this one was wearing tight compression pants that reached just above the knee. His calves stood out like diamonds, and his quads were wider than Andrew’s hips. The shorts had trouble containing a throbbing dick that almost showed it’s head on the bottom of the right leg. His balls made the crotch look like two small melons were put in there. Cobblestone abs, eight in total followed the narrow waist. His pecs stood out, forming shelves under his face. His lats almost seemed to form wings behind him, causing his arms to form an angle. His traps almost entirely swallowed the giant’s neck. Now that Andrew finally raised his head to look at the guy’s face, his mouth fell to the floor. Of course, somebody gets used to seeing muscled guys everywhere if you see them all the time, but the face shocked him. The face of this giant, showed his older brother Luke, the one that got sent away directly before him. After getting over the initial shock, Andrew wanted to run towards his brother and call out his name. Just in time, he remembered what happened to Rob. He took a final glance at the soldier’s eyes, staring towards something, only the two guards could see. “Ooh, yeah that’s right. One of these guards should look quite familiar to you, Andrew!” The General said out loud. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to spend time with him soon enough!” As the General said that, he gave a stern nod towards the guard who pressed their backs against the door, causing it to open minimally. The General slipped through the gap, as did Rob, pulling Andrew behind him. The room behind the doors had bright lights, so bright that Andrew had to cover his eyes for a second. The General clearly tried to say something, but all the background noise completely overpowered him. The first sound that stood out in the cacophony of noises were the moans. The room sounded like an orgy bigger than any porn movie Andrew had ever seen. And then there was a sucking sound, not as if somebody was sucking on something, no a machine. Andrew slowly opened his eyes and let them adjust to the lights. He thought his mouth couldn’t hit the floor any harder than it already had in the past few days, but this was a new shock for the 18-year-old. The General, Rob and Andrew stood on some sort of platform, looking over a slightly lower room. On the floor, about 4 metres below the platform, a group of musclebound people sat, feeding from tubes. The sucking noises were made by big tubes attached to the freaks’ cocks. Sucking the cum out of them, and then, the cum seemed to travel towards a big tank. It reminded Andrew of the times he visited a dairy farm in his youth. The General bent over towards Andrew. “Now, you might want to prepare for what’s next. Your eldest brother is down there.” Andrew’s stomach sank. As the threesome descended down the stairs, Andrew could see that the room continued underground. Dozens of men must’ve been in the room, sucking on tubes and getting their dicks sucked. Some had army men, the kind that Andrew got used to by now, fucking them from behind. The eyes of both cumcows and soldiers only showing utter bliss. The only difference in them was that the guys bottoming seemed to have lost their intelligence. Their mouths constantly drooling. Their dicks were enormous, reaching out well above their heads. The balls were bigger as well, the only other difference with the regular soldiers besides dicks and balls was the look in their eyes. It was hard to describe, but to Andrew, they just looked dumb. His fears turned out to be accurate, the guy in front of them, getting fucked senseless by a soldier at the moment, was his oldest brother. The guy… was David. The General started speaking again: “As I said before, and as you may have noticed by now, we don’t like resisters. We try to form a super army, and we thought we should try to form a bond between the soldiers that was as strong as possible. We were making them gay and hungry for each other. That worked pretty much straight away after the transformation is complete, only super-soldiers will make you horny. Not only that, if you don’t get fucked or get to fuck after two days, you’ll slowly go crazy. The first version of our virus made people stupid as a rock, and caused…” The General paused for a second, “some more significant dick growth than we wanted. Their balls were set to produce the serum themselves, giving them the possibility to enslave the enemy. However, in the end we found out that caused the loss in cognitive abilities, so we had to take that out of the serum. The second prototype worked like a charm! In the end the government decided to stop the funding, so we lost most of our serum. Luckily we still had some of the first serum left. A slight adjustment to that caused their inflated balls to produce the second version of the serum. It’s complicated, but it worked! So now we just mix some of that cum into your food and drinks. The subliminal messages in the gym, enhanced by my commands, activate the serum. Our Research department didn’t stop there though, to guarantee a stable supply of new recruits, we bribed parents into giving us their children. If they resist, we clone them with some more… agreeing versions of themselves. We just send the women to an island. Most men end up in this building, as our serum cows. Your brother was different, though. He decided to resist and kept on resisting even as his mind was melting away into his balls. Too bad, he shouldn’t have needed to become a cow. Unfortunately, I don’t make the rules. And now, say goodbye to your life as you know it.” The General turned towards Rob and commanded: “Rob, start fucking little David here!” “YES, SIR!”, Rob replied as he undid his pants, lowering them. His cock seemed to go on for ages, it turned out he was as hung as the guard’s at the door. Andrew had been silent all the time, completely dumbfounded. The General bent over and said: “Now, be a good jock-soldier and eat your brother's cum. And with you along, I’ll make the army pay for ever stopping our funding.” At these words, Andrew felt the enormous need to obey, and so he did. The General unhooked the tube and Andrew started sucking his older brother’s dick, while Rob fucked David into oblivion. As his brother started cumming, Andrew blacked out. --- “WAKE UP, YOU FATARSES. BREAKFAST IS SERVED SOON.” Andrew lifted his head, he was awake for quite some time. He looked down towards a guy playing around with his dick. After what happened in “the barrack”, Andrew only saw the other soldiers as his brothers. He believed, however, that this one was called Luke, and he had some special bond with him. They both looked quite alike, Andrew thought as he blew his former brother’s mouth. Quickly after they went out of bed, got dressed and walked towards the breakfast hall. In there a bigger recruit, Andrew believed his name was “Henry” or something, threw himself into an already intense pull-up session on the doorframe. He clearly tried to show the general his best. Andrew sat next to his brother in arms, a guy he at one point thought of as “Rob”. The guy was an absolute beast and Andrew loved the way he filled his ass! As he started eating his breakfast, the General started speaking. “Recruits, after months of extensive training, the time has come! This nation can no longer continue it’s crimes agains the people that should rightfully be in power. Just look at you! You are super-soldiers!” The group started cheering as the General started yelling. “You are super-soldiers and together we will move towards the capital! We will make this country ours!” To Andrew, the future looked bright.

POLLINATION: The Series! – BOOK ONE, pts 1-8 (AUTHOR’S INTRO: In the tradition of TV Shows based on movies (i.e. M*A*S*H, PLANET OF THE APES, WESTWORLD), we present POLLINATION: The Series! We take this approach to allow the Original Story to remain independent and retain its original impact, structure and voice, while allowing us to play with the concept and characters introduced there. Although the Original Story is referenced within The Series, we consider that more of an “Easter Egg” than a plot necessity. The Series starts a week or so after the Original Story ends, but the “rules” for the two universes are the same. (It has always been the intent of the Author that The Series be more open-ended, as one would expect from a TV Show seeking to last for multiple seasons. If one thinks of “Book One” as “Season One” and the new material in “Book Two” as “Season Two,” this will more accurately convey the spirit the Author attempts. Also, that gives us at least three more seasons before we jump the shark. (Aside: the TV Show “Happy Days” (where the phrase “jump the shark” originated) was based on the movie AMERICAN GRAFFITI.) (Welcome to POLLINATION: The Series! If this is your first time in this weird little corner of the universe, get ready for a crazy ride. It’s not the movie, but it’s a lot of fun!) 1. When he got on the plane, there was an audible gasp from coach class. This guy was gigantic, bigger than them bodybuilders in the magazines, larger than any human most of these rural-West Virginians had ever seen. That he could even squeeze down the narrow aisle way was miraculous – he had to go sideways for the width of his shoulders. When he finally got to his row, the look on his seatmate’s face flickered between envious lust and uncomfortable fear. This massive giant slid down into his seat, barely, barely fitting in the space – his shoulders still crowded his seatmate. He apologized to the man sharing the row, his voice a deep, sexy rumble. “We didn’t think it was gonna be this difficult,” he said. Despite his size, his face looked like it belonged to a teenager, fresh and innocent. “We didn’t realize how large we’ve actually become.” He adjusted his balls as if it were no big deal, and even there he was ridiculously over-developed. The little nebbish he shared a seat with couldn’t believe the size of this monster’s cock, barely hidden beneath a too-thin layer of pants. With a member like that, it was no wonder the boy spoke in first-person plural. The big teen smiled. “Like what you see?” he asked, lightly touching himself. Even the smallest, most insignificant muscle was pumped to exaggeration – his fingers, his forearms. He was just perfect. A fantasy. His seatmate looked shyly away, stuttering. “I… I…” The muscle-giant laughed, as the plane ran the tarmac. “We know,” he said. “Feels good, too.” He kept one hand on his balls the entire time, cupping them, supporting them – almost protecting them. Maybe they were so heavy it was uncomfortable to let them hang, his seatmate reasoned, preparing the fantasy to which he’d masturbate later. And then they were taking off, G-forces pulling even this heavyweight back into his seat. He looked suddenly uncomfortable, like he was trying to “pop” his ears by yawning. Must be the altitude – “Do you need some gum?” his seatmate managed to choke out, reaching into his breast pocket, when the huge muscleteen began screaming. He tore out of his seatbelt, frantically grabbing his balls, one hand on the side of his head, and stood, his painful screams strengthening. The flight attendants ran to him, even with the difficult slope of the floor during takeoff. “Sir? Sir!” They called. “What’s the matter? What’s happening?” Then, as the pilots leveled off at their cruising altitude, this huge bodybuilder’s eyes rolled back in his head, and there was this heavy, low-pitched bursting sound, like a balloon had popped. His screaming suddenly ceased, and the ridiculously over-muscled boy fell to the floor. He was dead. As the other passengers started screaming themselves, and the attendants strove to regain order, the teen’s former seatmate looked over at the body and saw the liquid stains of blood soaking the front of the muscular kid’s pants. It looked like his balls had exploded. 2. Less than ten hours later, Wolf Murdock’s cell-phone chirped in the pocket of his black trench coat, waking the agent. Grunting deep in his throat, he wiped his face as he sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling how badly he needed a shave. “Coming,” he mumbled, as if the phone could hear him. A clumsy, stumbling little physical bit later, he fished the phone out of his coat, draped over his bedroom chair. “Murdock,” he said in a tone betraying his state. “Sounds like you had a hell of a night.” His partner, Tully. She had a way of projecting her opinions, her judgements – her hidden subtext – even over the phone. “Early morning’s never been my best time. What’s up?” “How soon can you get down here?” she asked. “I got one I think you should see.” What a way to start the day – his supposed day off, as a matter of fact – a dead body on an empty, gin-soaked stomach. Murdock walked to the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. “Gimme an hour,” he said, and hung up on Tully. To rebel, he didn’t shave. 3. “Apparently, the victim had some sort of convulsion during the take-off of a small commuter plane. The airline had no idea what was going on – they assumed heart-attack – but I think from the appearance of the corpse that the cause is more like altitudinal pressure.” Murdock and Tully walked across the tile workfloor of the medical wing, the click of her heels echoing in the empty room, a staccato counterpoint to the legato squeak of his sneakers. Somehow, as always, she looked fresh and clean and perfectly manicured – exactly the opposite of him. “What do you mean?” he asked. “His heart burst?” She sighed, and swung open the door to the examination room. “Not his heart,” she said, and motioned him inside. The corpse was huge, lying there – Frankenstein’s monster, the Cardiff Giant, a brainless robot from a Bugs Bunny cartoon – Murdock flashed through all these images in a heartbeat. Naked but for a towel covering its privates, the corpse’s extreme muscular development was obvious. “Big boy,” Murdock said. “So, we’re thinking steroids?” “He doesn’t show any of the classic signs of obvious steroid use,” Tully said, circling the victim on the table, pulling a fresh set of gloves from the instrument table. “No acne on the face or body, his abdomen isn’t distended. If he’d been taking steroids,” she said, snapping the gloves on her hands, “I won’t know until I do the bloodwork.” “So then, why am I here?” Murdock raised one of the corpse’s arms, and bent it like it was flexing its biceps. Murdock flexed his own in comparison. Tully’s dry look made him lay the arm back down. “Are we thinking aliens?” She motioned him to the same side of the table where she stood, then pulled back the towel, exposing the corpse completely. He almost vomited when he saw the condition of the corpse’s genitals – like any man, it made him weak in the knees. Within the hour, he was on a hopper-flight to West Virginia to investigate. 4. Tully had stayed behind to do the autopsy – she’d call him when she had any information. In a way, that was preferable to Murdock – he enjoyed doing leg-work by himself. He could follow his hunches without needing to explain himself. His hunch here was that this guy – Robert Ray, though his friends referred to him as “Robbie Ray” – had gotten himself into some kind of weird drug, maybe something that he’d injected straight into his balls, and it’d killed him. Simple as that. Murdock suspected some kind of steroid – Robbie Ray’s driver’s license listed the guy’s weight at one seventy-five, and the license was issued less than a year ago. Tully said Robbie Ray’s corpse weighed over three-hundred and ten pounds. Somehow, Robbie Ray had gained enough muscle to almost double his body-weight in less than a year. Didn’t take an FBI investigator to figure there was an outside influence involved. At the airport, he rented a car – a sub-compact, of all things – and began the long trek to Robbie Ray’s hometown, dead in the middle of nowhere, far enough from an urban center that Murdock couldn’t imagine how a man like Robbie Ray had gotten ahold of a drug as sophisticated as what Murdock theorized. Maybe it WAS aliens… A one-light crossroads of a town, Murdock checked into the Main Street Motel because the name tickled his quaint-ness. After a shower and a quick shave, he set out to find a diner, and then the Sheriff. Fortunately, the two came together. When Murdock asked the old-gal behind the counter, whose bright red name-tag announced her as “Sharlene,” she jerked her head toward the side booths, while she filled his coffee cup. “He’s right over there, love,” she said. “Hard to miss a man as big as Sheriff Lane.” Sure enough, seated there in the corner booth, making short work of a short-stack and a side of eggs, his uniform a dead giveaway, was the Sheriff, heavily-muscled himself. Though nowhere near the size of Robbie Ray, he was big enough to make one question how natural he might be. He wore his uniform tight, stretching over his voluminous, blocky chest, showing the flatness of his abs, even sitting down, and his arms, barely – barely – a heart’s beat away from bursting through his sleeves of his tan uniform. Murdock took his coffee with him. “Is everyone in this town a bodybuilder?” he asked, standing at the Sheriff’s table. The Sheriff looked up from his plate, finishing his mouthful. “Do I know you?” he asked, after he swallowed. A strikingly handsome middle-aged man, rugged, his thinning blonde-gray hair was cut in a tight flat-top, down to the skin on the sides. Meticulously groomed, Murdock noted, he obviously took great pride in his appearance. Maybe to the point of vanity. Murdock flashed his ID, showing his badge. “Agent Murdock, FBI,” he said. “May I sit down?” “Sure,” the Sheriff said, nodding to the other seat. As Murdock settled himself, the Sheriff asked, “What brings the FBI to Bum-fuck, West Virginia this morning?” “The death of one of your local boys,” Murdock said, sipping his coffee. “Name of Ray. Robbie Ray.” The Sheriff reacted, jerking his head the tiniest bit. The news obviously surprised him. “Robbie Ray?” he asked, his eyes becoming intense in their gaze. “Where’d this happen? When?” “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Murdock said. Sharlene appeared with his order, placing it in front of him and disappearing just as quickly, not even asking if he’d need anything. Both Murdock and the Sheriff were quiet while she was present. After she was back behind the counter, Murdock continued. “Last night, he boarded a flight bound for Atlanta and suffered an apparent heart-attack during takeoff.” The Sheriff was quiet, his big arms resting on the table, a look of concern and confusion mixed with disbelief on his face – Murdock was certain his reaction was genuine. The Sheriff shook his head. “That’s a damn shame,” he said. “He was barely more than a boy, just graduated high school.” “Pretty big boy,” Murdock said, cutting into his sausage. “He weighed over three-hundred pounds.” He took a mouthful. Sheriff Lane looked even more confused. “Robbie RAY?” he asked. “Agent Murdock, you got somethin’ wrong. Robbie Ray weighed a buck-fifty if he was lucky. He was one of the skinniest kids I’d ever seen.” Murdock stopped chewing. “Sheriff, when was the last time you SAW Robbie Ray?” “Three days ago,” the Sheriff said. “The day before him and that construction crew he worked with went up missing. What the hell’s goin’ on here, Mr. Murdock?” Murdock took another quick mouthful before he retrieved his briefcase. “I don’t know, Sheriff,” he said, “but I have some pictures to show you.” As the Sheriff studied the photos of Robbie Ray’s corpse, Murdock finished his eggs. 5. “So, Sheriff, mind if I ask you a personal question?” They walked along the abandoned construction site – no, not just abandoned – deserted. Jobs were left half-finished, building materials left out and untended. There were no personal tools lying around, Murdock noted. Wherever these guys had gone, they’d taken their stuff. No sign of foul play. The Sheriff peeked into different half-built buildings and even allowed Murdock to enter the company trailer, the temporary office where the foreman worked; but aside from the standard furniture, discarded paperwork, and a couple of dead potted plants, there was nothing to find. No clues about what had happened to them at all, no hints about where they’d gone, nothing. Now, they walked along the edge of the forest on the outside perimeter of the site, taking one last sweep. The Sheriff was an even larger man than Murdock had first surmised – maybe because half of him had been hidden by a table when Murdock first approached him at the diner. Over six-feet, Murdock guessed the Sheriff weighed between two-forty and two-fifty, and his large frame looked like it could handle more weight easily. He looked like a professional wrestler, or at least projected that kind of energy. He sure did like wearing his uniform tight – lucky it was polyester, he would’ve burst out of cotton. As it was, it could barely stretch over the man’s heavy muscle. Along with the black boots, sunglasses and cowboy hat, Sheriff Lane looked a little more like a porn-movie character than an officer of the law in West Virginia. “Go ahead,” the Sheriff said, a man of few words. “Ask.” They kept walking – Murdock secretly enjoyed all this open, unspoiled land, even with the blight of this dead construction site here – city-folk always did. “Well, I wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I didn’t ask the obvious question. I’m here looking into the death of a man who seems to have gained almost two-hundred pounds of muscle in a matter of days and the first person I meet when I come to town is the bodybuilder Sheriff. Tell me that’s a coincidence.” The Sheriff cracked the edge of a smile – it was the most emotion Murdock had seen from the man yet so far – he grunted instead of laughing. “It’s a coincidence,” he said in his deep voice. “And a shitty coincidence at that. I’ve been into bodybuilding since I was eighteen – that’s almost thirty years, Mr. Murdock – and some kid comes along and gains more weight in three days than I have in my whole life.” The Sheriff removed his hat and wiped his forehead. “I wouldn’t call that very fair.” Murdock nodded. “What about a gym? Is there a gym in town where Robbie Ray could’ve gotten connected with some kind of steroid?” The Sheriff shook his head and put his hat back on. “No gym,” he said. “Not within fifty miles. The only place to lift weights around here is my garage – as a matter of fact, the construction crew we’re lookin’ for did the renovations for me. They put in the skylight, the extension, laid the new floor – it’s a damn nice job. You should come by and see it.” Murdock laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for weight-lifting.” “It’s not patience, Mr. Murdock. It’s discipline.” Murdock conceded. “Then I don’t have the discipline. I’m afraid the only way I’d ever become a bodybuilder is if there WERE some kind of magic steroid that did it instantly, some comic-book transformation that required no effort on my part. What about you?” “What about me?” Sheriff Lane asked, subtly adjusting his balls in his pants – so tight, they seemed painted on. Murdock couldn’t imagine how the Sheriff dressed the way he did – swear to God, it looked like his uniform was shrinking as time went by – and it left nothing to the imagination! Not that the Sheriff had anything to be embarrassed about there, Murdock noticed – his package was no small thing. Some men had all the luck. Murdock’s jealousy surprised him in its force. He formed his question carefully. “I guess what I’m asking is: what would YOU be willing to do to get a body like yours?” he asked. “Or a body like Robbie Ray’s?” The Sheriff stopped walking and faced him, suddenly serious. Murdock couldn’t help but be a little intimidated – the Sheriff looked even bigger when he was angry. “Mr. Murdock,” he said, his voice low, intense, “The only way something’s coming into my body is if it were grown in the earth –organic, natural – and that includes magic steroids.” Maybe he realized he was leaning in a little close, maybe he’d made his point and decided to back off, whatever. The Sheriff stood straight, then added, “Do I make myself clear?” “I don’t mean to insult you,” Murdock said. “I’m just trying to get some answers.” Sheriff Lane nodded slightly, crossing his arms, making sure Murdock saw their impressive size, making sure Murdock knew who was really in charge around here. “Well, you got one,” the Sheriff said. “And you hardly insulted me at all. Let’s get out of here, Mr. Murdock – there’s more valuable places to spend our time.” Reluctantly, Murdock agreed, and he and the muscular Sheriff drove back to town. The last thing the Sheriff said as he dropped Murdock off at the Main Street Motel was, “You should really come on over and catch a workout – at least check out my little gym. The light in the afternoon is incredible.” Then the Sheriff smiled, the first true smile Murdock had seen on the man’s face, his rugged, strong jaw – damn, that man had a heavy jaw – but then, so had Robbie Ray. “You might also find out how wrong you are about working out. See you later, Mr. Murdock. You have my number if you need it.” Murdock waived him off and went to his room, where he found a little surprise waiting. 