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I had a day off and decided to make this happen. Not sure if this is part one or just a one-shot. Comments and suggestions are appreciated as always, especially on if I should continue. *Zap* The bright beam from the sky attenuated rapidly. And then only a man remained, stark naked in the middle of the desert. But what a man he was. His pecs were the first thing to flex. Slowly at first, those globes of muscle rising, becoming fuller and rounder by the second. He stood there casually, pecs unapologetically standing at full mast, for a solid minute. After what felt like an eternity, he let one drop and proceeded to bounce them. The rest of his body was still except for the massive balloons heaving up and down on his chest. He looked as though he was enjoying himself. With pecs still bouncing (it almost looked automatic now), he pushed his elbows in and let his triceps stand in relief. Like sand dunes carved into his arms, immense and sharp. But they didn’t stay for long. He brought his arms up into a classic double bi pose. Like Everest, mountainous peaks piercing the heavens. The belly of each muscle was so fat and engorged that it seemed to spill over the edges of his arm, barely contained by his skin. He followed with an unbelievable most muscular pose. A dimple formed in his pecs where the major met the minor, while his forearms and biceps formed a thick, pulsing frame for his cobblestone abs. His dick was long, full, hard, throbbing. The head bobbed up and down menacingly, threatening to release. He came without as much as a wince. The cum shot right through his arms still held in the most muscular pose. 2 points. Wallace was not inclined to believe in fantasy or science fiction, but the evidence stood there proudly, cumming into the sunbaked dirt. He had just been out categorizing local species of lizards when the giant laser shot down from space and dropped off, of all things, a naked man. The Adonis from the sky. And he had Jason’s face. It had been a while since they had last hung out in high school, but Wallace was pretty confident that this extraterrestrial hunk used to be Jason. His hard on was leaking pre in his denim jeans. The desert sun shone on his olive skin, the bushy cactus he was hiding behind providing no shade. A second cylinder of light left some clothes on the ground nearby before fading away. They were garments for giants. Jason reluctantly put them on, obviously still wanting to explore his newfound prowess. The white tee shirt fit tightly around his arms and his shelf of a chest made a tent where the fabric draped over it. The mesh shorts, while equally as oversized, did not do much to hide his mind-bendingly massive quads or his apparently constant erection. As he moved to a double bi pose again, the fabric seemed to be barely holding together. -- It felt good to flex. It was somehow right in this body, natural. The constant arousal in his dick felt good, too, but it was almost annoying. His cock was permanently hard and he felt like he was going to cum every second. It was hard to focus, especially when he flexed. Which was almost impossible to resist. Should probably get that adjusted. On that note, they could’ve dropped him off closer to his house, too. Even though they gave him clothes (that barely fit, honestly), he was a spectacle. It hadn’t mattered much in the wilderness when no one was around, but as he walked around the oasis of a suburb he called home he received more than a few stares. He was probably going to have to get used to that. It took him a while to get inside once he reached his place. His hands were just so much bigger now. He thought for a second that he might just bust the door in, but he figured his landlords probably wouldn’t like that… Success. He got inside without breaking anything. But the house he was renting felt a little different somehow. He picked up an old framed picture of himself and his parents from high school. An average looking dude stared at him out of the photograph, maybe a little scrawny. Dark messy hair fell over his tan brown skin and framed his sly smile. He absentmindedly tossed it towards his bed. It flew into the wall and shattered. Well, so much for not breaking anything. It didn’t really matter, anyways. That was the old him. He picked up the photo, dusting off shards of glass and wondering if they could even hurt him anymore. Or if anything could hurt him anymore. He shoved the photo in an old travel guide. He was about to set it down when a thought crossed his mind. He grabbed each end with just his finger and thumb and tore it right in half. Like it was a napkin. The pieces dropped to floor with a thud, utterly defeated. The torn photo spilled out of the pages and onto the floor. Then he grabbed a phone book and tore that apart too. It was nothing. He reached for a pan and was about to crush it, but then he thought better of destroying all his worldly possessions. Clearly he could if he wanted to. Might as well not use them up all at once. As he looked for somewhere to rest, he finally noticed his room was much smaller than it was before. He couldn’t even lift his arms without hitting the ceiling, and he had to turn sideways just to get through some doors. He felt the strain in the boards and the concavity he created when he sat on his bed. It creaked and moaned. His cock was entirely ambivalent about all of this, meanwhile, and it had been silent for far too long. Jason’s balls had been churning non-stop and it was about time they get release. He tried to