6. Housekeeping had been in – the bed was turned down, the bathroom was clean, the towels were fresh – and someone had left a gaudy flower arrangement on the table by the window. Murdock laughed – small-town niceties. Nobody must ever visit this place. The flowers smelled kind of nasty, actually, even from a distance – it reminded him of old sex a little, stale and musty. He opened the window behind the arrangement to air the room a bit. Flopping back on the small sofa, he pulled out his cell phone and called Tully. “Hey, it’s me,” he said when she answered. “I’m hoping you’ve learned something.” “Not very much,” she said. “Bloodwork showed absolutely nothing unusual. There was a slight elevation in his testosterone level, but nothing indicative of steroid abuse. The cause of death, though, wasn’t the obvious. Aside from his testicles, his pituitary gland also burst – that was what actually killed him. I’m still suspecting atmospheric pressure, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I wish I had more to tell you.” “What’s the pituitary gland? What’s that do?” “The pituitary gland’s main function is the secretion of growth hormone, and Robbie Ray’s was clearly working overtime, but I don’t have any evidence of outside influence. Well, there is one strange thing…” “Anything, anything,” Murdock said, rolling his eyes. “Any lead on why an eighteen year old kid would gain two-hundred pounds of muscle in three days. Make that make sense to me, Tully.” “Well, I don’t think it’s terribly unusual, given that he worked in outside construction, but there was an awful lot of dust in his lungs. It looks like plant pollen – we’re analyzing it now.” “Pollen…?” Murdock suddenly looked at the flower arrangement sitting on the table by the window. All this talk today of organics, and plants… Empty flower pots in the foreman’s trailer… Murdock’s conspiracy-theory mind-set clicked into gear. “I’ll call you back,” he said to Tully and clicked his phone off, dropping it on the coffee table. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the arrangement, studying it. Potted, not fresh cut – one main plant and a lot of decorative spray accenting. It was one of the ugliest flowers Murdock had ever seen. It looked like a big cock. Flashing on “Invasion of the Body-Snatchers” and “The Outer Limits,” Murdock began theorizing. Because of his video-based paranoia, before he got too close to the plant, he went into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, dampening it quickly beneath the cold water. He held the washcloth over his nose and mouth as he went in for a closer look. He’d ever seen anything like it, though its long, tubular blossom reminded him of a Pitcher Plant, except it looked so much like a porn-star’s cock. The bulb that produced the blossom lay half-exposed in the dirt, itself resembling a nut-sac. As he brought his face closer to the flower, he could swear he saw the blossom move, take aim almost. Before he could react, the flower shot a cloudy wad of golden pollen directly at Murdock’s face. It was like it coughed, or burped – it just expelled the dust, hitting Murdock directly in the washcloth. He backed away from the plant quickly, actually frightened. Holding his breath, he pulled the washcloth from his face and folded it in on itself, to save the sample. In the bathroom, before he even tried to breath, he washed his face and hands thoroughly. It was some kind of PLANT that had done the boy – some kind of quasi-botanical invasion – although Murdock suspected there was some kind of human hand behind it – plants didn’t arrange themselves with decorative sprays. Was there some kind of evil, bodybuilder-florist in this town, or was the conspiracy broader than he first thought? He pocketed his cell-phone, leaving the room – leaving the plant and the pollen sample behind – and got directions to the Sheriff’s house from the man at the front desk. Only three blocks, it was easier to walk. And instead of calling Tully, he dialed Sheriff Lane. 7. “Mr. Murdock, I’m surprised to hear from you so soon. What’s up?” “Sorry to bother you, Sheriff,” Murdock said, walking at a brisk pace, panting a little, “but I’m on my way to your house right now. I think I finally understand what’s going on around here.” He crossed off of Main Street and went up the tree-lined Oak Ave. “You do? Really?” asked the Sheriff. “Excellent. We… I look forward to seeing you, then.” “Actually, Sheriff, if you look outside your window, you’ll see me approaching your house right now.” Murdock walked up the shrub-lined path that led to the side door. As meticulously groomed as the Sheriff, so too was his landscaping. Between his lawn and his body, when did the man find time for the law? His cruiser was parked in the driveway, which was how Murdock was certain the house was his, an old three-story Victorian with a wrap-around porch, bi-tone gray with white shutters. The garage sat back catty-corner from the house – “renovated” didn’t even begin to describe it. Shaped like a miniature barn – there may have been a name for this style, but Murdock didn’t know it – the top third, the part under the peak, had been replaced by glass. Several sky-lights ran down each side of the roof. It must get great light. The garage-door had been replaced by a new wall – no windows on the street-side. The only entrance was on the house-side of the garage, and that was covered by a screen door. Murdock rapped twice on the side door of the house as he turned off his phone. The Sheriff’s deep voice came from behind him. “I’m in the garage, Mr. Murdock.” He heard the screen door open as he turned toward the sound. There stood the Sheriff before him, not ten feet away. Or what had been the Sheriff. Murdock was too late. Sheriff Lane was gigantic – unbelievably gigantic. As big as Robbie Ray had been – and then some. Where Robbie Ray had been a lifeless corpse on a slab, Sheriff Lane was a living, breathing, vital being. His muscle was swollen past the point of possibility, exaggerated by his failing attempt to wear his uniform, where even the polyester was giving up the struggle. The buttons on his shirt had each popped, exposing the deep cleavage between the halves of his impossible pecs – his badge balanced on the ledge where the nipple had already lost its grip. His shoulders and back couldn’t be contained much longer – as it was, the seams were unraveling. His pants fared better – but only a bit. He stood at attention, his legs spread wide, showing the thickness of his thighs and his solid, over-blown calves. He still wore his boots and gun-belt comfortably, which meant that only his muscles had grown, not his waist or his feet. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The tightness of the pants also displayed the size of the Sheriff’s package, on par with what Robbie Ray’s had PROBABLY looked like. His thick cock had pushed itself halfway down his left thigh, and was no doubt responsible for the split in his pant’s left seam. And his balls – unlike Robbie Ray’s – were easily the size of oranges, maybe even grapefruit, well-formed and obvious. He wasn’t wearing the cowboy hat, but it looked like he still could. As a matter of fact, his head looked almost too small for his body. But for the widening of his jaw to accommodate his bull-neck, it would’ve. The Sheriff actually looked more handsome, if rugged, working-class muscle-heads were your type. He looked content. “Holy shit,” Murdock said, taking an involuntary step back. The Sheriff smiled. “We’re finally complete,” he said, flexing his arms, tearing the sleeves. “What do you think?” Murdock was speechless – a first. “Oh, my God…” Laughing, the Sheriff said, “You were the one who said you wanted it like a comic book.” He flexed a most-muscular, and the sound of his shirt tearing up the back preceded his triumphant yell. “Well, how’s THAT for ‘The Incredible Hulk?’” He reached across his body – like Lou Ferrigno – and tore the shirt from his torso, throwing it to the ground, exposing muscles that dwarfed anything seen on campy, 70’s tele-drama or even the fanciest, high-tech CGI. All he wore now were his pants – and they were barely hanging on – his boots and his gun-belt. “You sent the plant…” The Sheriff nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring it with you,” he said, adjusting those massive balls. “Most guys get very protective of…” He suddenly paused, and looked at Murdock suspiciously. “You didn’t get pollinated,” he said simply. Murdock shrugged. “In my line of work, you get suspicious of innocent gifts. I’ve seen ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers,’ thanks.” “This isn’t like that,” the Sheriff said, with a quick flex of his pecs. “They’re plants, yes, but they don’t understand concepts like good and evil. Morality is a human attribute. They simply seek to re-populate an almost extinct species. It’s their only goal, not the subjugation of the human race. Does that make sense to you, Mr. Murdock?” “Oh sure, today it’s repopulation, but tomorrow it’s domination. An army of guys like you would be pretty formidable.” “If they controlled us, which they don’t.” Sheriff Lane began walking toward him, his massive thighs navigating effortlessly around each other – he had the grace of an athlete that matched the size of his muscles, not the bulky burden of a bodybuilder. “We work together, Mr. Murdock,” he said, touching his balls. “It’s a symbiotic relationship.” Murdock ran then – who could say why? Maybe it was years of harboring paranoid, alien-invasion fantasies that finally broke him, who knew? He just… couldn’t TAKE it anymore. So he ran. But Sheriff Lane had been transformed into something specifically designed for superior performance – he was a PROTECTOR – his body was now capable of feats that would’ve seemed impossible before the symbiosis. With only two steps for prep, he literally leapt over his cruiser, somersaulting in mid-air and landing gracefully on his feet, right in front of the panicked Murdock. Smiling at his own accomplishment, he caught the fleeing investigator with one gigantic arm. “Going somewhere, Mr. Murdock?” he asked, walking back to the garage, carrying the struggling Murdock with him. “Stop it!” screamed Murdock – where the hell were the neighbors? “I don’t want it! I don’t want it!!” The Sheriff chuckled. “Yes, you do,” he said. “You said so, yourself. Your words now are just your fear.” “No!” Murdock continued, helpless against the iron-strength of the Sheriff’s physique. He could see the Sheriff’s pistol, inches from his face. “NO!!!” “We need intelligent men, Mr. Murdock,” the Sheriff said, opening the screen door and tossing Murdock into the garage, “not just construction-crew yokels with no ambition beyond their own sexual satisfaction. You’ll understand better in a few minutes.” He shut the main door then, and locked it, standing guard outside the screen. Murdock could see him through the glass. He banged on the door for a couple of seconds, already realizing the futility in it. “Damn it,” he mumbled, then remembered the cell-phone in his pocket –he fished it out. A weak signal, but at least something. He pressed Tully’s number. When her service answered, Murdock muttered a swear and turned around. “Tully, I need you to…” Then he saw it – them. Everywhere – on every bench, every weight-rack, every shelf, every clear inch of the floor – anyplace that might’ve offered a horizontal resting space. Dozens – hundreds of pots: clay, plastic, and metal, coffee cans too, anything that could hold dirt, bowls and tin-foil broilers, everywhere Murdock looked. The plants. Dozens. Hundreds. Sheriff Lane’s converted gym was the perfect greenhouse – the skylights caught the afternoon sun and reflected it warmly throughout the space, a golden yellow incubator for the row after row, pot after pot of cock-shaped flowers. Flowers that now took aim. “Holy shit,” groaned Murdock, dropping the phone, which broke when it hit the ground, snapping plastically. A burst of pollen hit him square in the forehead, golf-ball sized, but with the consistency of loosely-packed dirt. He snapped his head back in reaction and chuckled nervously. “Missed me,” he said to them, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. Then he was hit in the shoulder, from another angle, then another, in his lower abdomen. And then the barrage started. One after another they pummeled him, like a batting cage gone awry. Murdock might’ve opened his mouth to scream, but sound probably couldn’t get out, the layer of pollen became so thick so quickly. The front half of his body was coated with a good inch of the stuff, making him look like he was struggling with his footing against a yellow-orange blizzard, like frosting on a living snack cake. He finally collapsed, falling over backwards. A couple of last minute volleys hit him in the face, but by then it didn’t matter. He’d stopped holding his breath a while ago. 8. The train pulled into the station with none of the ceremony that would’ve greeted it only a century ago. Everybody flew these days – always in a hurry – and nobody appreciated the Romantic atmosphere provided by a train. He’d forgotten himself – it’d been a long time since he’d traveled for pleasure and not business, this case or that. And flying was out of the question for them now, anyway. Like the others, he’d felt an urge to play Johnny Appleseed, to spread out, to take root. They’d learned their lesson from Robbie Ray, now traveling only by ground or water. Several had just driven off in their trucks, packed up their trailers and their mobile-homes and left for parts unknown, which for a couple of the guys was just outside their own county. They had much more confidence now that they weren’t traveling alone. Sheriff Lane had at least had the foresight to arm them all with cell-phones before they left, so they had some way of keeping track of each other. In person, they could sense when a man harbored a Symbiote – and a Symbiote could sense another from quite a distance away – the outer limit seemed to be about twenty miles. But the Sheriff had little confidence in their success. “You can’t blame the Symbiotes for taking advantage of an opportunity,” he’d said, “but now we have the chance to be a little more particular. The smartest move those guys made was giving a plant to me – to us.” He’d chuckled. “We still have trouble thinking in first-person plural.” He’d stood guard outside his converted garage during Murdock’s entire transformation, enjoying the deep colors of sunset. When the neighbors would walk by, he’d wave congenially. They’d wave back – remembering that the Sheriff was a big man, but not realizing quite HOW big. Many had never seen him without a shirt – he was almost always in uniform – so they had nothing to compare him to. It was possible that he’d ALWAYS been that big. Like most small-town people, they didn’t talk about it until they were behind closed doors. He’d heard Murdock’s struggle, his moans of resistance. Incomprehensible to Sheriff Lane – even more so now – but he’d resisted the impulse to peek through the small window on the door, even when he’d heard the sounds of tearing material – the “Incredible Hulk” fantasy more common than anyone had realized. It would be good to have someone of Murdock’s intelligence with them. He would know better than the Sheriff how to deflect the government, the army, and many of the threats that would greet them at later stages of re-population. Robbie Ray had been a costly mistake this early, bringing attention when they’d least needed it. True enough, it had brought them Murdock, but that was the only silver-lining. At its worst, it had given evidence to a possible adversary. From inside the garage, when Murdock had moaned again, a little more lustful than the last, Sheriff Lane had been able to sense the symbiosis, the acceptance. He’d smiled, but still didn’t look. He’d felt safe about unlocking the door, though. He’d heard Murdock’s orgasm, and hoped Murdock wasn’t wasting the seed, but was distracted suddenly by the beginning of his OWN erection, his sense of discipline failing him slightly. He’d thought those construction-bozos had simply been weak, but if this was how they’d felt when the Symbiotes were in close proximity to each other, it was no wonder that the guys had been having sex constantly. It would be hard to resist. Murdock had stepped out of the garage only a minute or so later. Much improved, though the agent had had a quirky handsomeness before with his lanky, unreliable physique. Not that looks had mattered to Sheriff Lane, or to the Symbiotes themselves – they required their Protectors to be heavily-muscled warriors, not handsome ones – but, as they said in cartoons, “it didn’t HOIT.” Murdock had grown significantly, close in size to the Sheriff himself, maybe twenty pounds lighter – Sheriff Lane still wanted to believe that his years of bodybuilding hadn’t been in vain, and had given him some sort of advantage with the Symbiote. Still lightly dusted in a fine powder, heavier around his mouth and nose, Murdock had been wearing only his boxer shorts when he’d stepped out of the garage, decorated with little spaceships. Only because his fly had been buttoned had they offered any support at all. Like all of the guys, Murdock kept one hand on his package to offer comfort to the Symbiote. He was going to need a different kind of underwear. The Sheriff himself was going to have to start wearing a cup under his uniform if he’d wanted to continue going about his duty – more likely, given his current size, he’d need a cod-piece. For the moment, the two of them stood there facing each other, each in the same pose – one hand offering support to one’s balls – two huge musclemen caught in the act of mutual appreciation. “How do you feel?” the Sheriff had asked. Murdock had smiled. “For the first time in my life, the idea of an alien invasion excites me.” Their coupling had felt even better than their initial symbiosis. Murdock hadn’t considered himself homosexual, but the closer he’d gotten to the Sheriff – or, really, the closer their Symbiotes had gotten to one another – the greater the feelings of pleasure, of growing lust that they’d felt. Attraction and physical pleasure had been alien to the Symbiotes, but they’d noted the effects it’d had on their Protectors. As the Symbiote fed him more testosterone, more adrenaline, more hormonal stimulation, Murdock knew he’d only want other Protectors as partners from there on. No other coupling would ever offer this impact. As he and the Sheriff had pressed their packages together, getting the Symbiotes as close as they possibly could without crushing them, their massive erections rolling against each other’s torsos like logs on a flume, as they had held each other’s hips and gently thrust against each other, the Symbiotes allowed them their orgasms. The flood of their cum had erupted between them like a muscular volcano, like a geyser shooting up between the shelves of their chests, mixing together until it had become one liquid – one single seed. They’d caught it together, cupping it carefully in their hands and then carried it to the backyard garden. After planting it there wordlessly, they’d gone into the house and plotted Murdock’s necessary disappearance, and formulated their first actual plan. Though they both felt the desire, it had been important to the Sheriff to deny the impulse for sex – he’d seemed to define denial as discipline, determined not to succumb to the same fate as “lesser men.” Murdock couldn’t have agreed more, if for slightly different reasons. He’d known that his new-found sexuality was a manipulation of the Symbiote, and he’d wanted to believe that the creature had no influence over him if he hadn’t allowed it. (None of their human failings seemed to affect the Symbiotes at all, who seemed patient enough to wait-out their Protectors’ rationalizations.) Still, Murdock and the Sheriff gave in twice, and Murdock learned a new love of being fucked up the ass by a dominant top. By the next morning, the product of their initial coupling had taken root in the garden. Neither of them had been surprised to discover that something different was growing there – different than what either of them could’ve produced separately. Clearly the same species, but what must have been the next evolutionary step up. What Murdock and the Sheriff had faced in the garden that morning was the obvious drone to their worker bees, royalty to their peasantry, something simply greater than them both. The same sort-of plant, but half-again as tall as the ones in the Sheriff’s garage – a cock of such size and girth that even transformed men such as the Sheriff and Murdock thought it impossible. The bud would easily come up to a normal man’s knee, and be about as thick as his leg. The base of the flower was a dark-bluish purple, which veined up the sides until it reached the soft lilac head – even its bulb had been bigger – a fantasy man’s fantasy cock. It would take the right man to Host this. With great care, in the light of the rising sun, they’d re-potted it in a plastic, traveling pot – a little wider at the base – and made the decision about what to do with it. Using a roll of stiff butcher’s paper that the Sheriff had in his kitchen – though God only knew why – they wrapped it, put a bow on it, and stapled it at the top, making it look like it had just come from the florist’s – a gift for some long-absent mother or girlfriend. It sat on the floor in front of the train-seat next to Murdock now. He was one of only three people in this car – maybe he’d scared the others away. On the other hand, he WAS traveling AWAY from civilization rather than toward it, no doubt more people rode in the other direction. This was the last stop before his destination – a small town in Kansas called “Garden City.” He picked the name because it tickled his quaint-ness – he did that a lot. They needed land, somewhere in the farm-belt, where they could plant and grow and go unnoticed. The name of the town couldn’t matter less to the Symbiote, so Murdock got to assert his own sense of humor. “Cimarron!” the conductor shouted, sticking his head in the door. He looked at Murdock, as he had done so many times on the trip, sort of lusty, but afraid. It was obvious to Murdock that the man had never seen anyone with a build like his – lots of people stared at him, even dressed in baggies as he was. He hated to admit he liked it – vanity was so not him – but he also recognized the need for anonymity at this stage. It was hard to hide with a body like this. “We’ll be stopped for about ten minutes at Cimarron, sir,” the conductor said to him. “If you want to step off the train again. Get some air. Maybe stretch a little…” Murdock smiled – the conductor HAD been watching him, keeping track of him. Maybe he’d even seen what Murdock did. Kept doing. “Thanks,” Murdock said in his low, sexy voice, winking. He stood then so the conductor could get a good look at his incredible mass, then stretched his back, flexing ever-so discreetly. He was starting to like being a flirt. The conductor probably had an erection when he ducked his head out of the doorway – Murdock sure hoped so – at least he was flustered. That was a nice reward, too. Murdock chuckled, surprised at how much he enjoyed his new body – it was like a teenaged, comic-book fantasy. Although maybe the Symbiote was controlling that, too. Oh, it didn’t matter. He stepped off the train into the bright, Kansas sunshine. Though the Symbiote loved the light, Murdock wore heavy sunglasses because it bothered his eyes. He wasn’t used to the midwest. The train station was built close to the Arkansas River, and with his athletic ability, Murdock easily jumped the twenty feet down to the base of the trestle. His feet landed lightly, gracefully, the muscle of his legs supporting his massive upper body. Stepping to an overgrown area, he quickly lowered his pants and pulled out his gigantic cock. The Symbiote allowed him orgasm immediately, and he shot his seed all over the ground, turning around and hitting as much land as he could. He’d done the same thing at every stop along his journey – Dodge City, Kinsley, even Osawatomie – left his seed behind in some out of the way place near each train-yard. Maybe the new flowers would be found, maybe they wouldn’t. If so, well then, all the better. It might also serve as a distraction from what he and Sheriff Lane were really up to. If not, it didn’t matter. They’d have their army soon enough. Two leaps, and a tuck-flip, and Murdock was standing on the platform again. Through the window of the train, he could see the Great Plant was safe, and that was all that mattered. He’d been given the responsibility to find the Host, though he didn’t think his chances of finding one would be very good in Back-water, Kansas – but Sheriff Lane would be under too much scrutiny soon to keep it secure. Tully alone would dog the Sheriff until he went crazy. Fortunately, Murdock had planted several distracting leads to keep her busy. By the time she found him, it would be far too late. “All aboard!” the conductor shouted, and Murdock headed for the train. “Next stop, Garden City! Garden City, all aboard!” That he could even squeeze down the narrow aisle way was miraculous – Murdock actually had to go sideways for the width of his shoulders. When he finally got to his row, this massive giant slid down into his seat, fitting much more comfortably here than he would’ve on a plane. He checked on the well-being of the Great Plant again, and went over his thoughts again about what kind of farmer he needed to find. With his strong hands, he reached down and lovingly supported his balls.

(Hello, friends! I'm posting this CLASSIC ABSMAN story in anticipation of posting the erotic novel that grew out of it. POLLINATION has inspired two comic book adaptations and a slew of fanfic! If this is your first time in the Garden, take your time to stop and smell the flowers...) POLLINATION by absman420 If you expected dumb ol' Mike Milliano to explain the growth-rate of local real estate or the sudden value of property in this traditionally rural area -- you know, the BIG picture -- you were expecting far too much. All Mike Milliano understood was that he had work framing houses for the next twenty weeks, and that it paid enough for him to live through the construction worker's off-season. Other than that, all Mike Milliano cared about was his pick-up truck, his next beer, and what little pussy he could find in this shit-ass flyspeck of a town. He knew this area well, where he grew up. As a boy, Mike and his buddies used to come up here and ride their dirt bikes. It'd been unspoiled land then, lightly forested. If anybody'd actually owned it, he didn't know who -- maybe one of the few farmers that had dotted the landscape in those days -- didn't matter. Now here he was as an adult, clearing that same land, building houses for snotty rich folks who had no history, no connection at all. He tried to pretend he wasn't feeling nostalgia when he slipped away during his lunch hour to walk through the nearby woods. Real men controlled their emotions. Now, sitting at the base of an old oak tree that overlooked a steep, forested slope, Mike Milliano smoked a cigarette and reflected. He wasn't a big man, although he wasn't in bad shape -- working construction kept him fit enough, if he'd hadn't been losing his battle with beer -- but nothing like when he'd played ball in high school. Now, a soft gut rolled over the top of his jeans, and though it bothered him, he did nothing to change it. He still had good, thick arms, and showed them off when he could, but he'd definitely lost his edge. He'd kept his attitude, though. A gruff, unforgiving, obstinate man, he fought as often as he fucked. And he got the same peculiar satisfaction from each. Smirking, Mike removed his well-worn baseball cap and wiped his forehead with the back of one heavily callused hand. Nothing in this old forest but memories, he thought. Time to head back to work. As he was about to stand, a particular flower caught his eye. Now, Mike Milliano was not the type of guy that normally noticed plants -- to him, flowers were just another tool to get into some chick's pants -- but this was like nothing he'd ever seen before. The way it was shaped, it looked like a big dick stickin' up out of the ground. Tube-shaped, like a Venus Flytrap a little, but with the gentle curve of its blossom, it looked exactly like a half-erect cock. A big cock, no less -- the flower was about a foot long. The base was a deep red, which veined its way up until it reached the soft pink "head" -- which was really just a little fold of petal over the end of the bud. When he got close enough, he noticed the half-exposed bulb in the ground, appearing as the flower's swollen ball-sac. He snorted a simple laugh. It's a shame he didn't have a camera -- none of the guys would believe this -- a flower that looks like a dick. He could probably make something off a picture like that. He caught the fragrance in a couple of steps -- frankly, it smelled like old sex, sort of pungent and spicy. All that did was increase his amusement -- it didn't just look like a big ol' dick, it smelled like one, too. Squatting down next to the plant, careful that his workboots didn't accidentally crush it, Mike Milliano leaned in. Certainly, he'd never been this close to a real dick -- and hopefully never would be -- but he almost couldn't help thinking of the image. Suppressing the slightest bit of a gag, Mike brought his mustachioed face close to the bud. It moved -- twitched -- he'd swear it. How could...? Suddenly, the flower before him seemed to burst -- no, actually, to burp -- to cum? -- and a good amount of pollen dusted Mike Milliano's nose, mouth, and mustache. He couldn't help but breathe it in, to taste it, dry and powdery, coating the inside of his mouth and nose. His first instinct was to gasp, which made him breath a little more of it in; he pulled his head back a bit, and brought his hand to his mouth. Brushing the pollen out of his mustache with his thick fingers, he mumbled, "Fucking plants." This close to crushing the stupid flower with his boot, he thought better of it. He could still come up tomorrow and take a picture of it -- a picture of a plant that looks like a guy's package would be worth somethin' -- THEN he could crush the shit out of it. Besides, it wasn't like the silly thing hurt him -- it just launched pollen in his face. Mike Milliano laughed only because no one else was around. His pride was hardly on the line over a fucking flower. Still brushing the last of the shit from his face, he hiked out of the forest and went back to work. ********************************************************************************** "I'm tellin' ya, Smitty, I feel fuckin' awesome! I ain't felt this good since I played ball in high school!" Smitty gave a non-committal grunt and took another swig of beer. Sitting there on the tailgate of his truck, he'd watched Mike Milliano put up an entire lower floor of a house by himself in less time than it took a crew of four. Impressive, but why work that hard, especially now, well after five o'clock, after the rest of the crew had gone home? Mike Milliano stepped off the foundation and walked toward Smitty's truck. There was something different about him, but Smitty wasn't sure what. He looked... well, he looked BIGGER than normal. Heavier. He looked like he'd packed on about ten pounds of muscle since lunch. The thought was so stupid that Smitty put it out of his head. "I don't know what the fuck it is," Mike said, unconsciously adjusting his balls. "I mean, I feel fuckin' great!" Smitty tossed him a beer from the cooler which he caught with a casual ease. He DID look bigger. His arms hadn't been that dense, had they? Mike Milliano popped the top of his beer and took a healthy swig. When he brought the can down, he studied his foreman, as if he debated telling Smitty some heavy shit. "Do you think I look bigger?" he asked, flexing his muscles to illustrate. "I think I've gotten bigger, Smitty." Smitty grunted again. "I was just thinkin' the same thing," he said. "It's weird," Mike continued, rubbing his free hand over his torso. "I don't know why, but it's like, all afternoon I could FEEL myself growing, getting stronger, gaining energy. I can't describe it -- it just feels so fuckin' great!" "What do you think caused it?" Smitty asked. "Have you come into contact with anything unusual?" Mike Milliano paused. Literally, he stopped feeling himself mid-stroke. The look on his face was confused, contemplative -- which was not an often-used adjective to describe Mike Milliano. "You know, come to think of it," he said, "I did." He touched his fingers to his mustache, pinching his lip. Smitty leaned forward. "What?" Mike Milliano was broken from his thought. He looked at Smitty and smiled. "You'll never believe it if I just tell you," he said, suddenly walking toward the forest behind the building project. "C'mon, I'll show ya!" Smitty snorted a laugh, but followed, not forgetting to take an extra beer with him. ***************************************************************************************************** "It looks like a big cock." Mike Milliano laughed. "That's what I thought." He squatted down on one side of the flower -- Smitty did the same on the other. "And the way that root there is exposed?" Mike continued, pointing it out. "It looks like the thing's balls." The two of them laughed together, in that juvenile humor kind of way that men share. Smitty took a swig of beer. "So, what's that got to do with you lookin' bigger?" Mike Milliano was quiet, but intense, like he was exposing his secret -- like he was confessing a great sin. He even leaned in toward Smitty, as if someone were eavesdropping in the middle of the forest -- as if the flower could hear them. "Buddy," he said, "I think I'm having a reaction to this thing's pollen." "What?" "Seriously, man," Mike continued, rubbing his hands together. "I was lookin' at this plant at lunch today, and it spit all this pollen in my face. I think this," he said, flexing his left biceps, "is what happened because of it." Smitty snorted. "That's crazy, man." "Maybe," Mike Milliano muttered. "But you asked me if I'd come in contact with anything unusual, and this is the only thing. Look, there's one way to find out for sure. You sniff it." "What?" "Sniff it," Mike said. "If it happens to you, then we know it's the plant. If not, then it's somethin' else -- but I think it's the plant. It's gotta be. So, sniff it. What's the worst that could happen? This?" He flexed his upper-body in a quick Most-Muscular shot -- he HAD gotten bigger. Maybe even bigger in the fifteen minutes since Smitty'd first noticed it. "It feels fuckin' great, Smitty." Smitty rolled his eyes. "This is stupid," he said, but it didn't stop him from leaning in to smell the flower. On the off-chance that Mike Milliano wasn't kidding, Smitty wanted to cover his bet. No man would mind havin' a build like that, especially if he didn't have to work for it. He put his face right up next to the flower's "cock-head" -- the fold of petal over the tip -- and breathed deeply. Nothing. The plant sat there, inanimate, unconcerned. If it could show less interest, Smitty couldn't imagine how. Worse, its fragrance was hardly pleasant. Frankly, it smelled like stale cum. "Okay," Smitty said, sitting up. "What's the joke?" Mike Milliano shook his head. "It's not a joke," he said earnestly. "I swear to you, man. I just leaned in like this..." Then, as Mike Milliano pushed his cap back and brought his head close to the blossom, the thing reacted. The flower seemed to shift toward him, as if it recognized him. Just as Smitty saw the movement, but before he could speak a warning, the flower shot a huge wad of dusty pollen right into Mike Milliano's face. "Mike!" But Mike Milliano's reaction was exactly the opposite of what Smitty was expecting. Instead of coughing and trying to expel the pollen, Mike Milliano was trying to get all of it inside -- he snorted the dust caked in his mustache, licked it off his upper lip and the fingers that he used for brushing. He was trying not to waste a bit. Smitty thought he looked like one of them heroin addicts handling their fix. What the fuck...? "Yes!" Mike Milliano shouted, standing, holding his arms out at his sides and flexing his back. "Oh, YES!" Smitty bent down at the plant. This time, when he leaned in close, the blossom seemed to turn away, as if it were snubbing him. When he looked back up, watching his crewman and buddy go from pose to pose, he realized -- with no small amount of homophobic horror -- that Mike Milliano had an erection. Smitty could see its outline plainly beneath Mike's tightening jeans. Obvious. When he flexed his abs, hands behind his head, Mike Milliano's eyes rolled back and his hips bucked uncontrollably. When he groaned, a growing wet spot appeared in the crotch of his jeans, proof of his orgasm. Mike Milliano smiled. "Oh, yeah," he purred, his voice relaxed. "Feels fuckin' great." He reached down and adjusted his package, touching the soaking stain in his pants. Mike Milliano didn't seem embarrassed at all. He just looked at Smitty, squatting there next to the plant, and kept on smiling. Ironically, it was the seams tearing open in Mike Milliano's jeans that broke the moment. "I better get the fuck home before I'm drivin' naked," he said, fingering the tear, studying it as if proud instead of amazed. The mass was becoming more and more evident in his thighs. He walked over to Smitty, adjusting his gait to accommodate his new size, and offered a hand. Smitty was speechless. There was now no denying that Mike Milliano had changed. Still in the same grungy baseball cap, but now his t-shirt was too tight, too form-fitting for even a guy in construction, showing a body normally produced through military obsession -- rock-solid abs and bulbous chest, round, wide deltoids and sloping traps. Listen, his pants were still tearing from the growth in his legs -- each step, each flex, opened them a little further -- the seams couldn't contain the mass. From Smitty's angle, squatting there looking up at Mike Milliano, there was no way to avoid seeing Mike's package, either. It seemed to Smitty that even THAT was growing -- a thought he would've considered ridiculous only a few minutes ago. How long before the fly gave out? Or before Mike Milliano spontaneously orgasmed again? The thought horrified Smitty. Mike Milliano's balls were the size of eggs. Even as Smitty reluctantly took the offered hand and allowed Mike Milliano to pull him to his feet, he briefly toyed with the idea of destroying the plant -- stamping it into the ground -- just a fleeting thought that he might be actually SAVING his friend from something, though he couldn't imagine what. Instead, he asked, his voice a little shaky, "Are you okay?" Mike Milliano hadn't released Smitty's hand after helping him up -- the moment was becoming uncomfortably long for two straight men -- then Mike Milliano put his free hand on Smitty's neck, intimate, like he was getting ready for a kiss. He had that look in his eye. "I'm sorry the plant doesn't like you," he said. "But I still do." He winked, then Mike Milliano released his grip and started to walk out of the forest, leaving Smitty standing there stunned, unable to move. Smitty said, "Mike?" and Milliano spun around, still smirking, clearly enjoying the affect he was having on poor Smitty. "Are you okay?" Smitty asked again slowly, a little more deliberately. Mike Milliano laughed, and flexed his upper-body, straining the already-burdened t-shirt. "Never been better," he said, and motioned with his head. "C'mon." Smitty tried not to look at Mike Milliano's thickening ass as he followed him out of the forest, but the sound of the tearing material kept drawing his focus. ********************************************************************************************************** Okay, he didn't have a great body -- he never had, not even at his peak -- and he wasn't particularly handsome, either. Frankly, he'd heard a few too many jokes about his hairline recently. As Smitty stood in front of his bathroom mirror, all he could see were faults and weaknesses. Why didn't the fucking flower want him? It didn't make any sense -- well, NONE of it made any sense -- but the idea that a plant could somehow be particular, that was ridiculous. That the flower would react to one person alone, the idea that the flower could know the difference between one person and the next was baffling. That it could make a guy more muscular was laughable in itself. But what did Smitty know about botany? He couldn't even keep a houseplant alive. He was content to simply drink his beer and watch his collection of adult video -- not that he found much comfort in either at the moment. He couldn't stop thinking about that damn plant! It'd SNUBBED him. How could that have been? As Smitty stared in the mirror after his shower, assessing his physical weaknesses for the millionth time, he began the comforting process of rationalization. Skipping ahead -- there's no need to bore anyone with Smitty's leaps of logic -- here's where he finally arrived: it wasn't that the plant didn't want him. No. What happened was, he'd sniffed the plant, or brought his head into proximity, whatever begins the process, and Mike Milliano just happened to have his face in the way when the plant expelled its pollen. If Smitty had just kept his head there a little longer, HE would've gotten the pollen. HE would've been the one growing more muscular. It wasn't that the plant was particular. No. Smitty just hadn't shown enough patience. What he needed was another chance. He needed to go alone, without Mike Milliano tagging along. He needed to give the plant the proper amount of time. A fair chance. For sure, if he sniffed the plant again, and waited long enough, he'd get the pollen. He'd get the growth. So then, at the first hint of light in the sky, Smitty headed toward the site. Purposely, he wore loose-fitting clothes -- he wanted to make sure his jeans stayed ON through his growth. Not like the way Mike Milliano's had exploded just as they'd reached Mike's truck, exposing his gross size and obscene new package. Worse, the way he seemed to revel in it -- Mike Milliano had hardly been shy about showing his erection when it'd happened. Maybe Smitty couldn't admit it outloud, but in truth, he was jealous. He couldn't believe how jealous he was. It kept him awake throughout the night -- it motivated him now. When he pulled into the building site, he was surprised to discover that he had a partial erection himself. The sky was pink, the forest a dark silhouette before it. Smitty impatiently smoked a cigarette as he waited for the sun to crest the horizon, to give him enough light to see. He didn't know these woods as well as Mike Milliano did -- he'd grown up in the next town over. Finally, Smitty flicked his butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his workboot. He could see well enough, certainly well enough to find a flower. He hiked into the woods the same way he and Mike Milliano had yesterday afternoon. He stayed to the path, even if it was a little dark. The shadows of the forest heightened the sense of mystery and excitement. Smitty couldn't believe the power of his erection. Because of the lack of light, he heard the scene before he saw it. It sounded like a man's low moan, like the approach of orgasm. What the hell...? Smitty was careful, hiding behind a great tree and taking a safe peek. The sun had risen enough to cast light into the small glade where the plant grew, so he could see all too easily. And what he saw horrified him. And because he could so easily see, the image was all too clear. Burned in his eyes, it would stay with him forever. There by the flower, naked but for workboots and baggy gym pants down around his ankles, knelt Mike Milliano. He was gigantic. Bigger than the bodybuilders in the magazines, more virile than the wrestlers on TV, Mike Milliano must've weighed three-hundred pounds, his musculature grown to unbelievable proportion, thick and heavy. But what stunned Smitty was what Mike Milliano was doing. He was kneeling before the plant, his massive legs on either side of it, with his cock buried deeply in the blossom. He wasn't fucking it -- that probably would've killed Smitty -- but it seemed like the plant was giving him head. It looked like Mike Milliano's cock fit perfectly in the foot-long, curving flower, and the moans coming from lips sounded like a man getting the best blow-job he'd ever had. His huge chest heaved. He rolled his head, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, lost in apparent ecstasy. His muscles still grew, and he softly flexed them in turn, his pecs, his biceps, his wide, wide back. Smitty couldn't move -- couldn't react -- all he could do was watch, try to process what he was seeing. It was almost too much. He watched helplessly as Mike Milliano's tempo increased. But when Mike Milliano suddenly stood, holding his arms out to his sides and flexing his entire body, every single over-grown muscle at once, when Mike Milliano threw his head back and suddenly orgasmed, screaming, shooting rope after rope of cum from his huge foot-long cock, coating the forest floor, Smitty found the strength to run. He didn't stop until he was back in town, at the local diner, where, because of the look of absolute horror on his face, the withered old waitress Sharlene gave him a shot of whiskey from her personal stash below the counter. He had to have two more before he had the nerve to face going back. ******************************************************************************************************* Mike Milliano knew what he had to do -- the thing had a funny way of communicating with him, like with pictures and feelings -- images. He couldn't describe it -- he certainly couldn't understand it. But he didn't need to. All he had to do was protect it, not understand it. He adjusted the pouch of his boxer-briefs to give better support to his balls, pulled up his baggy gym-pants and headed back to his truck -- Home Depot would be open soon enough. Stepping over the wilted flower, flattened and dead, unnecessary, Mike Milliano left the forest. Some of the other workmen were arriving on the site as he drove away. He waved to them with a much more muscular arm than he'd had yesterday -- he'd be back, and they'd get a clearer understanding of what had happened to him. He hadn't slept last night, either. Between the muscle-growth and the spontaneous orgasms and the cocaine-like buzz that had flooded his entire being, Mike Milliano had no time for sleep. The buzz had kept him from being concerned -- instead, it had been more like an exciting, wild ride -- the fulfillment of an adolescent dream. A comic-book transformation turned real. He'd had no fear. Why should he? He'd continued to grow throughout the evening, able to feel himself thickening, gaining mass. Look at him! Thank God he'd found that flower! Around midnight, the growth-spurt slowed, and finally let off. By that time, he'd weighed over two-hundred fifty pounds, and if he'd been paunchy before, there was no evidence of bodyfat on him now. His abs were incredible, drawing the eye to his narrow hips, which in turn lead to his dominant package, his unbelievable cock, his huge balls. That'd been when he'd noticed the shape of his new semi-erect cock, the slope -- it had been exactly the same as the plant. As a matter of fact, his cock could probably slip perfectly inside the blossom... He couldn't stop thinking about the plant. As his buzz had faded, he'd thought about it more and more. "Third time's the charm," he'd thought, beginning his own process of rationalization. He hadn't felt the need to be any bigger -- not that he would mind -- but what he really wanted had been the fuckin' buzz the thing had given him. It had been so strong, it'd reminded him of the crash after doing too much coke -- the impossible desire for more. Finally, Mike Milliano hadn't been able to take it. At four o'clock in the morning, after endless posing and modeling and hand-jobs to pass the time, he threw on his baggy gym-pants and workboots, grabbed a flashlight, and left for the forest. The moon had offered a surprising amount of light, so Mike Milliano had found his way through the construction site easily, the frames of half-built houses rising like prehistoric skeletons in the dark. He'd parked a little way further down the road than normal -- he hadn't wanted anyone to see his truck if they'd driven by. He hadn't even used the flashlight until he was well into the forest -- he hadn't wanted anyone calling the police because they'd seen someone lurking around up here. That would've been an unnecessary complication. He'd found the flower effortlessly -- he hadn't even needed the flashlight -- he'd known exactly where to go. There, waiting for the pre-dawn light, the dew had already begun to form on its bud -- that huge and beautiful cock, as perfect as the one Mike Milliano now had. He'd walked toward it as if hypnotized, with a stupid grin on his face, a loving and adoring look in his eye, his gratitude as powerful as his erection. He'd left the flashlight on the ground, spotlighting the plant like the star of some Broadway show. On his hands and knees, Mike Milliano had opened his mouth wide and took the blossom in. He hadn't cared what it looked like, a grown man taking what looked like a cock in his mouth, because he hadn't wanted to miss a bit of pollen. He'd wanted the whole hit. If he'd looked like a fag doin' it, then he did. And the plant had responded. In time with Mike Milliano's breathing, it'd launched its pollen. Every bit had gone into his lungs -- the blow job-like position had been a good idea. A cock in his mouth had seemed surprisingly natural. If he'd thought the buzz was intense before, it'd been nothing compared to what he felt at that moment, when the growth had begun. The feeling of gaining mass -- of thickening -- had overwhelmed him. He'd sat up on his haunches, enjoying it. Looking down at the flower, and at his semi-erect dick hanging almost next to it, he'd realized that he WOULD fit exactly inside the blossom -- his dick had gotten that big. The idea had seemed so right that, before his buzz-addled brain could stop him, he'd instinctively followed it. He'd slipped his cock into the velvety softness of the plant. Mike Milliano had been right, his cock had fit perfectly. He could feel the flower's stamen tickle his piss-slit. He could feel it slip inside. He could feel it growing up into his cock -- into his balls -- but he'd shown no concern. It'd felt so fucking good. And then, it'd come into him -- the Symbiote, the creature itself, the whatever-it-was that had been living in the bulb. Mike Milliano had been able to feel it come up through his cock, slippery like a snake, and make its way down, settling in the base of his balls, curling around his nuts, somehow connecting to him. And he'd understood. Images -- feelings -- a history had unfolded in his mind. It'd shown an explosion, massive, on a planetary scale -- spores in ice, hurtling through space -- hibernation, a deep, long, empty sleep -- a hundred years, a thousand, immeasurable -- cold -- then, entering THIS planet's atmosphere, the re-awakening -- taking root, beginning to search for a host, a Protector. It had all come into Mike Milliano's mind in an instant -- the Symbiote had spoken to him. A defenseless creature, the Symbiote would find a host organism willing to serve as the its Protector, keeping the delicate Symbiote safe. In exchange, the Symbiote would advance the Protector to his genetic limit, maximizing his abilities, his strength, and his sexual potency as well. Mike Milliano had seen the trade-off as more than fair -- he'd been only too glad to accept the Symbiote completely -- and so they'd joined together. The Symbiote had given him the best orgasm of his life, then -- Mike Milliano shot his seed all over the forest floor. Hopefully, he thought, they thought together, it would take root. Now, in his truck driving to Home Depot, gently cupping his balls so the Symbiote would be more comfortable, Mike Milliano ran over the list of things he had to buy to give the Symbiote what it wanted. Mike Milliano knew that great rewards were coming. ********************************************************************************************************* Finally the sun was completely up, so Smitty couldn't put it off any longer. He was the foreman -- he HAD to go to work. Whatever he'd seen, whatever he'd thought he'd seen, it was only one man, and Smitty had a responsibility to the REST of the crew. It didn't stop him from calling the lead carpenter on his cell. No, Jonas hadn't seen Mike Milliano at all that morning, though some of the other guys said they'd seen him driving off earlier. Smitty said he was on his way and hung up, surprised at his level of relief. He'd wanted a better body, true, but what he'd seen in the forest that morning thoroughly horrified him -- and not just the homophobic part. He didn't want anything at that price. It took Smitty about fifteen minutes to drive to the site. He spent that time debating whether he was glad or not that the plant hadn't picked him in the first place. What had it done to Mike Milliano? And where had he gone? He parked his truck next to the trailer that served as their make-shift office -- the crew, at work on various buildings, waved or hollered "Morning!" -- everyone greeted the foreman. And everybody was busy -- they were working awfully hard this morning, Smitty noted -- someone must've seen him coming and gave the word. Nobody on this team busted their ass until the coffee was gone or the boss was present, and maybe not even then. Then he saw it, back by the edge of the forest, Mike Milliano's pickup, black and shining like new in the morning sunshine. Where was...? Smitty approached the truck cautiously, looking around the site -- the only movement were the men working. The only sound... "Smitty!" A deep, heavy bass. A voice he'd heard but never heard. Smitty turned around, as saw him coming out of the forest. It was Mike Milliano, for sure -- or it had been Mike Milliano once. Smitty had never seen a man as large, as muscular as the beast that walked toward him. Mike Milliano's face, yes, but heavier, the jaw so much wider -- he still wore that stupid baseball cap, which meant his head hadn't grown, but that was the only thing. His neck and traps were so swollen that he looked almost cartoony. Even in the baggy gympants, the size of his legs was obvious, as well as the size of his genitalia. Yet even with the difficulty of getting his thighs around each other, Mike Milliano moved with an athletic gait, like a warrior. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt that didn't begin to cover his abs, that could barely contain his mountainous pecs. And his arms -- good Lord God, his arms! Bowling balls for biceps, hocks of hams for forearms -- his hands, his thick fingers were filthy, as if he'd been digging in the dirt. Smitty hoarsely whispered, "Mike?" Milliano smiled, cupping his balls through the thin cotton material of his gympants. "And more," he said, his voice deep -- his neck was so big, no wonder it had dropped in pitch. "What's that thing done to you?" Mike Milliano went from pose to pose, displaying those ridiculous muscles. "Completed me," he said, again adjusting his package. "What do ya think, Smitty? We're fuckin' amazing, aren't we?" Smitty motioned to Mike Milliano's dirty hands. "What are you doing, Mike?" he asked. "What's going on?" Mike Milliano gestured for Smitty to come closer. "C'mere," he said, then sighed impatiently. "We're not gonna hurt ya, Smitty. We just wanna show ya." He cupped his balls one more time. "We promise." Smitty tentatively stepped toward the giant and his pickup truck. Mike Milliano brushed the excess dirt from his hands as he waited, then gestured for Smitty to look in the bed. Smitty sighed, and finally did. "Our seed took root," Mike Milliano said proudly. There, in the bed of the truck, were almost a dozen clay pots, each of them filled with a plant exactly like the one that Mike Milliano had shown him yesterday in the forest. "Oh my God," Smitty said, as the panic of realization started in the pit of his stomach. But before he could even really react, one of the plants -- not the one closest to him, he noticed, a strange detail to remember -- which he would, for the rest of his life -- one turned toward him, literally, as if taking aim, and then shot a load of dust and pollen that hit Smitty square in the face. No! "Yes!" shouted Mike Milliano. He would scream -- Smitty breathed in to scream -- but coated his throat with even more of the stuff. Oh, shit! Oh, shit! "We just want to re-populate," said Mike Milliano simply. "We're not gonna hurt anyone." Panicked, Smitty ran. And as he ran, he tried to wipe the shit off his unshaven face. But it proved impossible -- it was gritty. It stuck. Trying to get it off just got more of it in. Smitty went to the first person he could find: Jonas. The nearly-obese head carpenter was working on the foundation of House Six, the one nearest the forest. Smitty called to him. "Jonas!" Jonas turned, and Smitty's horror rose a notch. Jonas had the remnants of pollen in his thick black beard. He smiled, and licked a little more of it off his upper lip, from beneath his mustache. "Morning, Smitty!" he said amiably. "Hey, you wanted to know. Milliano got here about fifteen minutes ago, right after you called. But I see you've already found him." "Oh my God..." Jonas smiled again, unconsciously adjusting his balls beneath his overalls. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I'm really startin' to feel it now, Smitty. And Milliano's right. It's pretty fuckin' amazing!" Smitty almost cried. He ran from guy to guy, searched out the whole crew, all eight of them, but Mike Milliano had gotten them first. Every single one of them had been blasted by that damn pollen -- and not one of them seemed the slightest bit concerned. And the thing of it was, after about a half hour, Smitty wasn't concerned, either. As a matter of fact, by the end of the day, he was feeling so good that he was more than happy to take the potted plant home with him. He actually felt kind of protective of it. He let it ride in his lap to keep it safe.