resist, but it was pointless. So he accepted it, tensing every muscle in his body as the ejaculate forced its way through his cock and drenched his shorts. Shit. That was his only pair. He took them off and started to look for new clothes. -- His hard on had not died down since he began following Jason. Which had posed a real problem, since he was basically sprinting from one hiding spot to the next trying to keep up with this Goliath. Wallace was unaccustomed to stalking. It made him feel a little uneasy. But this was not something you saw every day. He could even convince himself it was journalism if he didn’t think too hard. Which was easy, considering he kept leaking pre like a broken faucet. There was not a lot of time for fixing rationalizations between spurts. In spite of his uncomfortable erection, he found Jason rather easy to follow. It might have had something to do with the fact that he was approaching King Kong status or that he seemed to be blissfully unaware of his surroundings, but Wallace never lost sight of Jason. He wondered how many people had followed him in a similar manner. Though let’s be honest, it probably wasn’t that many. He pushed up his coke bottle glasses and unbuttoned the first button of his plaid shirt. The running joke was that he had raided Urkel’s closet but left his brains behind. Coworkers can be so kind. He pulled out the binoculars that were fortuitously located in his backpack. He never imagined that lizard hunting could prove to be so…lucrative. Yeah, that was the word. And boy was it fucking lucrative. By the time he had adjusted to a position where he could see most of the room Jason was in, the hulking monster had left his Gap for Giants clothes on the bed and began to rummage through his wardrobe. He pulled out a blue tee shirt with a video game character on it that looked like it was sized for toddlers in his gorilla hands. And then he tried to put it on. It was almost comical. Emphasis on almost. Wallace’s cock clearly had a different opinion. The shirt started to rip before Jason could even get his arm through one of the sleeves. By the time the other arm made it through, the shirt had already been transformed into a tank top. A lousy one, too; it barely even reached his abs. Meanwhile his pecs were practically suffocating with the tightness of the fabric. He laughed. And as he laughed he came all over the floor. Fucking ridiculous. Although Wallace wasn’t really in position to be critical right now. He wasn’t quite sure of when he came. He only felt it in his pants sometimes afterwards. Journalism at its finest. Jason’s laughter halted abruptly and was replaced with a stuporous state. Wallace could have sworn that a blue glow came over his eyes. After a few moments of drool-laden daydreaming, Jason grabbed his game boy and a Gatorade and ran out the door. Wallace was forced to follow, pants drenched in cum, binoculars swinging on his thin shoulders. -- Jason had hoped to spend a little more time on his own before they called him back. But it sounded pretty important. He hoped he wasn’t going to explode or grow extra limbs anywhere. They would probably laugh at him for saying shit like that. Jason realized half way down the street that he had forgotten his clothes. He had honestly only noticed when his stiff cock met the breeze. A few minutes later he was back on track, fully clothed, spunk drying on his shorts as he briskly trekked back to the pick up spot. A fierce battle between his Venasaur and a Charizard kept his mind occupied while he made his long journey back out to the desert (though really, it was only a mile). He had meant to bring Pokemon Yellow instead of Pokemon Red, but it would have to do. By the time he left his neighborhood, he had grown tired of his clothes. It was approaching 100 degrees anyhow. How could you blame him? So he ripped them off with one hand, never letting go of the Gameboy with the other. They would give him new ones, probably. -- Wallace started getting hard again approximately the same time that Jason’s clothes hit the ground. His glutes bounced as Wallace watched, and their metronomic, perfectly controlled motion was almost hypnotic. Wallace would have stayed captivated by their mesmerizing rhythm if Jason’s calves had not stolen his attention. Bellies like diamonds, it was hard to imagine he was not moving the earth every time he took a step. And if that wasn’t enough, the broad curvature of his lats swayed back and forth, accentuating their impossible size while each little back muscle flexed individually to highlight the definition. Wallace could have stared for hours, but Jason stopped rather suddenly in the middle of nowhere. Wallace couldn’t see any conspicuous landmarks, but Jason turned off his Gameboy and was clearly ready to ascend back to wherever he came from. And so Wallace ran. He ran faster than he ever had in his life, leaving his backpack and binoculars behind. His little lungs and legs burned in the desert heat, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to give up. By the time Jason turned around, Wallace was already on him, clinging his relatively tiny waist. Jason was amused. He grabbed Wallace by the back of his collar and lifted him up. It was kind of like picking up a cat by its scruff. Jason couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy it, just a little. Watching the little man squirm in his grasp, knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do. And then the beam came down, and off they went. *Zap* And within a few seconds it was like they’d never been there.