THE PARAGON PORN QUARANTINE by absman420 “Congratulations, Domenic! You have successfully logged onto the Paragon Porn Employee Reference Site! Please take a moment to fill out your profile page, then we will pair your headset with your bluetooth connection. Please click HERE.” I do. It brings up a page for personal information, regular stuff: address, phone number, payroll forms, social security, the whole routine. I’ve filled out enough of this sort of thing through the years -- business is business, after all -- even in porn companies, you have to pay taxes, it seems. That I’ve even come this far is comical in itself. When my buddy Austin approached me at the gym, I thought he was kidding. I mean, I knew he was a “porn star” -- I guess I shouldn’t use sarcastic quotes there, he’s a legit star, not some guy who’s filmed a couple scenes and uses the title. In that world, Austin was a celebrity -- his name alone could sell millions of units of merch -- he won awards (there are awards!) -- and all the little twinks loved him. (And he loved them -- often.) We worked out at the same gym, we worked out at the same time, we had nearly identical physiques, but we weren’t partners. He preferred entertaining some different fan-obsessed boy daily and I preferred to train alone. 2020 was the year I turned forty and I’d just done my first official contest -- I’d placed second in “Masters” physique, so I was flying high on myself. I’d performed well on stage, mask and all, probably from having been an actor/dancer in my 20’s, and my stage-savvy helped me. And then Austin approached me in the gym and asked me if I’d be into doing some porn? What ego doesn’t need that stroke? I mean, I’d been an actor most of my life -- I knew how to work an audience -- and I’d always been curious about porn. Like… how do you motivate yourself? How do you fuck in front of a crew? Is there any intimacy or is it all business? Is there a script or can you improvise? What do you tell your mom? “Serious?” I asked Austin. “Yeah, sure, why not?” he said, adjusting his mask. “You got the bod for it. And I think you got the cock…” He glanced purposefully down at my crotch -- I adjusted myself self-consciously -- he smirked. It wasn’t the best cock, but it did okay. Was it a porn-star cock? Doubtful. “No one complains,” I said. He winked and said, “I sure wouldn’t.” I chuckled. “Tease,” I said. “You like the twinky boys.” He smiled professionally (seductively). “I like everybody.” I smiled -- the joke was easy but I didn’t take it. “Listen,” he said, “I’m exclusive with Paragon -- they’re great! Best house I’ve ever worked for. They really care about the talent, they provide opportunity for growth, investment, marketing and stuff to help you build your brand.” “That sounds... surprisingly great! I’ve heard that porn kind of chews guys up and spits them out.” He shrugged. “Some studios do,” he said. “It’s a shame. It’s a great way to make a living -- you just can’t let yourself get treated like shit.” I laughed. “You sound like a salesman, not an actor!” “I’m a testimonial. Four years ago, I was just a physique model trying to bust out of the pack on IG -- now I’m a freakin’ celebrity! And I owe it all to Paragon. And they’re looking for muscle tops right now, preferably mature, level-headed guys without sexual hang-ups. I thought of you right away.” I was genuinely flattered. “You did? Thank you,” I said. “I’ve always been curious about porn, honestly… as an actor, I mean. I know that sounds weird…” “No, not weird at all -- we’re not robots. It’s all about creativity -- dude, it’s fun. Give the guy a call and do the initial interview -- everything’s on facetime now… you know, cuz of the COVID, so it’s even easier. I mean, in my day, I had to strip naked and blow the guy…. Kidding, kidding!” He gave me a card -- I thanked him and we elbow-bumped. “Let me know how it goes,” he said, indicating the card. “My number’s on there -- shoot me a text.” “I will, thanks!” I pocketed the card and resumed my set -- he left with his pretty partner, no doubt to fuck. Maybe porn wouldn’t be so bad... ***************************************************************************** “Please select your Virtual Training Coordinator.” There are five different profile pictures to choose from, each a different type -- a lean black guy with mind-blowing abs; a twinky bottom with an impossible bubble butt; a professorial type, all nerdy and neat; a bad boy in his leathers. I pick the one most like me -- a middle-aged, well-muscled bearded guy with a slight roid-gut wearing workout tights that do nothing to hide his prodigious manhood. His blurb reads: “COACH ROD -- great for Jocks and Sports-Gear Fetishes. From straight guys who’ve never sucked a dick to muscle daddies looking to be young again, COACH ROD is for you.” I select “COACH ROD” and a download begins -- I have to give it permission -- finally a pop-up appears with what looks like a FaceTime window with the Coach, a CGI character that seems impressively complex. He’s sitting on the edge of a desk in a locker room/ office -- the place just exudes organized chaos. He picks up a whiteboard and writes on it, then holds it to the camera. “PUT ON THE HEADSET.” “Oh,” I say. I quickly slip the headset on my head and adjust the microphone while I say, “Got it.” “Great,” he replies, his AI voice smooth and rich -- a baritone. “Can you hear me okay? Do I sound clear?” “Yes, I hear you fine -- the volume’s okay.” “Great. Give me a second -- I’m downloading your profile information. We’ll finish filling out your paperwork together and we’ll let my algorithm get to know you a little better, then we’ll work our way through the employee training program. It’ll give us something to do during your two-week quarantine period, right?” “Sure,” I say -- dictating was better than typing anyday. “Seems like kind of a big set-up…” “...for a porn company?” Coach Rod finishes. “Yeah, maybe. I think you’ll find Paragon is the premier studio for a reason -- we treat our people well. Our performers aren’t just assets -- they’re family. It’s too easy in this business to find low self-esteem, drug abuse, burn out, a real use ‘em up and throw ‘em out mentality. Paragon doesn’t have that.” He pauses for just a second, holding up a finger in a “wait a minute” pose. “Okay, I’ve just finished downloading the results of your physical this morning and I’m going to put together a diet/ training program that will better address your needs. You’re in good shape, Dom -- especially for your age -- but you can be significantly better.” When I don’t respond, he looks up into the camera and says, “Problem?” I smile. “I guess I’m just blown away by this technology,” I say. He smiles and touches his muscular body. “Yeah, I’m pretty real, aren’t I? Listen, I’m just an instruction program -- I can be whatever you think you learn best from. Do you want me to change race? Age? Costume? More muscle? Big, shameless cock? Anything that’ll keep you focused. As I get to know you better, I’ll probably refine myself, both in looks and motivational approach, to get the best out of you. We want to launch a successful career for you with Paragon -- that’s always the goal.” “Thanks, Coach,” I say. He laughs. “See? You’re gonna do just fine. Now, let’s start with some basics. I’m gonna ask you a bunch of random questions to get to know you better. Answer honestly -- I’m not going to judge you -- I can’t, I’m just an algorithm right? -- but your truthfulness will matter, so don’t be embarrassed or ashamed, no matter how weird the answer might seem. Okay?” “Go ahead -- shoot!” “You’re gay, right? 100% gay/ 0% straight? Or is there some pussy love in you someplace?” “Well, I fucked my high school girlfriend -- does that count for something? Of course, that was decades ago and I haven’t been with a woman since. So, 100%, yeah.” Coach smiles -- it looks so real. “Top or Bottom?” “Top.” That smile again, as if he knows something. “Percentage?” “If I say a hundred, it doesn’t sound like you’ll believe me, but it pretty much is. I’ve bottomed a couple times but it’s never worked out well.” He hmphs -- a computer hmphs! “Is that because it hurt too much or because it didn’t feel natural?” “Both, I guess. And don’t tell me it’s cuz I haven’t met the right dick, because I assure you, I have! I’m just… not a bottom.” “Okay,” he says, matter of factly. “Being vers will get you more gigs, but maybe if you have other skills. Do you suck cock?” “Uh… yeah, sometimes.” “Do you like it?” “Yeah, it’s okay.” “Are you good?” “Uh… I think I’m okay.” He looks up from his notes into the camera. “Have you ever made a guy cum?” “From a blowjob? No.” “From lacking technique or desire?” “Jesus… these questions.” He smiles a tight smile. “Don’t evade. Answer it -- honestly.” I shake my head as if I’m searching for something to say. “Um… I don’t know.” He nods. “Fair enough. Would you like to watch a training video?” “Excuse me, what? A training video? Are you kidding?” “Of course. Why not? It’s a skill -- and skills can be learned. You learned to ride a bike, right?” “Yeah,” I say, trying to find some way of arguing it. “I guess. It just seems… I’ve never considered...?” A link pops up in a text window below him. “Click on the link,” he says. “We’ll make fun of the acting together afterward!” “Ok, what the hell? I got nothin’ better to do.” “Good man!” I click the link. ******************************************************************************************* You’re in a classroom -- no, it’s a movie set of a classroom -- it appears functional but it’s not real. The teacher sits on the edge of the desk, except he’s clearly not a teacher -- he’s too muscular and tan. Even in his short sleeve dress shirt, his neck ink and forearm tats give him away. Gruffly handsome, his hair and beard are the same shaggy buzz. As he leans against the front of the desk, you see his pants are unzipped and open, revealing his sizeable erection. Aside from you, there are two other boys in the shot. Both are young and handsome, a blond and a brunette in schoolboy uniforms. You are all three on your knees at the feet of the teacher, looking up at him. The brunette is sucking the teacher’s cock while you and the blond look on. You’re in a porn movie, you realize. That makes sense -- just follow the script. “Okay, that’s not bad,” the teacher says. “Work around the base of the glans a little more. Good, good. Like that, yes.” The brunette, confident, attempts to deep throat the “teacher’s” huge cock, but ends up choking and gagging. He backs off immediately, sitting back on his heels. “That’s okay,” the teacher says. “Your eyes are bigger than your throat. That’s why we’re here, to learn. Who’s next? Who wants to give it a try?” He waggles his hard dick. “You?” He looks at you, and you don’t need anything more of an invitation -- his cock is magnificent. (Well, all cocks are magnificent in your eyes -- cockslut!) -- so you shuffle on your knees into a more advantageous position for the camera and you get to work. The script calls for you to be hesitant at first, maybe intimidated -- it’s hard for you to play that when this cock is so clearly suckable -- but you’re an actor, so you do what the director tells you. The “teacher” develops a nice dollop of pre-cum at the tip of his dick as you play with his balls -- he told you right before filming that he’d heard how amazing your mouth was and how much he was looking forward to this scene -- looking into his eyes, you gently lap it off with the tip of your tongue, teasing the slit of his cock for more. Fuck, that’s good! Sweet and slick, it fires you up for more. You grip the base of his shaft with your left hand and begin to roll your tongue around his mushrooming head. “Yes,” he moans. “Very nice.” He begins “instructing” you -- that’s the point of this video, remember -- techniques to stimulate the glans, using the tongue to tickle the very spot where the ends of the glans merge, how to create just enough suction -- this is a swirl, this is a tease, this is how to stimulate the nerve endings -- you demonstrate as he discusses. The whole thing feels very sophomoric to you, you who’s born to suck cock, you who’s such a natural. Without waiting, you plunge deep, taking this spectacular cock into your throat, past your naturally suppressed gag-reflex. You hold your breath and constrict your throat slightly, letting his head run along the soft tissue of your throat. Your tongue is magic. He moans -- loudly. “Yes,” he says. “Very good -- you’re a natural.” You start bobbing your head in a rhythm that grips him, countering that by pulling on his balls. You can tell he’s close -- you’re connected -- it’s a gift you have -- so you decide instead of teasing him and passing him to the blond boy, you’re going to finish him off yourself, this beautiful man and his tasty cock. Who could blame you? You got into porn to show off your skills, after all -- show them! You deep-throat him again and you can actually feel his balls churn. Your mouth races his cum to the tip of his cock -- you pull your head away just in time to have him shoot two long white ropes across your face, then you take his cock back in your mouth and swallow the rest -- your reward. Your drug of choice. You continue sucking him, draining him until there’s no more to get -- what a hunger you have! Little slut. “What a mouth you have!” the teacher praised. “That’s the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten from a Freshman!” You smile, still gripping the base of his dick, and lovingly kiss the head, never breaking eye contact. “I wanna see what he does that’s so great,” the brunette says, standing and revealing his own erection. “Suck my dick!” “No!” complains the blond. “I want him to show me -- I haven’t gotten to do anything yet.” “Don’t worry, boys,” you say, taking one of their cocks in each hand. “I can do this all day!” You suck the knob on one, then switch to the other. They both taste good. “See, boys?” said the teacher, “that’s the kind of cockslut you should aspire to be! You just gotta love it…” And you do -- big cocks, little cocks, thick cocks, bent cocks, heavy cocks, knobby cocks, uncut cocks, hairy cocks, pierced cocks, leaky cocks, old cocks -- you love cocks! Not just having them in your mouth, but pleasing them, pleasuring them, getting them to cum in your mouth… This is an instructional video -- here’s how you get two guys off at the same time. Getting a guy to cum is powerful enough -- getting two guys at once shows you’re a master of technique and desire. When the blond and the brunette are simultaneously shooting their loads across your face, you know what a cockslut you are -- how much you truly love it. The teacher brings your cum-covered face in for a deep, loving kiss. You’re Teacher’s Pet. Fade Out -- End Scene ************************************************************************************************** I wake in the morning to the sun streaming in the window, pleasant and warm, even the cinderblock dorm rooms don’t seem so stark in this light. I’m excited to work out -- my quarantine gym time is from 8-10am, giving me a half hour to have some coffee and smoke a bowl before I have to head down. I do hate working out alone, but it’s way better than not working out at all. (If I had to go through a two-week quarantine with no gym, I think I’d go out of my mind!) As I sip and puff, I scan through my emails. There’s one from Coach Rod -- I’m tickled that my virtual trainer is reaching out to me virtually! (Stoner…) “Hey, Dom,” the email reads, “Check outside your door -- your meal-prep should’ve been delivered by now. I want to bump your training a notch and clean you up a bit before your big film debut! The meals are all labeled -- you’ll have six today -- you’ll see the consumption times on there, too! All good stuff -- I made it myself (haha). “Reply to this email to let me know it’s received and understood and I’ll see you at your Noon Training Session with me. In the meantime, enjoy the gym! Coach Rod.” This is so weird -- I respond so. Outside the door is a cooler with a stack of prepped meal containers. I bring it in the room and transfer the meals to my mini-fridge (but for the one I’m scheduled to eat) and then put the cooler back in the hallway. I continue to be surprised at the budget of Paragon -- this seems a long way to go just to film some pornography. Don’t people make that stuff on their iphones? Whatever -- I’ll enjoy the pampering when it’s offered. I could really use a cock. This quarantine has gotten me horny -- it’s been too long since I’ve had a cock in my mouth. (Hard to believe about a little cockslut like me! I can’t fucking WAIT to finally film and get some fucking relief!) I’d suck on a dildo, I want one in my mouth so bad, but I don’t own one. Fuck! Great time to be a top with an oral fixation. I eat my boring meal of egg-whites and oatmeal and then dress quickly for the gym, baggy shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. It’s a nice gym and I have an intense workout -- I think of all the people in quarantine without access to a gym -- I’m pumped and gently flexing in the mirrors when I notice someone in the pool on the other side of the glass wall. It’s the first time I’ve seen a live person in three days… ...and already I’m aching to suck his dick. He’s doing laps in the pool, lean and athletic, smooth and practiced. His back and arms are muscular and well-defined, strong but not big. I’m watching him swim back and forth and I’m gently touching myself. Shameful -- but I'm isolation-level horny, so it’s understandable. I watch him for a good five minutes before he finally finishes and pulls himself out of the water, his back to me. A scruffy-bearded redhead, wearing a neon green speedo, his ass is beyond spectacular. As he walks down the deck, he has to reach in his suit and adjust himself -- he’s not hurting in the front, either. What a beautiful, lithe body, not an ounce of fat on him! Is he a fellow actor? Dear God, let him be a fellow actor!!! As he disappears into the locker room, I bring myself back to reality. Damn, I’m horny -- I’m fucking hard watching a guy swim, wishing once again that I’d been on the swim team in high school. Anyway, enough regrets, time for my Training Session. ****************************************************************************** “How’d your workout go?” “Great! I must say, I was feeling kind of bad about having this incredible gym available while the rest of the country’s on lockdown.” The coach coaxes. “But…” “But then I get these great pumps and I get over it.” “You like showing off.” I laugh. “I’m not sure I’d make it a statement like that -- I mean, I like getting looked at. It took me a long time to get up the nerve to compete, though.” “But you’ve been an actor for years -- you’re comfortable on stage.” “Oh, I think that’s what helped my win, don’t get me wrong. But when you’re an actor, you’re playing a role. When you’re onstage in a tiny little poser in a bodybuilding, you’re you, as emotionally naked as you are physically -- it’s way different.” “Would you do it again?” “I don’t know. I mean, the dieting is hell and the shaving is endless… I mean, maybe. I don’t know.” Coach Rod smiles. “What if you had a really big dick that barely fit in your posers?” I laugh. “Everything’s a porn movie to you AI-generated training programs, isn’t it?” “And you evade answers by making jokes.” I think for a second -- how to phrase this? “What man wouldn’t?” I ask. “What man wouldn’t want a really big dick that barely fits in his posers?” “How big?” I laugh. “Porn-star big!” “That’s limited,” Coach Rod says. “Free associate. How big?” “I don’t know -- hyper-masculine, Tom-of-Finland big, ridiculous and seductive, impossible yet challenging, tempting but worrisome -- every teenage boy’s transformation-fantasy big! That’s what I mean. Or do you need numbers?” “No, no. You’ve given me plenty to work with. Let’s communicate with the medical staff and see what’s possible…” “Excuse me, what?” I sit up in my desk chair, nearly choking on my protein shake. “‘What’s possible?’ Did I hear you correctly? They can… do that?” Coach Rod laughs. “You’re asking that of an AI program.” “Which means?” “Which means they can do lots of stuff that used to not be possible.” “A porn company?” “A worldwide adult entertainment juggernaut with a reputation for incredible men with incredible abilities with which you’re entering an exclusive contract. They -- via me -- will drive you to be the best product you can be. Stick with it and I promise you’ll be very well taken care of. All you need to do is look good and fuck guys -- there are worse jobs.” “True...” “Do you have any idea how many men would kill for this opportunity? Do you know how lucky you are, to be entering off the street with no experience into this field at this level?” “I wonder if that’s what my high school guidance counselor would say?” He holds up a finger in a “wait a minute” gesture. “Your high school guidance counselor was Jonathan Witek -- he retired in 2018. By tracing his credit information, I see he has purchased Paragon’s online content for the last six years. He responds to movies about young twinks who turn the tables on and top their authority figures.” “Oh my God…” “With this in mind, we can surmise that he’d approve of your career choice. Perhaps he’ll even be a fan?” “This just gets weirder and weirder.” “Or better and better. Now, you’re scheduled to check in with the medic at 1pm -- you remember where that is, right?” (A facility map appears on the screen with an animated trail that leads from your dorm room to the medical center in the basement.) “I got it.” Coach reappears on screen and blows me a kiss. “Go get ‘em!” he says, smiling. “We’ll talk about doing a video when you get back.” “Okay -- peace.” The box goes blank -- Coach has “signed off”. ************************************************************************************ The medic is dressed in a blue Hazmat suit, which seems a little overboard for me -- his face is shielded and he’s masked beneath. I can only see his eyes, so I wouldn’t be able to identify him if I saw him naked. (I wonder what kind of dick he has?) He’s pleasant enough, but nowhere near the conversationalist my AI-generated Coach is. I try to engage him in conversation as he swabs my nose. “I think you scraped my brain,” I joke as he removes the swab. I can’t tell if he’s amused or not through his mask. “A lot of guys say that,” he responds. “I have to do it that hard.” I smile. “That’s what guys always say.” Nothing. I’m sitting in a chair that reminds me more of the dentist than a medic, but it’s comfortable. The medic sets up an IV for me, puts the needle in my forearm and tapes it in place. As he’s satisfied with the drip, he returns to my chart and reads it over. “Oh,” he says as he spots something he hadn’t seen before. “Says here you’re scheduled for some gential enhancements. Wanna get that started now?” I’m not sure how to take that information -- I’d barely mentioned it to Coach Rod a half an hour ago and here I am. “Sure,” I say, shrugging, not really believing him. “Why not? What have I got going on?” He goes to a cabinet and removes a device that’s connected to a bunch of tubes. It reminds me of a cock-pump, except it’s significantly larger, like it would hold everything. “You’re not wearing underwear, are you?” “Beneath my paper gown? What kind of porn star would I be?” I’m right, the whole of my genitals go inside the tube -- it really has a shape more like a swollen package, not just a cock -- lifting my paper examination gown, he begins sliding the pump on me without asking permission. It creates a seal around the base of my groin like a cock ring -- he then connects the hoses and power cords to a small USB port next to the examination chair. He pulls a pre-loaded syringe from a drawer and injects the contents into my IV. “This is gonna take about an hour or so to run the complete program,” he says in a way that sounds almost bored, like he’s done it a thousand times. “Would you like to watch a video?” “Oh, sure!” I say as he pulls out a VR-headset front he cabinet. “What you got?” He helps me put the headset on and insert the ear plugs. “You’ll like this,” he says as he presses a key on his pad. Just as the video starts, I can feel the suction begin on my groin. Oh damn, I think. This is gonna be good. ****************************************************************************************** You’re onstage at a bodybuilding contest -- no, it’s the set of a movie -- there’s no audience (they use cutaway shots and SFX for audience reactions), only a camera crew. You’re pumped and primed and crammed into your posers, the tiny pouch barely holds all of you, stretched as it is -- the root of your cock is plainly visible. You’re in the final posedown with the other men of your weight-class. The guy on your right is trouble, a big Russian with a back as wide as the Asian continent -- he’s blocky, though -- thick. He doesn’t have your natural aesthetic, your height. Or your huge package. You can’t help your genetics. When you were in high school, going through puberty, having a dick the size of yours made you feel self-conscious -- none of the other boys had dicks as big as yours. It made you feel a little freakish -- especially on the swim team! Perhaps because your balls were so oversized -- goose eggs at 14 -- you put on muscle easily. You started working with a coach and trainer because the owner of the gym saw your potential and you did your first contest at 19 -- you took the Open and the Teen Class! That posing would cause you to get hard was the challenge. Flexing would always get you hard. Your posing coach laughed it off at first -- “You get off on showing off!” he’d say, patting your shoulder as the two of you looked in the mirror and tried to ignore your rod. “You just can’t hide it as easy as some guys!” Even now, all these years later, flexing for others has the same effect on you -- it’s one of the reasons you stopped competing so much. Difficult enough to get past the “does he stuff his posers” memes online -- which secretly turn you on -- but as you got into the muscle worship scene (and started making some serious bank from it), you realized your flexing fetish got you bookings by the score! And sponsors (mostly underwear companies)! And now… movies! You and the big Russian with the acne-scarred back start the posedown. The third guy in the lineup -- the guy on your left -- he’s not even show-worthy, bulky, but with a thick, round ass that can’t be contained in his posers. So you start flexing for the “audience”, for each other, for yourself, and you feel your cock start to come to life, as it always does. Double-bis, to get attention, then you start flexing your legs. You shake your relaxed quad muscle then slap it and flex it hard at the same time, but this is just an excuse for the camera to get your growing cock in the shot and you know it. The big Russian plays along, jamming his leg up against yours and doing the same bit. You can see him checking you out -- his little dick gives him away. He runs his hands down the front of your flexed quad and he makes an “impressed” face. You flex your bicep and let him feel that, too. Meanwhile, your cock grows harder, already testing the limits of its spandex container. The other guy tries to jump in front and do some squat poses, low to the ground, aching for some camera time, some audience recognition. Both you and the Russian ignore him and turn around to do lat spreads. Going from that pose to back double-bi is what causes your cock to pop out of your trunks, the one thing you’ve always worried would happen in actual competition. It’s strangely liberating, letting it go, not able to stop it. You can still feel your balls contained by the strap, but your cock is free, bouncing up as you hold your pose -- when you turn around, the audience screams, -- or maybe you just hear that in your head (it’s a movie, isn’t it?). It doesn’t matter -- you continue your show, fluidly moving from pose to pose as your cock rises to full mast, its head just above your belly-button. The big Russian is hard as well, though his dick is contained in his strained posers. He faces you and, with a smirk on his face, begins punching your pecs. The other guy is on his knees, running his tongue up the grooves in your thigh, nuzzling your bull ball-sac. From your position, you can see his lower back tattoo -- above that magnificent ass -- of two powerful wings. The Russian is behind you, reaching around, running his hand down your cobbled abs, purposefully -- teasingly -- avoiding your huge cock. He pinches your nipples as you continue to flex. And that’s what makes you cum! You don’t even touch your cock -- your arms are up in a double-bis -- but you shoot a massive load anyway. So hard and far it hits the camera lens -- stripes of it coat the face of the guy on his knees and you can tell he’s loving it (and aching to get some of it in his hot hole). The big Russian is standing there pounding his cock. You flex a “Most Muscular” in his face and he shoots his load, which the other guy is more than eager to lap up. You and the Russian make out, feeling each other’s bodies as the other guy kneels there and shoots his load for the camera -- he doesn’t matter. Your cock is the star. ************************************************************************************* Another fantastic workout -- I’m gonna have to be careful or I’m gonna become a regular morning gym guy, even when my contract is up here. What am I now? Eight days into a fourteen day quarantine? Certainly no one could look at me and think me in any way unhealthy. My body is amazing! The training regime, the dietary control, and whatever they’re giving me supplementally in those IV’s is taking my physique to a whole different level. I look so good right now that I hate that no one is seeing me. I haven’t announced what I’m doing on IG yet, but I have put up some thirsty shots after my last few workouts. I’m getting a fuck-ton of hits, not to mention all the people trying to slide into my DM’s. I admit to feeling the slightest bit guilty about my gym access with everyone else on lockdown, so I don’t post videos of workouts like I’d like. For the sake of ease, I pretend I’m working out at home like everyone else. For my chest training today, I’m wearing a red stringer that scoops so low as to show off the entirety of my deep cleavage and a pair of spandex short-shorts, which barely -- BARELY -- cover my oversized package. It looks as though any second my gigantic cock is going to pop out, or flop out, or just wear the material down and tear out. I love being a tease with it -- I know what cockhounds guys are. (At least, I know what a cockhound I am -- and if I saw someone with a cock as hot as mine, I’d be all over him, too. I can’t blame them.) I’ve been dealing with it since being on the high school swim team, learning how to keep it in my Speedos. My gigantic cock -- my gorgeous, gigantic cock. And my swollen bull balls. That’s what got me here to Paragon, right? Austin saw me in my contest and thought, the way my package crammed my posers, I should be in porn! How right he is! Squeezing out the last few reps of cable crossovers, in the reflection of the mirror I can see the glass wall that separates the gym from the pool. I know he’s over there -- I’ve seen him doing laps in the corner of my eye -- that beautiful red-haired boy. So I waddle over to the glass wall and watch him swim. I can see myself in the reflection of the glass, so I practice posing -- my chest looks amazing! It doesn’t take more than a few poses for my dick to start to come to life. Whatever -- I fuckin’ love posing! As my erection starts to get obvious, the red-haired boy gets out of the pool. This time exiting on the side facing the glass wall, so I can see his front, which is just as spectacular as his back. He’s probably 5’10” 190 or so, rips so sharp his abs could cut someone. He wears a pair of black jammers so low on his tight hips that they expose his entire deeply grooved iliac furrow -- called the Adonis Belt -- and rest just above his cock, across his groomed pubis. Other than that and his scruffy beard, he’s completely hairless. Pulling himself up out of the pool, he doesn’t see me until he’s standing, shaking the water from his head. We make eye contact and he smiles an easy, genuine smile. Gorgeous. I smile back, knowing he’s seeing the erection he’s given me -- with my cock (in spandex) it’s a little more than obvious. I salute and wave -- he waves back. We can’t hear each other, so after a few awkward moments of staring, he points to his eyes, then points to me, then waves, heading off toward the locker room -- allowing me to see that ass again. Fuck that guy’s hot. Please, please, please, gods of pornography, let him be my scene-partner. Fucking six more days!!! ************************************************************************************************ Over the last few days, I’ve noticed that Coach Rod has gained some size, especially through his chest and traps (and some big, obvious nipples) -- he’s also dressed more provocatively lately, as if he’s purposefully exploiting my spandex fetish. He’s an AI program, I think. He’s clearly adapting to me -- right? “Coach,” I ask, “who picks what you’re wearing?” He smiles. “You can if you want. Click on this link…” (one appears in the text box) “...and you can pick specific items, or you can just tell me a genre or style and I can work from there. You respond best when I’m wearing spandex.” I laugh. “I know. Feel free to wear as many singlets or posers as you want.” “You got it!” “Tell me something,” I say as I act casual about getting my meal ready, “there’s a hot redhead who’s been swimming laps while I’m training. Do you know who that is?” Coach smiles -- if I didn’t know better, I’d say a knowing smile -- and he says, “Hold on -- let me check the schedule… oh, yeah! Eddie -- Eddie Ginger.” “Eddie GINGER…?” “His stage name. Which reminds me, we need to finalize YOUR stage name…” “Yeah, yeah. Tell me about Eddie Ginger instead.” Coach can’t stop smiling. “Do you like him?” “Of course I like him,” I say. “He’s fucking hot as fuck and I’m horny as a motherfucker! I’m so over this quarantine right now -- you have no idea! I swear to God I’m gonna stick my cock in the first hole I come across and pound on it like I’ve never fucked before!” “Then you’ll be happy to know Eddie’s your first scene partner.” I’m shocked. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “That beautiful boy? That beautiful, twenty-something boy is my first scene partner? Oh, fuck, look at this… my cock is already getting hard. I’m never gonna make five more days…” “Eddie’s a really nice guy -- and one of our top-sellers! He moves more units than the next three featured bottoms put together -- you’re very lucky, Dom. Working with him, you’re bound to get exposure.” “How did I win this golden ticket?” I ask. “I’ve always heard the porn industry chews ‘em up and spits ‘em out. As an actor, that’s what’s kept me AWAY from porn all these years! If I thought this were possible…” “Working your way up from the bottom is very hard,” Coach says. “That’s where there’s likely to be use and abuse -- guys who are desperate or addicted or lost -- very few make it out of that. Some are lucky -- they know the right people or they manage their online presence well enough -- but most blossom and die without rising to the level of Porn Star. In some ways, it’s just like Hollywood, right? And you? You got a feature film on a referral -- and that’s gonna piss so many people off. This guy appears out of nowhere and becomes a huge star -- it’s the American Porn Dream come true! It’s just perfect! If only we could finagle you into having been straight before we hired you… that’d be the Porn Hat Trick!” He laughs at his own joke -- how odd that AI can entertain itself. I shrug. “Sorry,” I say. “Can’t help it -- I like cock too much.” “Especially your own!” I laugh with my usual confidence. “Of course -- you know what I’m packing! And you know I love showing it off! You should’ve seen me in the locker rooms in high school -- stupid straight boys standing there with their jaws agape as I wagged my cock out of my Speedo. Do you have any idea how many teenage circle-jerk cock-worshipping scenes I started? Paragon should’ve filmed those!” “Speaking of which, shall we work on a masturbation video today? The one you did yesterday -- the one where you were standing there spinning your cock around like a tassel? -- the producers LOVED that!” “They did?” I ask excitedly. “They saw it? I thought we were just playing around?” Coach Rod was matter-of-fact. “It was good,” he said. “Part of my programming is to alert the producers to content that stands out. Especially from the newbies. They’ve invested a lot in you -- there’s no harm in showing them their money’s not wasted.” I shrug. “I suppose not. I just… I wasn’t being serious.” “That’s what they liked about it -- it had personality. It was obvious how much you enjoy your cock -- that came across very clearly. So let’s make another. I think we should do a seated one this time, so we can really focus on it. What do you think?” “I’m totally in,” I say, flopping down in the chair in front of the camera. “When do we start?” ************************************************************************************** As the video opens, you’re sitting back in a chair -- the camera is at a high angle, looking down, probably not a laptop -- you barely fit in frame, the focus is so tight, your muscles are so pumped. You wear a black baseball cap and a tan-colored thong that could easily be mistaken for nothing if seen out of the side of someone’s eye at the beach. You prefer thongs to jocks -- hung as you are, you prefer the freedom of a thong rather than the tight compression of a jockstrap. You’ll wear whatever the client wants, of course, but you prefer the aesthetic of a thong if given a choice. As you sit back in the chair, you give the audience a chance to appreciate your body, your size, your cuts, your ridiculous abs and obliques. The angle in which you sit, leaning back like this keeps your abs flexed without any effort at all -- you reach your arms above your head and stretch -- so seductive. You know the audience’s eyes are sliding down your torso and focusing on your insane dick -- you’ve done that move before. You flex your pecs, bouncing them slowly back and forth while staring at the camera -- your expression says “come get ‘em” -- but when you play with your bare, pink nipples, pinching them just slightly, your cock comes to life. That’s what everyone’s here to see, anyway -- heck, you’re just the co-star and you know it -- so you allow your cock to grow, quickly filling the confines of the lycra pouch. Keeping one hand on your nipple, you allow the other to trace down the heavy grooves of your abs -- the look on your face, amazed at your own development -- until your fingers land on the top edge of your smooth pubis, slipping along the band of your thong, which itself barely covers the root of your cock. A cock that keeps hardening, seeking escape. Palm down, you slip your fingers under the band of your thong, two on one side of your cock, two on the other, and you waggle the pouch back and forth, slipping the front down the lengthening shaft. Your cock seems to inflate as it’s exposed, like yeast in dough, until the only thing keeping it from springing out to its full glory is the head, still trapped in the pouch of the thong. You put your arms back behind your head, again flexing your impossible abs and weaving your hips back and forth, which makes your trapped cock’s struggle obvious as it aches for freedom. The look on your face seems to expect the viewer to jump through the screen and do just that -- set that beautiful cock loose! Finally, the material loses the battle and your cock pops out, arcs up and over, and slaps loudly on your tight abs, just above your navel, thick and full and near fully erect -- your balls are still in the pouch, so you pull the band down with one hand, pull your goose-eggs out with the other, and let the band slip behind them, the elastic helping to elevate and keep them in frame (for their fans)! You play with your nips again, which causes your cock to thrash about, seeking attention -- it’s nearly twelve inches long, coke-can thick, gorgeous and intimidating at the same time. A pearl white dollop of pre-cum forms at the tip -- you push your cock to the camera, offering it to the audience, then you bend down and actually lick it off yourself. You can put your own cock in your mouth! You start jacking it then, showing us how one hand can barely reach around the root of the thing. It takes both: one to stroke the upper cock, to encompass the head, and the other to work the thick root. It’s a technique you’ve mastered through the years and it’s somewhat hypnotic to watch, the same way a snake charmer tames a cobra. You’ve been jerking this bad boy off for an audience since the locker room on the high school swim team, getting off on the cheering when you’d cum, much less the endless college frat parties where you discovered real big-dick energy, where you learned a cock like you had could get you what you wanted. All you had to do was know how to use it. And you learned how to use it. Happily, it’s never made you cynical, or contemptuous -- you love cock too much. And even if everyone isn’t as lucky as you, a cock is a thing of beauty -- and they all deserve a little love -- big cocks, little cocks, thick cocks, bent cocks, heavy cocks, knobby cocks, uncut cocks, hairy cocks, pierced cocks, leaky cocks, old cocks. And now your cock, the grandest of them all, which is about to shoot. If their volume is up, they can hear the change in your breathing, as your body tries to get enough oxygen to power this explosion. Just as you’re about to shoot, you pull your hands away, revealing the magnificence of your fully erect unit, and the audience can see your balls churn just before two huge ropes of cum blow out of your cock, leaving streaks across your face. You get your mouth open for the third one, catching a great lot of it on your tongue -- you roll your eyes as if you’ve tasted meade. With your right hand, you slowly stroke the base again, allowing the burbling lava that is your cum to continue to spew from the head, coating itself in its own volume, running down the grooves of your abs to gather via the cum gutters of your adonis belt. Once again, you look in the camera, as if the audience is challenging you, and you lean over and flat tongue the tip of your cock, licking an ice cream cone’s amount of cum and swallowing in bliss. You wipe the rest off with the two fingers of your right hand, kiss those fingers, then use them to flash a peace-sign to the audience. The video fades out. ***************************************************************************************** Finally, I wake on the day my quarantine ends! The heavy focus on training and diet have me in incredible condition -- especially for a guy who’s forty -- I look amazing, better than when I’d competed! I’m not as tan as I’d like to be, but my cuts are totally visible and obvious, so I’m not stressed. On the bed, I’ve spread out a bunch of posers and jocks and a couple singlets -- I don’t know what the director’s going to want for the shoot today, so I figure I’ll bring options. Maybe Coach’ll have an opinion -- an AI opinion.... I open my laptop and Coach’s window pops up. He’s a monster now, a freak -- his muscles are so swollen, his body would be barely functional if it existed in real life. Still, he’s managed to squeeze that bulk into the barest of singlets -- an old-school 80’s low-cut, revealing nearly everything. He’s also a redhead, but I choose to ignore that. “Good morning, Dom!” he says with a smile, adjusting his substantial package. “You must be excited to shoot today!” “I am!” I say, mirroring him. “I’m trying to decide what I’ll bring to wear.” “I wouldn’t worry,” he says. “I’m pretty sure for most of it, you’ll be naked.” I smile indulgently. “I gotta start somewhere.” “This is casual -- jeans and a loose t-shirt. This is a ‘buddy-shoot’ -- they’re just testing for chemistry, experience, awareness. It’s not a ‘scene’ -- that usually has a script, or an intent. This is just two guys getting to know each other. It’s easy!” “Easy for you to say,” I say. “I’m horny as fuck. I’m liable to blow the minute we shake hands!” “I doubt it,” he says confidently. “You’ll remember your training.” “So what if I suck or something -- what if I can’t cum or I’m terrible? Will they ship me out? After all this?” He laughs indulgently. “That won’t happen. Believe me, you’re ready. I’ve had two weeks with you -- normally, I get one long Saturday to do it all. The quarantine has been great for us in that regard. You’re here in our bubble for the next six weeks to shoot a shit-ton of content. After that, we’ll reevaluate your contract and go from there -- to be transparent, most of our models choose to stay here in the bubble and continue to shoot. I mean, why not? Unlike the rest of California, you get access to a gym during lockdown.” I chuckle. “That would piss a lot of people off.” He pinches his nipple. “All the more reason.” Ultimately, we settle on my blue posers (just cuz I don’t like the look of my cock down the leg of my pants -- too obvious) under jeans. I prefer a big bulge. On top, I wear a loose, scoop-neck t-shirt, which does display my cleavage, but whatever. My scruff is trimmed and my pump is obvious as I proceed to the studio in the basement. We’re filming in studio 2B, one of the smaller, more “intimate” studios -- I can see a gym set and a dungeon set as I walk along -- I’m so excited! As I enter, there are three people already present -- it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen live people, even longer since I’ve seen people without masks within six feet of each other -- the cameraman is obvious as he tinkers with equipment, setting lights, and running cables. He looks to be about my age, though in nowhere near as good condition, wearing a backwards baseball cap. The other two are talking quietly together. One is the gorgeous redhead from the pool, now wearing jeans and a tank top, and the other is who I assume is the Director. He’s a handsome man in his mid-thirties, slightly stout but not chubby in his tight black jeans and his loose flowered top. When I enter, they both turn and see me -- smiles break out on their faces. “Big Daddy!” the guy I assume is the director says. “You found us!” I smile -- I was loving my stage name: Big Daddy Domenic -- or Big Daddy Dom. (C’mon -- that’s damn funny. And isn’t porn built on puns?) “Yeah,” I laugh. “I followed the breadcrumbs.” The redhead smirks and adds, “No surprise -- they were coated with pheromones.” We all laugh together -- I’m instantly at ease, even if I’m crushing harder than ever. “I’m Michael McFly,” the Director says, extending his hand to shake. (“Why wouldn’t the director have a stupid stage name in porn like everyone else?” I think, shaking it.) “I’m so excited to be talking to human beings!” I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “For the last few weeks, I’ve just been spying on people through glass walls.” The redhead laughs, knowing I mean the joke for him. “And this is Eddie Ginger,” the Director says, indicating what I already knew. I hold out my hand to Eddie and instead of shaking it, he hugs me, a warm and genuine gesture. He’s firm but gentle and he smells of clean soap and freshness -- my cock plumps immediately -- I know he can feel it. “Nice to finally meet,” he says quietly in my ear. “I’m excited to film with you.” “So am I,” I whisper back, inadvertently pressing my package against him. “Obviously.” He laughs and slaps my ass as he steps back. “We’re gonna have fun, Dom,” he says, smiling. “It won’t even feel like your first time.” The Director McFly jumps in. “You’re not nervous?” he asks me, gripping my arm around the tricep. “There’s no need for that -- Eddie’s a pro!” “No, no,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I’m excited, not nervous. Excited.” McFly glanced at my package. “So we see,” he says, flicking his eyebrows. I may’ve reddened, a little embarrassed, but Eddie seems to find that adorable! Aside from the camera equipment, there’s only a sectional sofa with a daybed, flat and clean and decorated with a few throws. The walls are industrial gray and bare -- nothing to pull the eye -- but the lights are warm, pink and soft. The Director has us sit on the sectional while he and the cameraman adjust lights and sound. Eddie makes small talk with me about my quarantine and how he finds it funny that we spied each other through the wall -- he says he went back to his room and jerked off. I’m starting to get hard again when the Director says, “All right, looks like we’re ready to get rolling. You guys ready?” “Yeah!” Eddie says excitedly. “Sure am!” I say, ready for anything. “All right, gentlemen, let’s have some fun -- and… ACTION!” And the moment he says “ACTION” I feel dizzy… something deep... ************************************************************************************************* You’re on the set of a porn movie -- there’s only a sectional sofa in frame. You share this sofa with an incredibly hot redhead, sleek and muscular, with cream-colored skin and the small remains of the tan freckles of his youth. He wears comfortable jeans and a red tank top with a unicorn printed on it -- you’re in jeans and a loose low-cut t-shirt, humble-bragging on your ample cleavage. DIRECTOR’S VOICE (off-camera): Hey, everybody! Welcome to another Paragon Porn First Timer Video. We have the always incredible Eddie Ginger with us today as our experienced model. Eddie waves to the camera. “Hi!” he says, smiling. “Been a hot minute since we’ve filmed.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: And he’s joined today by our newbie, Big Daddy Dom, right? You laugh. “Yeah,” you say. “Domenic Luger. Just Dom is fine.” “Oh, but I like Big Daddy,” says Eddie, punching you in the arm. You smile at him. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: And Dom, this is your first time doing something like this? You look around nervously, glancing into the camera. “Yeah,” you say, with a bit of an enigmatic smile. “But I’m looking forward to it.” “Me, too!” Eddie chimes in, patting your knee. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: So you’ve never sucked a dick before? You act embarrassed. “No,” you lie. “I mean, guys have sucked mine -- guys have BEGGED to suck mine -- but I’ve never…” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: But you’re gonna try today? You look at Eddie enthusiastically -- VERY enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah,” you say, trying not to smile. “Looking forward to it.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Well, maybe you guys should do your first kiss. The two of you glance at each other like you approve the idea -- small, teasing smiles -- he slides across the sofa to be closer to you. You wrap your upstage hand around his neck and gently pull him in -- he allows this, already submitting to you. His lips are soft, gentle but confident -- his kiss is more tender than you expect, a little playful, too -- surprisingly intimate. You kiss lightly a few more times, then you finally go in for something a little more serious. Already you feel a connection. As you pull apart, you both mumble “Wow!” and then laugh -- he falls into your arms and you begin kissing a little more seriously. “Take this off,” you say, pulling his tank slightly. He strips it off, exposing his defined torso and his puffy pink nipples -- his abs are so cut and sweet, small little veins evident across his thin skin. “Damn,” you say, running your hand up along his strong core until it ends up cupping his pec and squeezing his nipple -- he gasps. “Look at you and your hot body…” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Yeah, but Dom, show him YOUR abs! “But I just got off a show,” you say, raising your arms so Eddie could remove your shirt. “So it’s not completely fair…” “Holy shit,” Eddie says as he reveals your abs. “Holy shit -- you praise ME? Dude, LOOK at these abs -- eight pack?” You smirk. “Very early in the morning, before I’ve eaten, yes.” He removes the shirt and you flex for him (which always turns you on.) You bounce your pecs, which makes him flat-palm your chest -- he’s smiling a gleeful grin, clearly enjoying himself touching you. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: You said you just came off a show? A bodybuilding contest? “Yeah,” you say, continuing to flex for Eddie. He’s feeling the peak of your bicep right now. “I compete in what’s called ‘Classic Bodybuilding’ -- we don’t go as big as the freaks.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: You look very big. “Everything’s very big,” you tease, winking obviously. You indicate your jeans to Eddie. “Help me get these things off.” You both stand, you and Eddie kissing as he unbuttons the waist and fly of your jeans. You keep your hands behind your head and your abs flexed as he opens the waist, revealing the blue poser you’re wearing beneath. “Sexy,” he says, gently pulling the waistband of the posers, then getting back to work on the jeans. He has a hard time getting them down over your thighs -- and you don’t help him by keeping them flexed so he has to struggle. You love to tease. “Damn,” he says, smiling. “You weren’t kidding everything’s big!” “Big thighs is why I’m a bodybuilder, not a physique competitor. Pull ‘em like you mean it!” His tugging makes your package flop around, which you love. Finally, he gets them down to your ankles and you step out of them -- he remains kneeling. “Holy shit,” Eddie says, eye-level with your pouch. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Do you have to have those specially made? You smirk, adjusting yourself. “Yeah, I can barely squeeze myself into the standard ones -- though I like trying! I worry that one day I’m gonna be onstage and pop right out.” Eddie strokes your thighs and gently grips your hamstrings as he nuzzles into your package. He then licks his tongue up your spandex-fighting cock until he gets to the root, itself barely covered by the waistband of the poser. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: That would make a good movie. Would you mind flexing for us? “Not at all,” you say, and you begin your routine. Flexing has always turned you on -- it’s your favorite part of the sport, certainly not the training! No, it’s listening to the audience screaming, seeing the disbelief and awe in their faces, the desire, the envy. Of course you get hard when you flex. And Eddie is right there, worshipping away, stroking and punching and feeling everything he can, imprinting it onto his fantasies. Facing him, you do an ab/thigh pose, so he can see your half-hard monster straining, yearning for escape. He takes the bait, gripping the waistband with both hands and slowly pulling it down, revealing the entirety of your beautiful cock. When the head pops out, it swings up and swats him on his fuzzy chin. He grins broadly and kisses the head, as you step out of your posers. “Oh, yeah,” Eddie mumbles as he takes it in his mouth -- or as much as he can, which is a surprising amount (more than half). He pulls back and spits to help lube it, then wraps a hand around the base to stroke while he sucks. He’s got a good mouth -- well, he should. (He’s a professional.) More, he’s not afraid of your balls, big as they are. He squeezes and strokes and gently pulls on them, accenting the pleasure he gives to your cock. Adding to your enjoyment, you begin to pinch your ample nipples. You expected to lose track of the camera, to forget it’s there and just focus on your technique. But it’s just the opposite, you’re very aware of the camera -- it’s like you’re showing off for it, opening up angles for better views, making love to it. You know the camera loves your flexed abs as you lean slightly back to make a better picture, the swollen cum-gutters taking the focus right to your magnificent cock, which Eddie slaves away on. He’s got you on the edge and he knows it -- you can see the glint in this eye -- but it’s way too early to cum, horny as you are. No, you want a taste of him first. As he pulls off your cock to catch his breath, you pull him up into a kiss. He wraps his arms around your neck, allowing you both hands free to open his pants. Turning his back to the camera, you slide your hands down over the cakes of his ass and bring his jeans with them, giving a clear shot of his spectacular bubble butt. Spinning him around, you seat him on the sectional and pull his jeans off him -- he leans back, straightening his legs and flexing his own fine abs. He’s got a beautiful cock, uncut, maybe eight-and-a-half inches, pretty pink head -- he leaks precum. You kneel between his legs and kiss him deeply -- it’s hard for him to resist the urge to wrap his legs around your torso, but he does make a show of embracing you with them, gorgeous muscular limbs. You bite his fuzzy little chin, then kiss his neck, working your way down his beautiful body, his pale skin and bright pink nipples (which you make a show of working), then you’re licking HIS abs, defined and obvious, even if not as developed as your own. Finally, you’re at the trimmed little patch of auburn pubes and you can feel his hard cock stroking your cheek as you kiss the base of it. As an actor, you’d like to continue the charade of having never sucked a cock before, but your own internal horniness casts that aside quickly. You’re on his cock like a whore on crack, the sweet taste of precum your drug of choice. It’s no small cock -- Eddie’s a porn-star, remember -- and whether a bottom or not, it’s a nice piece. You’ve been dying for a cock, much less a nice cock, much less THIS fantasy cock for a while now! You’re conflicted about taking your time and savoring the moment or just banging out a desperate load then going for the slow cook on the second. But then you remember teasing the camera is your job, so you make a show of it. It’s possible that Eddie’s that good an actor, but his reactions seem very real, as if he’s legitimately turned on by what you’re doing. You’ve no reason to doubt it -- you are. Fuck, you’re so turned on, living this fantasy cum true, that you never want to step out of your filming bubble. You’ll stay here forever fucking hot guys for fun and profit. (You already want a scene with Austin to thank him.) And then you’re just deep-throating him and going to town, bobbing your head effortlessly on his beautiful dick -- how happy you are to have a cock in your mouth again! The sheer joy of that drowns out any thought of pacing for the camera or making the moment last -- you’re too eager to make this beauty cum! For his part, Eddie moans and rolls his head. He’s up on his elbows, leaning back, so he can look down across his flexed abs at your effort -- he’s supposed to be the “experienced” guy, remember? “I’m gonna shoot,” he moans, as you tug his balls. “Oh, Big Daddy, I’m gonna shoot!” You pull your mouth off his cock, still stroking the base, just in time for him to orgasm, the first volley hitting you right on your tongue. You deep-throat him and he screams, thrusting into your mouth. You flat-tongue his big dick, showing the camera how much cum he produced, and just swallow it all. “Oh, fuck, Big Daddy,” he mumbles. “Oh, fuck…” You advance onto the sectional and kiss him, sharing his taste. Then, in a semi-push-up position, you continue to slide up his body, until he’s face to face with your monster cock. He takes the head of yours in his mouth and you begin doing push-ups, slowly dipping your cock into his mouth, then rising back up. The camera loves your muscular back. You sit back onto his torso, putting his arms under your knees in a wrestling school-boy pin. The tip of your erect cock rests on his chin -- he only has to slightly lift his head to get it in his mouth, which he does. “You want it, pretty boy?” you ask, tapping the head of your cock on his lush pink lips. “You want Daddy’s big load?” “Yes,” he answers, trying to lick your cock with the tip of his tongue. “Please, gimme it! Please!” It takes little more than a few tugs and you can feel your big balls churn. “Here you go, Eddie,” you say as you release your cock and flex a double-bis just as you begin your orgasm. Your first shot crosses his entire face, but he gets his mouth open for the second one. But you don’t stop -- it’s been too long. You just keep shooting and shooting, volleys that just coat the redhead’s pretty face. You’re panting as your finish, releasing him from your hold. As he sits up, the two of you kiss, your cum running down his face -- you snowball it back and forth, as you wipe the rest of him clean with your hand. The two of you are laughing about the amount. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: A-a-a-a-and CUT! The moment he says “CUT”, you feel dizzy… something deep… ******************************************************************************************************* Eddie and I are standing in each other’s arms, soaked in cum, giggling like schoolgirls. Someone throws us towels and we begin wiping each other down. (It’s a lot of cum!) The Director is still talking to us. It’s clearly a Post Show -- the camera’s still rolling. “That was great you guys!” he says. Eddie laughs, wiping his face. “Dude shoots some big loads!” he says. I shrug. “I do everything big!” I laugh. Eddie is playing for the camera -- he points to your cock and brings his hand to the side of his face in an “astonishment” pose. In the same spirit,I spin him around and show the camera his perky bubble butt, smacking it with my open palm. He laughs. “All right, thank you guys,” the Director says. “Great shoot!” “It was a lot of fun,” Eddie says, playfully kissing me. “It was,” I agree, kissing him back and glancing at the camera. “That was just… easy. I could do it all fuckin’ day!” He chuckles. “Don’t say that too loud or they’ll make you!” He slides into his jeans. “I guess you’re coming out of quarantine, right?” “Yeah!” I say. “Finally…” “Well, then maybe I’ll see you at the gym and stuff?” I smile, sliding my jeans up over my ample quads. “I hope so!” I say enthusiastically. He strolls up to me seductively. “I’m sure of it,” he says. “I’m gonna put in to do a full-scene with you.” “What?” I ask. “Are you kidding? That would be fuckin’ AWESOME!” He indicates my bountiful cock as I tuck it into my jeans (I didn’t put the posers back on). “Big Daddy, I want to get fucked by that log -- it’s fuckin’ hot as fuck.” “Anytime.” He smirks. “How about a shower scene right now on my OnlyFans page?” “Let’s go!” ************************************************************************************************ Outside the bubble, the virus continues to run unchecked, gyms are still closed, lockdowns still enforced, Americans still feeling like masks infringe their freedom -- it’s just unbelievable. Naturally, desperate to stave off boredom, people are seeking content, entertainment, anything to fill the time. And nothing fills time better than porn. Most of the major entertainment companies set up their own production bubbles, but Paragon was far-and-away better prepared than their major competitors, creating what the industry has been calling Paragon’s “Porn World” where all the biggest names live and film as if it were still the Before Time. My first six weeks are up today and I’m hoping my contract will get renewed. I’ve been filming almost daily, mixing and matching with the other studs in the bubble -- it’s honestly been some of the best times of my life, professionally. Well, socially, too -- I’ve made some good friends and fuck-buddies. I open my laptop to see Coach’s Tab blinking. I open it and link up with the program. “Good morning, Dom!” “Morning, Coach! What’s the word?” “Your number’s are great!” he said. “They’re offering you a contract extension. Would you like to pull another twelve weeks?” I don’t even have to think about it. “Hell. Yes.” I love this job so much -- seriously, they can use me until I’m dried up and dead. I don’t care. “Great!” he says. “I’ll forward the contract to your email and we can get it done. There’s a couple of perks we can talk about, but it’s an improvement over what you were getting. Of course, they’d like you to start performing private services for clients…” “Private services?” I ask, suspiciously. “I don’t know, Coach. It’s one thing to be a porn star, it’s another to be a whore.” He laughs indulgently. “It’s not being a whore,” he says. “Here, let me show you a video…”

Hello! First time posting, but please leave suggestions/critiques. I work in a creative profession IRL, so I can take it. This is chapter 1 of ... well, at least a few more. It focuses on pectorals, but also features general muscle worship, situational/encounter eroticism, a bit of hairy guy appreciation, and likely very little actual sex. Just a warning if tha's what you're here for. One final note: When the main character says "God, he's so American", I don't mean it at all derogatorily—I'm just Aussie, and anyone else who's not American knows what I'm talking about Contents Chapter 1 (below) — 5th Dec 2020 Chapter 2 — 7th Dec 2020 Chapter 3 — 22nd Dec 2020 Chapter 1 It was just past 2am, the airport’s air conditioning was sputtering feebly overhead, and I had just stumbled off a 7-hour flight from Melbourne into the humid, sticky Malaysian air. I’d needed a damn leak so badly. I’d dragged myself through the empty terminal, staggered into the a vaguely toilet looking place, and pushed into the first cubicle I could reach. All I could even think about was pissing. I couldn’t tell, and frankly didn’t even care, if I was in the men’s or not. Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell, had it not been for the absolutely enormous muscle man who filled the tiny toilet cubicle into which I’d just barged. He was staring at me, open mouthed, and I was staring at him. Or rather, I was staring alternately at his lean, tanned face, and at his throbbing dick, which he held in his veiny hand as it spewed cum all over his torso. And fucking hell that was one huge torso. He was incredible: he had skin like paper, which barely contained the masses of his bulging pecs and arms. He had balloon-like shoulders, pressing against the walls of the cubicle, and deeply cut abs. And into those abs, deep, hard, abs that were competition-ready and shredded as hell, dripped thick spurts of hot white cum. Both of us seemed to come to our senses simultaneously. I stumbled backwards, out of the cubicle, and he leant forward to close the door. But, in that moment, his dick gave one last a spurt, and jet of his hot cum landed squarely on my face. He froze, horrified. I blinked, once, twice, then backed out further and awkwardly hauled myself into the cubicle next door. And I just sat there, shorts on, with his still-warm cum on my face, hard as a rock. Slowly, I wiped off the cum, manoeuvred my shorts down over my erect dick, and tried to think of something, anything, other than the muscle monster just centimetres away from me. There was no way I could piss with a dick that hard. I just couldn’t get his image out of my mind: pecs the size of my head, biceps like mangoes, abs and obliques like a fucking washboard, huge meaty thighs totally swallowing the toilet seat. And literally in the next toilet cubicle! After what felt like hours, I heard a rustling of toilet paper, the flush of the toilet, and a hurried pulling up of shorts. The door unlocked (I couldn’t help imagine his massive, powerful arms flexing and absolutely overpowering that tiny metal lock), a tap ran briefly (I thought about his huge, heavy pecs pressed together, and the cleavage they would make, as he brought his hands together under the warm water), and finally the sound of flip flops faded into the distance (I imagined being a tiny pad of rubber, stood on by his massive man, his huge tree-trunk legs jostling as he leaves the bathroom). It must have been about 10 minutes, and multiple ejaculations, before I was even able to get a dribble of piss out. I was definitely awake now. Fuck. I flushed the toilet and went to clean my face and wash my hands, but still his image consumed my mind. What would it be like to be as massive as that? To feel the weight of so much muscle just hanging off your frame? To have people look at you like a freak? To have pecs and biceps so big that you can’t even touch your shoulders. I pondered this, admittedly with a raging boner in my shorts, as I left the bathroom and started to slowly amble towards our gate, where Dave, my research partner, would be waiting. Thank God there was no one else around. Other than Dave, who was very straight, I hadn’t physically seen another man, let alone hooked up with one, in months, having just come up from a research station down off the coast of Tassie. I couldn’t believe that, of all the men to see in a deserted airport, it would be one so gargantuan and freakish. I prayed that if God existed, the massive muscle man would be sitting near us, so that I could ogle him while we waited until our connecting flight tomorrow afternoon. As I approached the gate, I realised two things: one, perhaps the terminal wasn’t quite as deserted as I’d thought. Two, I had had no need to pray. All around us, strewn almost like toys across every seat and floor area, was dozens of freakishly muscular men. Most of them were asleep, and all of them were shirtless, in a what I assumed was a vain attempt to escape the humid February night air. There were smaller guys, lightweights, who were insanely cut but whose muscles weren’t outrageous and bulging (yet). Medium sized guys who had a fair bit of size, but still could probably fit into a suit. And then massive guys, so big that they took up multiple airport lounge seats with their shoulders alone, or entire walkways with their mass. All of them looked just days out from competing, and a few of them even had their posing straps visibly poking out under their tiny gym shorts. And then there was Dave, looking very out of place in his red hoodie, perched on a seat in the far corner of the lounge, with his phone plugged in to the wall. He looked up and beckoned me over with a faintly annoyed look on his face. “Who the fuck are all these guys?” I whispered as I sat down next to him. “No idea; they were here when I arrived. Either way, they’re taking up all the power points.” “Right.” I looked around, still not quite able to believe my luck, that this was real life. Just across from us, a young guy with a blond buzzcut and crazy broad shoulders and an incredibly lean, ripped midriff, lay with his chin pressing into his chest. Next to him, a slightly older guy with dark hair and perfect, tanned skin was watching a movie as he lay with his head on the armrest. I could see his perfect, tight biceps flexing as he held the phone to his face with his right arm, and absent-mindedly rubbed his hard, tight abs with the other. I considered staying up to continue to appreciate the scenery, but it was almost 3am and my eyes were really feeling it. “I might get some sleep. Can you watch our stuff?” “Sure; I’ve got some emails to finish, anyway” he replied, eyes already back on his phone screen. “Thanks.” The guy sleeping in the seat next to me had his arm (a massive, veiny arm thicker than my head, I might add) on the arm rest, so I leant back and away to face Dave (that much muscle in my face would have been hugely distracting), and drifted off to sleep. *** I’m back in the toilets, standing in the doorway and staring hungrily at the massive guy sitting in front of me. He’s just cummed all over his gorgeous abs and heaving pecs, and he’s asking me to clean it up for him. I submit, of course, almost ripping my shirt off as I move forwards to “clean up”. I get down on my knees, place my hands on his enormous, quivering, veiny thighs, and start to lick the cum off his abs. I work my tongue into every groove, and make sure to polish off every rock hard ab, every delicious, smooth oblique. I move up to his pecs, where some of the cum has landed in his cleavage and onto his under-pec. I lift them up one at a time (fuck they’re heavy) and lick all around the crease where his massive mounds of muscle join to his torso. As I lift them, I feel his still-hard dick pulse and slap against my abs, and he moans slightly in ecstasy. I let his pecs fall and hit my face, then gently move my hands up and pull apart those bulging, striated pec mounds to lick in between them. He arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his dick into me. I’ve almost cleaned all the cum from between them; I just need to pull them a little wider. They’re so big and round, I can barely get my face in between them. I dig further into the canyon, and all of a sudden he flexes, involuntarily, and cums all over again. My face is trapped between his enormous pecs, and his cum is spurting onto my chin. I’m cumming, too, firing onto his thigh and while I pound the huge, hard mounds on his chest. Is that laughter? He releases my face, and although cum is still firing from his dick, he’s laughing. My hands are still firmly clasped onto the mounds of muscle on his chest—how is this funny? I each for the toilet paper, and— I woke up and opened my eyes with a start. Dave was asleep next to me, and his mouth hung wide open as he quietly snored. It was only early morning, but already the air was in the low 30s. I looked around sluggishly for the laughter that ruined my dream. Ah, there. A few rows of seats in front of us, a group of muscle guys were laughing and cheering whilst three or four of their mates were wrestling. I guessed this was worth being woken up for. Almost all of them were shirtless, wearing nothing but gym shorts or briefs and flip flops, and every single one of their beautiful, cut physiques was on display. A few rows further on, some of the bigger guys were posing for each other. Each one would get up, covered in sweat (the air conditioner had finally given up), run through his posing routine, and then a couple of the others would get up and adjust an arm here, foot positioning there. I watched for a while as they cycled through poses and physiques, big and small, tall and short. I was just about to get up and fill my water bottle when he got up and posed. The guy from the bathroom. For the first time, I noticed his face, his gorgeous cut jawline with a day’s worth of growth, his deep brown eyes and short, wavy hair. And, in the early morning light, he looked even bigger. Every single muscle was outrageous in size and definition. He hit a double bicep, and his arms eclipsed his head in size. A front lat spread, where his torso grew wider than it was tall. A most muscular, his gigantic biceps fighting for space with his huge chest and his traps almost swallowing his neck. Finally, to finish, a side chest, where the sheer amount of mass on his chest spilled out in all directions. He looked bigger than Arnold, with so much muscle just stuffed into his chest. I couldn’t believe how big his pecs were, and how thick and round and powerful they looked. They looked like they were ready to pop. When he hit that beautiful side chest, all the guys around him cheered. He relaxed from the pose, and his pecs fell to their natural, full, round state on his chest. God, they looked so huge and heavy, almost obscuring his abs with their mass and shadow. A few of guys got up and surrounded him, laughing and congratulating him. One or two playfully punched him in the chest, or put a hand on the ridge of muscle that was his lower pec. Everyone was absolutely enamoured by this superhuman pec freak. Next to me, Dave stirred and sat up slightly. He looked over at the flex-off, then at me, and finally to the massive, wet tent in my pants. “Really?” he asked with a sigh. “Look, I need something to do for the next 5 hours! It’s been ages since I’ve had any eye candy, and they’re right there…” “You could work on that sea floor geographic analysis, like you said you would on the flight over.” “Or, I could analyse the geography of their gorgeous bodies” “Dude, you need a boyfriend” he laughed. “Yup, I do. And hanging around a married straight man isn’t going to help me” “Hey, you said yourself you were into me when we met” It’s true, I sort of was. I had a weakness for fit, hairy guys, and Dave was both. He was only in his 20s, but he had a nice, full physique with definition, even if he was on the small side. He looked like he worked out, but only to keep fit, rather than to show off like these guys. And he had gorgeous blond-brown hair that gradated into gold on his chest, forearms and legs. Fuck, his legs were hairy. They looked great in the early morning sun, where his tanned, fit calves were framed in a halo of glowing thick fur that coated his legs right up to the bottom of his shorts. While he’d been asleep, he’d slipped further off the chair, and his shorts were riding right up into his crotch. Somehow, his meaty, toned thighs were even hairier than his lower legs. Too bad he was both very straight, and taken. “Psh, you wish. Anyway, I’m going to get some water” “Can you fill my bottle too?” he asked as handed me his water bottle. Fucking hell, his hairy forearms looked good in the sun. “Yeah, sure”. I took his bottle and started over to the central walkway, stepping around the odd pile of sleeping muscle and sweat as I went. I walked back down towards the toilets, past the flex-off that inexplicably was still going on. There were only so many poses you can do, and so many muscles you can pump up, but these guys couldn’t seem to get enough. I could almost smell the testosterone leaking off their pumped, sweaty bodies. They seemed to enjoy appreciating each other’s bodies, acknowledging all the hours they’d put in at the gym to look the way they did, and competing for who was the most muscular, masculine of them all. I’d almost reached the drinking water taps when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, ready to tell Dave that, yes, I knew you couldn’t drink the water from the bathroom taps. But there instead, standing slightly taller than me, was the guy from the bathroom. “Hey, I, um, just, uh, wanted to, you know, apologise? For, uh, last night?” he offered, almost as if he wasn’t used to being embarrassed or bashful. I guess that with muscles like his, you get used to being supremely confident. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I should have, you know, checked if the cubicle was occupied or something” He grinned, and scratched the back of his head. Fucking hell, how did he even reach his neck, with biceps so huge? “Nah, it’s alright. I should have locked the door.” Ah, there was that confidence that that body demanded. “I’m Ash, by the way. Ash Forte.” “Travis” I smiled politely. I don’t know why he was telling me his last name, but I was definitely going to use that name to spend all my free airport WiFi googling him. In that moment, I also began to understand how straight guys feel when they try to avoid staring at women’s tits—Ash’s massive pecs were uncomfortably prominent. “So, where’re you headed, Travis?” God, he was so American and so easily friendly. If I’d just cummed on a stranger’s face in the airport of a conservative Muslim country, the last thing I’d be doing is making friends with them. Still, I was keen to have someone else to talk to other than Dave. “Ah, we’re heading to a small island off the coast of Thailand, just north of Langkawi in northern Malaysia” “For a holiday?” “Nope, research. We’re studying ocean floor ecologies in various parts of the world.” “Woah, that sounds so cool! Tell me more” he exclaimed. And for once, unlike most people when I tell them what we do, he actually sounded genuinely interested. “Really?” “Yeah! I totally wanted to be a marine biologist growing up!” “Ah, not quite the same thing, but I take your point” I chuckled. “Let me fill up my water bottle, and I’ll tell you more.” “Cool! Just let me get my bottle. I’ll meet you back here in 5” and with that, not even waiting for my agreement, he turned around and lumbered off. His back was so fucking wide, and every single muscle was almost screaming to be noticed. Does this muscle freak actually want to spend time talking to me? I could barely contain my excitement! I raced to fill up Dave’s bottle, ran back and almost threw it at him (“uh, thanks?” he said as I ran off), and sped back to the drinking water taps. (to be continued...)

I wake up. I stand there tied to a block of steel. My arms are stung by wires. It hurts, I scream in pain. I barely remember the events that lead to this moment, I can only remember being tied to this block, siringes being injected in my arms, the pain making me unconscious. Now I wake up, I feel pain, and in the mist of it, warmth spreading all over me. I can feel my blood being infected with what they're injecting in me through the wires, it hurts so bad, I scream in pain. As I scream, my whole body flex, as if I'm trying to embrace myself, bracing for something beyond my comprehension. I flex, once more, harder, and I beg them to stop, byt they don't, instead, more pain. I struggle to remember how did I end up here, how did I tied to this block. "UNGH" "AHH" It hurts, deeply, I feel it infecting my organs and brain... Something is about to happen, something big. As the pain surges once again, I feel my clothes tighter, I feel, as I flex, my arms tougher, my chest wider. Something is happening with me, something big. I scream, I do my best to release myself, I can't, and the more I try, the more I feel the infection spreading. I am growing bigger, wider, and my clothes start to feel uncomfortable, I scream in pain, I don't know what is happening still, but I don't want this, I don't want this pain, this liquid, this infection. I desperately try to remember. I am growing bigger, wider, my clothes start ripping apart, my body is now washed in sweat, the ripping fabric is glued to my blody by the thick layer of foul sweat that covers me now. I scream, I want ti to stop. As my clothes rip itself apart, glued to my body even further, I feel the chain of my dogtag stretching across my back, neck and chest, as they grow thicker, wider, stronger. It happens, I feel the energy of a thousand suns within me. My screams transform into deep roars, slowly but surely, my voice is bellowing octaves, I don't know how. It happens, I feel my legs thickening, stretching, ripping my trousers. Ripping my boxers. I feel my penis hard with the pressure. My shirt is slowly reduced to shambles as my pecs widen, my abs grow within me, hard and powerful, capable of many feats. My shoulders, oh, my shoulders get stronger by the minute. I try to remember why this is happening to me, but I feel my brain changing, too, I feel the pain slowly turn to pleasure, I feel my suffering facial expression turning into a grin, my eyes are frowning and my eyes are filled with power and anger. I am losing my innocence, I am transforming, transforming into a beast, and I want more. Slowly but surely, this desire consumes me. "Yes, please, more!" "Oh yea! Oh my cock! My fucking cock! Bigger!" "More, I want more!" "MORE, I WANT MORE" "GAHHHHHH" My voice turn into loud and angry grunts, the transformation capture me fully, and is determined to change me completely, from a regular man into a fighting beast. A powerful muscular monster. I feel my whole body changes as I'm getting naked, My cock is standing like a pilar in my front, trembling with blood and the formula that is now part of my being, part of my genes. My pecs expand larger and larger, I like how my skin stretches, desperate to catch up with my delicious and tremendous transformation. The modified testosterone of my body fills the air, this is the aroma of my thick sweat, this is who I am, a beast, more than a man, the figure of pure raw masculine power. And I want more, I demand for more. I am able to release myself from the block, some of the wires fall in the floor, but I'm still transforming, I feel immense pleasure as I release myself, my feat of strenght, causing me to cum, jets and jets of my thick seed mix with my sweat, the strong smell of it fills the air, and it hits me, finally. How I ended up turning to a beast of pure raw deep power. My previous self, so curious, got caught in a secret project from a powerful organization, and this is my punishment, to lose my humanity, to become the first test subject of their ambitions. I don't mind, and then my mind blanks as I keep spurting my seed. I roar a deep roar of satisfaction, I am who I want to be, I embrace my change, I am what they want me to become. They asked, they received. I feel more power within me by the second. And it hits me, this power, needs to be shared. I know what my next move is.

Here's the third (and final?) part of the Maximus Protein saga. Hope you enjoy. "WHAT THE FUCK" yelled Travis, causing me to turn and fall out of Dan's lap in alarm. "I GO TO TAKE A NAP AND YOU GUYS JUST DRINK MY PROTEIN? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT SHIT COST?" Travis was livid, red face behind his wire-framed glasses, messy hair sticking up. Standing there in just his loose plaid boxers and a wifebeater shirt, he looked almost comically small. Travis was a couple inches taller than me, sure, and he had a decent frame, but he had always been more on the skinny-fat side and now that Dan was a behemoth who was currently taking up half the living room, he seemed incredibly small. "I can explain, Travis" I said apologetically, getting up and realizing I was completely naked and still semi-hard in front of my roommate, which would have been a mortifying situation on any other day. But not today. Before I could say any more, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach and dooubled over, falling to my knees. "Gah! What is this?" I gasped. Dan's rumbling laugh behind me: "It's hap-pe-ning!" he said in a sing-song tone, snickering at me as I started sweating anew, cowering on the floor. Travis stomped out of the room, fists clenched at his side and muttering to himself. I didn't see where he went, I was too focused on whatever was happening to my own body. "What is this?" I gasped to Dan. "Put two and two together, runt." He said in his now-extra-bassy voice. "I drank the Maximus and then I drank your cum, you drank the Maximus, and then uh, took my cum..." "I'm gonna grow." I said, stating it out loud and barely believing it. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that it would happen. I still couldn't believe what happened to Dan. This all felt like some dream that was out of control. But I had had dreams like this before. I wasn't dreaming the burning feeling in my gut, or the sweat racing down my back, or the shaking in my limbs. This was no dream, but I was about to lose control. "Don't sweat it man" Dan said from the couch. He had a huge shit-eating grin on his face, and he was lazily fondling his junk again. He was enjoying this. "Trust me, runt, this (he slapped his huge, hairy muscly stomach, running his fingers over the ridges of his abs, smearing around some precum that had leaked) feels DAMN good." Blood was rushing in my ears, I felt like I could puke or pass out. I opened my mouth to respond to Dan but the only sound I managed was a low groan. "OOOuuuuuhhhh" I fell back into a kneeling position facing Dan on the couch. My suddenly hard erection slapped against my flat stomach and I had no choice but to start jerking it. Just then all the feelings of pain and nausea and burning coalesced into one feeling: I was horny as hell and ready to grow. My cock felt thicker in my hand, and I was working my arm higher up a longer shaft than I had had before. "Unh" I felt my knees spread outward involuntarily and noticed some mass in my quads that hadn't been there a second ago. "Ah" I took a sharp intake of breath as I felt my toes push across the carpet. Simultaneously my ass, which I'd always been proud of, was pushing on my heels. I readjusted my kneeling position without taking my hand off my prodigious dick and felt my balls roll and drop heavily between my legs. I stuck my hand down between my muscular quads (which were getting bigger by the second) and tugged at my balls. They were bigger, definitely. They were the size of limes in my hand, which also felt bigger. I pulled my hand up to look at it and flexed my fingers in front of me. I'd always had slender hands that I was ashamed of, but these looked like a man's hands, beautifully muscular and powerful. My wrists were thicker, and I noticed a shade of my copper red hair, which had always been to wispy to really notice, was now growing thickly on the backs of my hands. Then I couldn't ignore that my whole forearms were looking insanely thick and veiny. "Oh fuck!" I felt a spasm shake through me. This was hot as hell. I knew I had to see my chest, but I was almost afraid to look, afraid to see what I was becoming. I closed my eyes for a second, throwing my head back and breathing, enjoying the expanding sensation. I'd never felt this, but I knew it was all I'd ever wanted to feel. I bit my lip, feeling more stubble growing under my lip than had ever been there before. I was ready for this. I felt like a new man. I could feel my pecs heaving, my abs flexing involuntarily. It was time to become the size of man I wanted to be. "Uhhhhhh" I grunted, as I opened my eyes and adjusted to the immediate shock of everything in the room looking lower (and smaller) than when I had shut them just a minute ago. I looked down at my chest to see pure muscle, twitching and growing outwards, my pale skin flushing red as a luxurious spread of copper hair fanned outward from the gap between my pecs. "Oh holy fuck" I yelled, in a voice that was like mine, just deeper and hoarser. "look at these fucking pecs!" I barely had to turn my head to see the boulder delts that were growing on either side of me. I lifter my left arm up to flex and felt like I could have cum right then at the size of my fucking cannonball bicep surging up from my freakishly veiny, striated arm. That was my arm! I craned my neck to see past my pecs, and saw a dark treasure trail trickling straight down my tensing cobblestone abs to a thick bush. Sprouting out of it was what had to be 11-no 12! perfect inches of rock hard cock , capped off by a flaring cockhead, perfectly pink and juicy. "This is what I am now", I said to myself, barely believing it. "This is all me." I put both arms into a massive most muscular pose and roared like the beast I was. "Hot damn, runt!" I had almost forgotten Dan was there, I was so absorbed in my own growth. "Who are you calling runt!" I demanded, shocking myself at the power of my own voice. Dan just laughed his new, booming laugh. "I think I'm still the big dog around here" he said in a cocky way as he made each of his giant pecs bounce. I instantly jumped to my feet, and immediately was taken off guard by just how high I was off the ground now. I had to be nearing 7 feet. "Big dog? We"ll see who's the big dog! Get the fuck up Dan!" A momentary expression of surprise passed over Dan's face, immediately replaced by his handsome, cocky grin. He leaned forward and hoisted his bulk onto his feet. The couch seemed to groan in relief. He took his time standing up, but boy did he stand up. And up. And up. Fuck. He was probably 9 feet at full height now. He squared up against me, looking down his nose at me, exhaling loudly and puffing out his massive, hairy pecs. He had a neck like a bull, and all I wanted to do was put my hands around it again. "Well, runt" he growled, "You gonna do something?" I could barely keep from cumming right there on the spot, he looked so fucking sexy. I went for the only weakness I knew Dan had: his soft, pink nipples, which were now quite a bit larger than they had been , but still stood out from the dark hair on his heavy pecs like they wanted to be pinched. Before he could say another word I grabbed them with both of my strong hands, squeezing as tight as I could while Dan howled in pain and pleasure, and fell to his knees so hard that it made the whole house shake. I heard some dishes crash in the kitchen. "How's this, big dog" I sneered teasingly, trying to intimidate, even though Dan on his knees was only a little shorter than me. "Ahhhh sonofabitch!" Dan grunted. He was obviously enjoying this. "Ohhh fuck! Ah! Not so hard!" I clamped down, rubbing his nipples roughly between my huge thumbs and forefingers, pulling and twisting. Dan yelped in pain, but his red-hot erection, the size of a baseball bat,, and sticking straight up out of his briefs (how was he still wearing those briefs?) told me he was enjoying this. "Ok I'll do anything you want" He wheezed between short breaths, "just know that I'll do the same to you, twice as hard." Had Dan always been this much of a freak? Why hadn't we hooked up sooner? Maybe he had been sending me signals all along, but I hadn't picked up on them. I had always been pretty shy and lacking in self-confidence. But not anymore. That version of Scott had gone, and now there was a real life hulk where a skinny Bruce Banner had been. I was going to get what I want, and I what I wanted now was Dan. On all fours. "Get down, boy" I growled, surprised at the gravel in my own voice. Dan complied as I let go of his nipples, now swollen and red, and he looked up at me with a mixture of lust and playfulness. Here was the biggest man I'd ever seen, and he was waiting on me to tell him what to do. Suddenly I had an idea. Travis had bought this massive oak table when we had moved into the place, in order to fit the huge dining room that was just right next to the living room. I had mocked him for it at the time, cause we only ever ate dinner leaning against the kitchen counter or sitting on the couch, but he had insisted that it was his viking banquet table. "Dan," I said in the most commanding tone I could muster, "I want you to crawl to the table and lie facedown on it." A huge grin crept across Dan's face, and I had to force myself to stop from smiling too. "Now!" I shouted. Dan complied. The table was much tougher than the couch, and it was a truly massive slab of furniture, so even Dan's awesome bulk fit onto the top of it comfortably. He was lying face down on it lengthwise, and his feet were still dangling off of one end. I took the floor length curtains off the sliding door that let on to the back porch (no sense in privacy anymore) and used them to tie Dan's hands together under the table. It was amzing that his arms were long enough to reach over and under the sides of the six foot wide table, but there was just enough space between his hands to get a good tension. Without saying a word, I walked to the end, grabbed Dan's ankles, and brusquely yanked him toward me, sliding him down the table until his legs were hanging off the end and his giant size ass was sticking out at perfect waist height for me. I took some more curtains off the rod (taking a moment to bend the curtain rod in my meaty hands like a paperclip) and used the curtains to lash each of Dan's gargantuan thighs to one of the equally sturdy table legs. "That oughtta hold you" I grunted. Dan laughed a bit, which earned him a violent slap on the ass. Speaking of Dan's ass, how were his briefs still intacted. The man had practically quadrupled in size this afternoon and still they were stretched across his has, full of tears and see-through thin, but still on him. Not anymore. I knelt down and grabbed at the back of the briefs, shredding them easily in my hands. "HEY! Those were my lucky undies!" Dan shouted. "Well I'd say theyve gotten you pretty lucky" I teased as I grapped the elastic strap and pulled it until it snapped off. "Do you feel lucky?" I said as I spread his huge cheeks to reveal a thicket of hair surrounding his pink, quivering asshole. I spat on it and gave it a lick, inhaling deeply and getting light-headed from the intoxicating man-musk that was steaming off of him. "Well do you?" I asked again, but I didn't wait for an answer before I stuck my face in, slobbering all over his hole, kissing it, drooling on it, working it over with my strong tongue. Dan moaned loudly and writhed against me, flexing his glutes to squeeze my head, grunting animalistically and whimpering as I worked away on his hole. Without warning I stuck two fingers in, then three, working my thick digits around inside his shockingly warm and soft hole.Dan only moaned louder and shoved his hips back toward me. "Is this your first time, big man Dan?" I asked lovingly as I stood up, readying myself to plunge into him. Dan turned his head to try to look at me from his prone position. "Maybe" he said. Bastard. I lubed up my footlong tool with some of the pre that had been leaking from the head and plunged it into his hole without pausing until I was all the way in. "OOOOH! UNNH! FUCK YES" Dan bellowed, and shoved his hips back into me. I started to pump away, shocked at how easily he took my massive tool. Was I big enough to really fuck him I momentarily wondered, and almost immediately I felt the swelling, heaving feeling again. I felt my dick expand wider and lengthen by another couple inches inside of Dan, causing him to squeal. I felt my arms and pecs get thicker, shaking with each pump as I plowed into Dan's ass. I guess the cum that Dan had filled me with was still working. Maybe Maximus Protein continued to work as it digested? I didn't have time to ponder the intricacies of growth effects while enjoying them at the same time, I was getting bigger as I fucked Dan! My arms put on considerable size, looking like two columns of muscle. Where my hands had only been able to paw at Dan's back before, now I could actually get a decent grip around his waist. I squeezed both sides of his hips, adjusted my stance wider to account for my thicker, longer, tree-trunk legs, and began to jackhammer into Dan with my 15, no 16 inch rod. "OH FUCK! FUCK YEAH BIG DOG! GIMME ALL YOU GOT!" Dan was lost in bliss, bucking back against me, shaking the whole table with our motion. I was grunting animalistically, losing all control of my thoughts. I wanted to fuck Dan on this table all night, and I would. Sweat was pooling under us, and I could hear the sound of Dan's huge dick slapping the bottom of the table with each thrust that I put into him. I readjusted my grip, reaching across the expanse of Dan's back and grabbing around his thick warm bull neck with both of my huge paws. I pulled his neck roughly towards me, squeezing my fingers against his windpipe, but it neck muscles with too thick to let me cause him any harm. I pushed his head into the table, grinding his sweaty forehead against the wood. Dan's almost incoherent with pleasure, I could feel his drool spilling down his thick beard and over my fingers, pooling on the table as he drew sharp, ragged breaths. Just then there was a low groan and a faint rumbling sound from Dan. I felt my grip on his neck loosen slightly, but I hadn't relaxed it. "Dan what's... unh.. are you...... aggh.... growing more?" Dan only laughed hoarsely, dumb hanging out of his mouth in an idiot grin of pleasure. I forgot he had drank all my cum from when he fucked me. That had to have some effect. The only thing I could do was keep fucking him, watching in amazement as his head and shoulders crept slowly up the surface of the table, his lats inching wider, arms flexing and pulling at the curtains that were tying his wrists together. I could hear the fabric starting to tear as his thighs pulsed and bulged bigger, straining against the inadequate bonds I had tied him with. I had better hurry up and cum before Dan tore free and had the upper hand on me again. Or should I wait? It had already been a couple hours since I had grown. The huge load that was currently weighing down my grapefruit-sized testicles could surely wait a few more minutes. I wanted to see what would happen. Then I noticed a change in Dan's demeanor. He arched his back up, pulling away from the table and causing his mammoth back muscles to flare and bulge. "UNNNNH" he said. I pumped into him more, but I wasn't causing this sudden change in reaction. Then I realized that I couldn't hear Dan's dick slapping against the bottom of the table anymore. I all I heard was some wet licking sounds. "Wait, Scott" said Dan, out of breath between guttural moans of pleasure, "If you're the one, UNNH, fucking my-Huh, ass... MMMnnn.... then who....AAHhhh.... is sucking my cock?!?" I pulled out of Dan's ass and dove to the ground to see an unbelievable sight. Underneath the table, in a pool of sweat, drool, and precum, was Travis, my roommate, still in his boxers and wifbeater, flat on his back and wrapping his arms and legs around Dan's mammoth cock, hungrily lapping his tongue around the head and using his whole body to jerk him off. Dan's cock was as big as Travis' whole torso, and slick with precum, but Travis hung on for dear life as it twitched and bucked around . Suddenly there was a loud rip as Dan broke his hands loose of his shackles and he instantly grabbed Travis' body with his massive mitts and began to jerk himself off with Travis' body. "WHOEVER"S DOWN THERE.... UNNNGHHH..... BETTER HOLD ON TIGHT!!" Dan bellowed just as he released a torrent of cum straight in to Travis' face, blowing his glasses off his head and causing him to sputter and gurgle. "Dan let go you'll drown him!" I yelled but Dan couldn't hear me over his roaring grunts. I reached down to pull Travis out of Dan's grip when I realized Travis was still holding on to Dan's dick with all his might, and he was, well, he was actually managing to drink most of the cum that was flooding out of Dan's dick. He had his mouth wide open, gulping down spurt after endless spurt of giant seed. I was confused. Travis, my avowedly straight roommate, was guzzling cum that should have been going down my throat if anyone's. I didn't even have time to realize how jealous I was as I looked around the room at the excess cum pooling on the floor. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something on the floor in the kitchen doorway. It was the tub of MAXIMUS PROTEIN, lying on it's side, completely empty. Travis must have drank the whole container. I looked back at Travis under Dan's cock, finally having let go of it as the cum flood ebbed. He was gasping for air, covered in all manner of fluids, and there was a familiar rumbling sound coming from his stomach... To be continued?

Hey guys, here is part 2 of my story, continuing where we left off with Dan in Briefs. I had just taken my first gulp of the MAXIMUS PROTEIN shake when I heard a low moan coming from the living room, where Dan was. I shrugged to myself and drank some more, thinking he was enjoying himself and could use some time to build up anticipation before I came back. Besides, I was really thirsty, and this protein shake was hitting the spot. I can see why my roommate Travis paid top-dollar for it, it had a really nice flavor and consistency. It was chocolatey and it mixed up silky smooth, the texture was thick and almost a little viscous. Which should have been gross but it just felt great going down my throat. I was almost done with the big class I had made, and I could feel a warmth spreading in my body. Was that from the shake? Or was it from the post-orgasm glow that I had from just receiving the best blowjob of my young life from Dan. How had that even happened? How had we gotten here? I was definitely warmer now, and starting to break out in a fresh sweat. but it wasn't a feverish feeling, it felt more like blood pumping through my body after a workout. I had just gotten back from a run before *Dan* happened, but I could still be sweating from that All I was wearing was a pair of thin shorts. they were military style shorts, called "silkies" for how they felt, but I liked them for any kind of exercise, due to both how comfortable they were and how much they showed off my strong thighs and accentuated my (admittedly average) package. I was just about to take my last gulp of the protein shake when I heard another moan from the living room, a guttural, deeper moan this time. Was Dan in pain? I figured I should go check on him. I thought I heard a creak in the room above the kitchen (that would be Travis' room) but I soon forgot about it when I heard the next sound from the living room. "UH! UH! OOOOHHhhhhhhh" "Hey Dan are you good ma-oh SHIT!!" I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Dan, still sitting on the ground with his legs splayed out, leaning against the couch, but looking somehow, BIGGER. There was just more of Dan than the last time I saw him. He was still in those tight white briefs, but he was filling them out more than he did before, if that was possible.He had pulled the waistband down underneath his goose-egg sized balls, which were covered in thick hair along with his whole crotch area. His thick dick was at full mast, curving slightly to the left, and looking like it was about 10 inches long and thick. So thick that Dan's huge hand, which he would intermittently spit into before he continued stroking, was having a hard time closing it hairy fingers around its width. Dan's eyes were still shut in ecstasy, as he moaned loudly and drooled a bit, saliva dripping down his thick close-cropped beard. His chest was the biggest chest I had ever seen in person, perfectly formed pecs just pushing outwards, each nipple pointing downwards and bright pink. His non-dominant hand was pinching his left nipple and cupping the meat of his pecs as he stroked away. A thick swirl of black hair spread evenly across his pecs and cascaded down his muscular belly, which was heaving with his breath. His gargantuan tree trunk legs were sticking straight out, the heavy black hair on them was slicked down by sweat, and they were flexing involuntarily as he moaned. Even his feet were flexing and shaking. He seemed about to have the most intense orgasm of his life. If I wasn't sweating already, I definitely was now. "Dan... what the fuck" I said, more to myself than to him. I could swear he looked just a little bigger and plumper than when I had left him. Had his head been above the arm rest when I left the room? Maybe he had sat up straighter. "Oh where have you ben Scott" Dan moaned. I thought you'd left. "No man I just went to get a...drink" I said, looking down and realizing that I still has holding the glass with the last bit of MAXIMUS shake in it. "Are you usually this horned up , Dan?" I asked timidly "I'm alwaaaaays horny man, but... UUUGHNNN.. this time is... MMMMMFF... different. I think it's that shake" he said, looking at the glass in my hand and winking again, before a full-body shiver interrupted him. "You better finish that and get over here, little man" I didn't need further instruction. I polished off the rest of the shake and threw the glass onto the couch cushions. Now I was standing in front of Dan. In front of the mass of Dan that there was now. He slowly pulled himself off the floor and into a seated position on the couch, which required a lot of muscle to move. The couch creaked loudly as he sait his full weigh onto it. He had to be well over 250 pounds, although I speciafically remember him saying he weighed 225 the other week. Not to mention he took up roughly half of the couch. Either my mind was playing tricks or Dan had actually grown in the last 15 minutes. "Well what are you waiting for, little man, help me out here" Dan said impatiently. My cock was already fully hard again. I leaned forward and tentatively squeezed his pec with my left hand "UUUUUNGHHH" Dan yelled, and in one rough motion he pulled me forward so I lost balance and fell onto him, and without missing a beat, Dan reached his big hand under my butt and easily hefted me into his lap. I now sat facing hm, my modest cock sticking out of my shorts and rubbing up against his salami-sized cock. I had both my hands on his chest for support, and he made them bounce under my hands, grinning his cocky smile at me while his deep blue eyes looked straight into mine. "Holy fuck Dan, you're fucking huge" "And getting, UUHH, huger" He grunted, and I swear I could hear that rumbling sound in his stomach, accompanied by a kind of groaning stretching sound. Had he just shifted on the couch? He seemed to be taking up more space on it now. "Glad you could join me" he said, a little lower this time, "but you can lose the shorts" I ground my hips into his cock, making him moan loudly. Another stretching sound as I felt his weight shift under me. "I kind of like these short" I said, "Why don't you do something about it?" Dan didn't hesitate. He just bit his lip and tugged at my shorts, easily ripping them to threads with both of his powerful hands. Now I felt vulnerable. I would've let Dan do anything he wanted in that moment. "You ever been fucked?" Dan asked. "No- I mean yeah. But not really?" I was stumbling over my words. I had only had some experimentation with buttplugs and a small dildo before, but I didn't want to sound inexperienced. Dan just laughed a loud, booming laugh that made his pecs shake under my hands, until he suddenly stopped with another spasm and a loud moan. I felt his pecs jump and bulge under my palms. Dan looked at me with a serious, lustful look. "Are you ready?" He was massaging and spreading my asscheeks and circling a thick wet finger around my hole, which made it tense up and quiver. "I don't know" I said, hating how trembly my voice sounded. "Do we need lube?" Dan looked around him and spied the glass on the couch with the last dregs of the protein shake in it. "This'll do" he said, pouring the few ounces of gooey protein shake onto his huge tool and slicking it up with a few fingers. He then stuck the fingers in my mouth, watching my reaction as I tasted the sweet chocolate flavor mingling with the salty precum on his rough fingers. Without breaking eye contact, he reached the same hand behind me and I felt his thick strong fingers lubing up my hole, which made me moan uncontrollably. He arched an eyebrow and watched the expression on my face as he slid his middle finger slowly into my hole. I twitched a bit, unable to control my body and my moans. I was sweating out of every pore now, and I could see the high windows above the couch steaming up from the heat emanating off of Dan's body. "I think you're ready" He said in a deep baritone, deeper than I'd heard him speak before. I could only nod in agreement. He picked my up with both hand and easily pulled me closer to him, and then I felt the head of his dick pushing at my anus. I almost panicked in that moment, I was so unused to the feeling, and all I could think was how large it was, but I quickly pushed the thought from my mind and made myself relax. It was pushing in, the bulky head of his penis was fulling stretching my asshole wider than it had ever been before, and I didn't know whether to shout with pain or scream with pleasure. "Ohhhfuckfuckfcukfuck holy shit Dan" I said in a half-whisper. "Just relax, man" said Dan. I obeyed. He had the entire head in now and was slowly easing me down the shaft, pulling out a bit before plunging deeper, sending shivers and spike of pain and pleasure up my spine. "Oh fuuuuck" Dan said, exhaling loudly and closing his eyes. "You feel so good, Scott, this is amazing" He was all the way in now. I couldn't believe it. I shifted my weight and felt his cock jerk and twitch inside me, eliciting a guttural moan from Dan. His body seemed to jump a bit under me, and the couch groaned under our weight. The pressure in my ass expanded. "Is this a trick of yours, Dan? Were you really saying you could get-" "Bigger?" said Dan. "You think I was fucking joking? You think this is a joke?" He brought his arm up and flexed a bicep the size of my head. "Just enjoy the ride" He said cockily, and he began pumping away into me, grunting loudly and causing me to put all my weight against his chest, feeling his hairy stomach and pecs flexing and shaking against my smooth skin. I leaned n and bit his neck, while he grunted in my ear, the rough feeling of his bearded cheek against my face and tickling my neck driving me wild. Dan was grunting louder now, making animalistic noises, and the only thing I could hear under his grunt was the sound of the couch squeaking and groaning under us, as well as the constant rumbling coming from his stomach. had my arms wrapped around his neck , but from one moment to the next, it felt like I was holding onto more neck. I looked down and saw that Dan's huge legs seemed to almost be reaching both sides of the couch now. That was impossible! The couch was six feet wide!. I also noticed his head seemed to be high up against the wall than it was been when he first sat down. "Dan!" I said between gasps, "What the fuck is going on??" "Its the protein man", said Dan, pumping and grunting, "I already...UGGHhh..... told youUUMMFF...... like ten fUUGHcking times......NNRGHHH" I was speechless. His playful bites at my neck became harder and his death grip on me squeezed even harder. "I'm growing bigggGGGHHHG" he shuddered, "And soon, MMFFFuck, YOU WILL TOO!" He roared as he bucked his hips and I felt his cum erupt into me. "AAAAAAAAUUUUUGGHHHHH" he bellowed as he pumped his hips, into my ass, shooting over and over until I was sure I could feel his molten cum starting to overfill my insides. I orgasmed almost immediately, unable to control any part of my body anymore. When Dan realized what was happening, he aggressively clamped his mouth down on my cock, swallowing greedily. I didn't thinkI could be in a higher state of pleasure. when I finally opened my eyes again, I was sitting on top of Dan. But now there was enough Dan under me to that I could probably use him as a bed. Dan took up most of the couch with his bulk, and seemed to take up almost half of the living room.He was a giant of a man. I didn't even know how to process what I was seeing. Then we heard a voice behind us. "WHAT THE FUCK!" It was Travis, my quiet roommate, standing on the stairs, staring at us with his jaw hanging open, wearing just his loose boxers and a wifebeater. He looked furious. "I GO TO TAKE A NAP AND YOU GUYS JUST DRINK MY PROTEIN? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT SHIT COST?" "Travis, I can explain" I said, starting to stand up. But just as I got my feet under me, I felt my whole body quiver as a jolt of warmth and pleasure washed over me. I instantly fell to my knees and moaned. I heard the rumbling laugh of Dan as he watch me start to flush and sweat even more. "Hey look" he laughed, "It's hap-pen-ing!!" to be continued

Candice is just getting home from the gym, wearing yoga pants and a bright pink sports bra. I am ready to greet her at the door, knowing she likes to strip out of her clothes and shower, only today I am bigger, more aggressive and dominant than before. "Hey babe..." She walks in, mouth dropping to the floor. Looking at my shorts straining and my red UnderArmor shirt seeming like it could burst at the seams. "It's about time you got home." She giggles slightly. "I was gone for like 2 hours tops baby." I pull her roughly toward me... lock my lips onto hers... so hungry... devouring her as I massage her tight, toned curves in my hands... pulling her slightly off the floor onto her tiptoes. She kisses me back, not as rough but definitely hungry. My hands feel so big, roaming her body. My cock is thickening up... at the sight, feel, and smell of her... She pulls back from the kiss, looking down. "Are you wearing shoes? I've never had to lean up to kiss you before." "It's just me down there babe... barefoot and brawny." For some reason this excites her. I swing around behind her... driving my throbbing cock into her back... my arms around her... knowing she just wants to head to the shower. She kisses me even harder. Plunging her tongue in and out of my mouth. Wanting to more of me. I grunt and grab... and she feels my body getting... heavier... "Ung! Baby! What has gotten into you?!" She feels my pecs, pushing against her head. "Wait, your pecs???" she asks in disbelief. "You bring out the beast in me Babe..." You hear the seams of my shirt straining... threads slowly popping out of place. "Fuckkkkk... feels so good to be with you girl." Candice tries to look over her shoulder but I keep her moving. Her head feeling wedged by my chest. "And it looks like you weren’t too late for the show." She reaches a hand around behind me... feeling swelling, tightening quads and glutes. She keeps heading towards the bathroom, but with my hands on her, so big and greedy, I lift her off her feet toward another direction. TBC...

Hola, esta es mi primer historia aquí; me inspiré en un video que vi en YouTube; así que si hay similitudes es por eso. También quisiera aportar algo a la comunidad en español que adoran los músculos y el muscle growth. Capítulo uno Un día viernes, finales de primavera e inicio de verano. Yo soy Henrry un científico que se dedica a desarrollar nuevas formas de crecimiento en seres vivos, aunque solo se pueda probar en plantas. Vivo en los suburbios con mi novio, Ben; él es un maestro de parvulario, le encanta cocinar y comer pastelillos, y sí, es obeso. Mi cuerpo es uno más saludable que el de él, soy más alto y soy el activo de la relación; él es un poco más bajo y más gordo que yo, pero aún así lo amo, es mi osito Teddie y el es muy tierno conmigo y todos los niños lo aman, lo conocen como el profesor Teddie o profesor osito, muy tierno la verdad. Ben siempre intenta hacerme feliz cocinando ricas comidas; aunque a veces suelen pasarse un poco de calorías; es por eso que el tiene "un poco" de sobrepeso, yo en cambio tengo un buen cuerpo, delgado y de 1.77, cuido mi dieta un poco más y como menos que él ya que no tendría el corazón para despreciar su comida. En serio lo amo; pero hay algo que me hace querer cambiar; él se estaba poniendo un poco más obeso, lo cuál era normal con su dieta; pero vi un video sobre un muchacho que se veía como Ben y terminó viéndose como una morsa gracias a que nunca cambió su dieta e incluso no podía levantarse de su cama, tenía miedo de que esto le pasara a mi osito, además veía cómo las parejas solían salir a ejercitarse y tenían cuerpos saludables, realmente quería que Ben y yo hiciéramos eso; además que se acercaba la reunión de ex alumnos de preparatoria y varios de mis ex novios y amigos estarán allí y aunque lo ame, muchas personas hablarán de su físico... Ese mismo día en la noche decidí preguntarle si podría dejar de poner demasiadas especias y hacer otra cosa diferente para comer. -Oye, amor. ¿Qué te parece si haces otra cosa que comer? Hemos comido mucho filete y ya estoy aburrido. -Eh? Pero ya casi está todo listo... *decía con su dulce voz* -Sí, pero no sé quiero probar algo diferente a lo que cocinas... -¿No te gusta mi comida? *preguntaba decepcionadamente* -Sí, me gusta pero no sé, quizá algo un poco más saludable, quizá. -Pues... Es que ya preparé todo y no sé qué hacer... -Agh, sabes qué? Vamos a comer (No podía decirle que no, es tan tierno y fue mi culpa por no haberle dicho antes; aunque en el fondo no me sentía a gusto ya que sólo hacía que comiera menos sano) -¡Está bien, a comer! Lo hice con mucho cariño para ti, como todas mis comidas la verdad, já. -Sí, jejé... Decidimos ir a ver televisión un rato, estábamos abrazados y justo pasaron un comercial sobre un gimnasio nuevo. -Oye, mira un gimnasio, ¿interesante, no? -Sí, si tú lo dices... -Vaya, mira sus cuerpos delgados y tonificados, es impresionante. -Hmmp... -Ah, y mira como se divierten usando las máquinas, ¡eso si que es una vida en movimiento! El comercial terminó y Ben me veía un poco descorcentado y decepcionado al mismo tiempo. -Oye, una pregunta... ¿Te gustan más ellos que yo? -Qué? N-no... Solo me parecía interesante. -Pero decías lo bien que se veían y yo pienso que quizás a ti no te gusta como soy... -No, para nada, solo me parecía interesante como eran capaces para moverse así y tener la energía para eso; tú eres perfecto así como estás, eres lo mejor que me ha pasado en la vida, así con tus muchos kilos...estás...bien... -En serio? G-gracias, te amo Henrry. Toma, te compré un pastelillo, es de mi pastelería favorita, fui a comer hoy allí. -Gracias... Así que fuiste allí otra vez, eh? -Sí, me encantan sus pasteles. -He de admitir que también a mi, pero me gustan muchos más los que haces tú. -Ah, sí. Toma, tu pastelillo que te hice esta tarde, olvidé que también te hice uno. -¡Gracias! La verdad no puedo resistirme a sus pastelillos, son tan deliciosos y siempre me recibe con uno y un regalo demás, en serio se nota que me ama, y aunque todos los días me coma un pastelillo, siempre bajo esas calorías cuando corro en las mañanas; hablando de correr; sí, he intentado que se una a mi pero no quiere ir, le da un poco de vergüenza ya que se cansaría más rápido que yo, y no puedo obligarlo... El siguiente día, un nuevo científico llega a la ciudad y se une a los laboratorios donde yo trabajo. Él era conocido por haber hecho investigaciones sobre los cambios del cuerpo humano y sus diferentes tipos, él tenía un cuerpo parecido al mío, solo que con 2cm menos de estatura. Me acerqué a él para saludarlo ya que su trabajo me parecía muy interesante. -Hola, Dr. Magnus, quiero decirle que amo su trabajo e investigaciones. -Hola, tú debes ser el Dr. Henrry, he oído mucho de ti, creo que tú trabajo será muy útil para lo que tengo en mente. -¡Vaya! Eso es genial, estaré dispuesto a lo que sea, con tal de trabajar con usted. -Me alegro mucho. Ven a mi laboratorio luego de la reunión de bienvenida por favor. -Ahí estaré. -Ah! Y por favor no le digas a nadie que te cité. Estaba emocionado, esto podría darme un gran reconocimiento. Me pregunto qué querrá hablar conmigo... Llegué lo más rápido que pude al nuevo laboratorio del Dr. Magnus, era un laboratorio enorme y tenía un gran tanque de agua, enorme en realidad, al parecer él lo había mandado a hacer; quizá haría experimentaciones con el agua y eso. -Ya estoy aquí Dr. -Muy bien, es hora de que hablemos de un proyecto que tengo en mente; pero primero que nada he de decir que he leído tu trabajo y me alegra que hayas tenido buenos resultados. -¡Sí, muchas gracias! Estuve trabajando como loco, aunque es una pena que solo funcione en plantas, esto beneficiará mucho al mundo, espero probar esto en otros seres vivos como peces u otros animales para saciar la producción de comida en el mundo. Para el que no sepa, mi trabajo fue sobre el crecimiento acelerado de plantas y su beneficio para la agricultura; fue exitoso y me parece genial que le haya gustado al Dr. Magnus. -Sí Henrry, espero que funcione en animales; pero ¿y en humanos? -Podría también, pero eso es arriesgarse mucho. -Pues para eso estoy yo, y es por eso que te he traído hasta acá para que trabajemos juntos en esto. -¿y qué es? -Pues verás, existen diferentes tipos de cuerpos humanos; pero ¿Qué tal si todos tuvieran un cuerpo delgado? Sería beneficioso para evitar los casos de diabetes, hipertensión, etc. -A qué se refiere? -Me refiero a que con tu método de aceleración de crecimiento, ¡podríamos acelerar la pérdida de peso en muchos seres humanos! -Vaya... Eso suena realmente bien. -¡Sí! Pero el problema es que no me dieron el permiso de llevarlo a cabo, ya que no les parece bien experimentar en humanos y blah blah blah. Por eso quiero que no le digas a nadie, ser nuestro secreto... -¡Pero eso sería ilegal y para nada ético!.. No lo sé. -A ver, tu experimento fue un éxito y yo he investigado mucho y me he preparado para esto durante toda mi vida; creo que seriamos capaces de llevarlo a cabo y ser exitosos. Además te pagaría muy bien, eh. -Mmm... -Vamos, ¿no quieres arriesgarte y salir victorioso? O prefieres estar conforme y no volver a tener otro éxito... Recuerda que yo pondré la cara por este experimento si algo sale mal, aunque lo dudo mucho; cómo dije me he leído y probado tus experimentos y he estudiado mucho, esto sería el experimento del siglo. -Yo... mmm... Acepto.... -¡Eso es! Me alegra que aceptaras, verás que no te decepcionaré. -Eso espero. Veía como el Dr. Magnus sonreía confiado, la verdad me hacía sentir un poco mejor, es decir, por algo es uno de los científicos más exitosos del siglo. Llegué a casa a las 2:00pm, Ben ya se encontraba dentro ya que hoy no trabajaba. -Hola... -¡Hola!... ¿Estás bien? Te noto algo triste. -No, solo estoy pensativo... Es algo de un experimento importante en los laboratorios y tengo que trabajar mucho. -Oh, bueno, espero que te vaya bien *Se dirijió y dio un beso a Henrry* Te compré algo, espero que te anime. *saca una camiseta para Henrry* Recuerdo que me dijiste que te gustó una camisa y te la compré. -¡Vaya! Gracias amor. *Le da un beso en la frente a Ben* eres el mejor... Eres tan tierno y dulce... -Gracias, jé... Me compré una yo también, aunque me queda algo apretada...y eso que es grande... -Que lindo, jé (Recuerdo que el Dr. Magnus dijo que este experimento volverá a las personas obesas delgadas y les quitara muchos problemas de encima, quisiera ayudar a Ben, en serio...) Oye, ¿tienes tiempo para salir esta noche? -Sip, ¿vamos a salir a comer? O ¿a dónde? -Te gustaría ir al laboratorio conmigo? Me gustaría que fueras, es algo importante... -¿Hay algo importante? Sí es así voy, no quiero decepcionarte... -No, no es demasiado importante, solo quiero que me ayudes con algo, eso es todo. -Pero yo no sé sobre ciencia y eso, no sé en qué podría ayudar... -No te preocupes, irás para ver algo impresionante que he preparado, será fantástico. -E-está bien, iré para ver, me pregunto que será, aunque seguro que es impresionante como todo lo demás que hace *Se dirije a darle un abrazo a Henrry* sabes que te apoyaré en todo. -Gracias, eres muy especial para mi, te amo... (no sé si deba, pero es por su bien) Me dirijí hacia mi habitación para llamar al Dr. Magnus. -Hola? Dr. Magnus creo que tengo al candidato indicado para este experimento. -En serio!? Genial! ¿Quién es? ¿Podrías enviarme una foto? -Es mi novio Ben, es un chico obeso y es perfecto para el experimento... (En serio iba a hacerle esto?) -Vaya, si que es lindo pero veo que lleva un camino hacia la obesidad mórbida, uyuyuy. -En serio!? Usted cree? -La verdad sí, pero no te preocupes, con este experimento todos sus problemas se acabarán y estarás feliz con tu novio, quien sabe quizá hasta sea favorable para cuando realizas relaciones sexuales con él. -La verdad, es un poco difícil tener relaciones sexuales con Ben, no lo puedo levantar al momento de penetración, no siquiera puedo probar muchas otras posiciones ya que suele cansarse rápido por su peso, y hay tanto que quisiera probar... -(Por qué me dice eso?) Sí, es una pena; ya verás que con esto tendrás relaciones como si estuvieras en una escena porno con el mejor pasivo del mundo, jé... -Sí, no puedo esperar y verlo más saludable y más lindo de lo que ya es. -Yo sé que no Henrry, así que te espero a ti y a tu compañero para el experimento. -Ahí estaré. Adiós. -(Agh, realmente espero que salga bien... Hablar de porno me calentó demasiado, pensando en como disfrutaré con mi nuevo Ben, pequeño y delgado, siendo un power botton total... Pero no es tiempo para dejarse ir, tengo que preparar las cosas) Llego el momento esperado, me llevé a Ben a los laboratorios, en su mirada podía ver lo intrigado que estaba, y lo inocente que era; lo que iba a hacer va a cambiar su vida por completo, pero seguro que le hará bien y puede que su autoestima mejore un poco. Entramos al laboratorio lo más rápido y naturalmente que pudimos, dejé a Henrry fuera de el para que esperara a que prepare el experimento. -Hola Dr. El candidato está afuera esperando, hay que preparar las cosas. -Estupendo, todo está saliendo cómo debería *decía mientras veía a Ben sentado afuera por medio de la ventana* Se ve que necesita tu ayuda, a simple vista puedo decir que tiene una baja autoestima y es muy tímido, esto le ayudará a sentirse mejor. -Sí, la verdad se siente un poco incómodo con su cuerpo; cuando iba a la universidad algunos chicos se burlaban de él y aunque no era nada grave lo hacían sentir mal... Pero usted como sabe que tiene una baja autoestima? -A parte de científico también soy Psicólogo y se mucho sobre las personas con solo ver su comportamiento. -Oh, tiene sentido... ¿Y qué hacemos primero? -¿Trajiste todas tus sustancias? -Sí, incluso las que no usaremos, já, como la de crecimiento muscular y testosterona, y la de crecimiento de estatura. *Dice mientras las muestra y las pone sin percatarse en el escritorio de el doctor* -Perfecto, dame las que aceleran el cambio corporal y las que ayudan a quemar grasa. -Tome *Da las sustancias pedidas a el doctor* (Vaya, si que quiero ir al bañó, debería haber ido hace rato) -Okey, primero vierto las que yo traje a este enorme tanque, y luego las tuyas. *Dice mientras vierte sus propias sustancias para acelerar el metabolismo y el maximizador vitaminico, que brinda las vitaminas necesarias al cuerpo humano* -Mmng.... Por favor.... Tengo que ir al baño, Agh. *Dice mientras da varios saltitos* -JAJA, bien ve. Yo estaré aquí. -Gracias. *Sale corriendo hacia el baño* -Muy bien, vamos a verter las sustancias del Dr. Henry y listo.... *Ay, olvidé conectar la manguera para llenar el tanque con agua, lo saldré para que pase por la ventana y llegue hasta acá. -Uff, ya estoy aquí Dr. Magnus... Hmm parece que salió... Oh, no ha vertido las demás sustancias aún *Dice mientras observa las sustancias que se encontraban en la mesa y sin saberlo puso ahí* muy bien, las verteré yo y nos ahorramos tiempo. *Vertió las sustancias completamente y tiró los tubos a la basura* Oh, parece que el profesor está intentando meter la manguera por la ventana, le iré a ayudar. -Gracias Henrry, solo llenamos el tanque y terminamos. -De nada, al parecer esto tardará un poco... -Sí, hay que distraernos mientras se llena, calculo que será media hora para que lo haga por completo... Y bien? ¿Qué le dijiste al paciente? -No le he dicho para que venía, le dije que quería que viera algo conmigo, no creo que le guste que le diga que vengo a cambiar su cuerpo, además le dije ayer que él era perfecto, soy un mal novio... -Bueno, esto lo haces por su bien, así que no pasa nada. Además, imagínate el buen sexo que tendrías si Ben fuer delgado como esos que salen en los videos porno, haciendo diferente pocisiones más atrevidas y ser más flexible para abrirse; también podrías cargarlo y darle todo lo que tienes ahí abajo... Oír esas palabras hacían que mi verga se pusiera muy dura, estoy seguro que después de esto iré a probar el nuevo cuerpo de Ben y sé que me encantará; verlo pequeño, delgado y sano me hace muy feliz. No tendría que preocuparse por su obesidad y sus camisas le quedarían bien. -S-sí, no puedo esperar para ver al Nuevo Ben, Dr. Magnus. -Yo tampoco; además esto hará que tenga más confianza en sí mismo y estoy seguro que eso te hará feliz. -Sí, el merece ser feliz, es muy tierno y amable pero eso hace que muchas personas quieran aprovecharse de él, pero yo lo protegeré de eso, después de todo es y será mi pequeño osito, solo que más delgado. -Oh, mira el tanque ya se llenó. Trae a el candidato por favor. -Voy *Se dirijió a traer a Ben* Oye Ben, ya está todo listo entra. Ben yacía dormido con sus brazos cruzados encima de su barriga que estaba a punto de desaparecer, aunque él no lo sabía. Y aquí termina el primer capítulo, para no hacerlo tan largo, el segundo capítulo saldrá pronto, esperenlo y lo siento si cometo muchos errores o si voy muy lento, no soy muy bueno escribiendo; pero espero que les haya gustado.