So its kinda long and its my first attempt so please be kind but truthful on your constructive criticism. Part 2 will depend on your comments. The wall was cold on my back and legs and moving my arms or legs impossible, the steel still warm. My feet over 5 feet off the ground. I wasn’t going anywhere till he came back. Let me stop here and go back to the beginning of meeting Jeff, my college roommate or should I say, my tower of power. It was my move-in day, first day I met Jeff. Second year at college, still in dorm room not too interested in frat life, so stuck in the dorms again. I have a sea-bag full clothes and two boxes of stuff and only 5 more in the car. Best thing that happened so far is that the dorm room is on the first floor but the building was being renovated so everyone elected not to move in. I would be in a room by myself, yeah me! So everything out of the car, unpacking it all and have things all over the place. The college gym has a climbing wall that I really wanted to get to. So I found my brand new full-body climbing harness and slipped it on and head out to the gym. BAM...and on my butt. “Who put something in front of my door?” Shaking my head to get my senses back and I hear a baritone laugh, “Sorry little man, need to watch where you're going.” I look up and I see a mountain of a man; well over 6 foot and big as the door frame. I slowly stand and find out that he is a good two feet taller than my 5’1. “Can I help you?” He looks down and laughs again, “this is my room,” he replies. “I don't think so I’m in this room by myself.” “Not anymore” as he starts walking, pushing me back into my room. He drops his boxes and looks around the room. “Dude I’m telling you, this is a solo room. I was told by housing that I would be by myself as there are plenty of rooms left over.” He looks at me and just smiles. “Well then you need to find a new room, cause this is mine.” He walks right up to me and stands there. Now, let me tell you what I am looking at. He is, like I said, a good two feet taller than me as my eyes are at the bottom of his pecs. He is wearing blue jeans that look like they are painted on and his thighs are about as wide as my chest. His chest is about two of me standing side by side. Wide shoulders that look like bowling balls supporting arms that look like two sides of beef, they have to be about 23” unflexed just hanging there. He is wearing a gray t-shirt that is so tight it looks like a second skin, and his pecs about to bust through. Huge hands that could probably palm my head with ease. High and tight military style hair cut with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I will repeat, a mountain of power. He smiles again, “We could be roommates if you don’t mind having me working out a lot and sometimes helping me with my workout.” “Um, well, I guess I could, it’s a fairly large room. Maybe we can take the metal framed bunk beds apart and I could live on one side and you on the other?” He looks at me and smiles then moves over to the bunk beds, slips both arms under the top bunk and just lifts it right off and carries it to the other side of the room like it weighs nothing and sets it down. “Wow, you lifted that with ease.” I say. “That wasn’t even close to what I normally curl with both arms” he says, laughing. “But, but that weighs over 100 pounds at least?” I ask hesitatingly. “Yeah, guarantee it weighs more than you, huh? What do you weigh, little man?” “Me? I, um, well I weigh 120lbs.” He throws his head back and starts laughing loud, “Yeah that bed weighs like two of you and it was easy. I usually start curling at 200 for a warm-up and usually end around 320. Shooting for 350 by end of year.” “No freakin way dude, you can’t be serious, curling 350 with both arms? Damn dude. What the heck do you bench?” “Benching close to half a ton” he replied with a huge smile. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I mean you’re huge and all but never met a guy that could lift that much. How the hell am I supposed to help you with a workout?” He then steps in front of me again, smiling, and runs his fingers up and down my harness, “What’s this for?” “I was heading over to the gym for rock climbing, it’s my harness, so I don’t fall. I just bought it because my old one wasn’t as sturdy. Why?” “Well you said you weigh a buck 20 right? I can show you how you will help me with my work-out if you don’t mind? Then again you’ll help me even if you don’t want too.” Smiling again he wraps his huge fingers around my side straps at my pecs, and winks and slowly I feel the straps getting tight around my groin. I look at his arms and they are twitching but not really straining. The next thing I feel is that my heels are leaving the ground. I grab his wrists which are so big my hands can’t get around them. My upward motion stops as only my heels have left the ground, and he just smiles. “Hey, what the hell?? What are you doing? Holy shit you’re just holding me here. Put me down.” “Dude you are so light. What am I doing? Anything I want and you’re going along for the ride” he says still smiling and not a strain or show that its hard holding me. “Dude how long can you hold me here?” I ask half scared. “Well part of my military training was to hold 200lbs at half curl for at least five minutes, but I set a record holding it for a good 30 minutes, without the slightest tremor in my arms. My arms finally gave out after about an hour and 20 minutes. So, how long can I hold your measly buck 20? Not sure. But it won’t matter, watch.” He just stares into my eyes and without me feeling much, I look down and now I am on just my toes, almost up like a ballerina but most of my toes still touch the floor, then I stop just like before. “Stop this right now! Put me down! You can’t do this. Holy crap what do you think you are Hercules? Put me down!” I start squirming around and hitting his forearms, which feel like I am hitting steel beams and they don’t move at all, no matter how hard I try, I don’t move at all, not even an inch. He watches me squirm, and just starts laughing at each attempt to get down. His laugh almost mechanical and with total control. My eyes now set at his mid-pec level and I can see them shaking as he laughs. I grab his wrists again trying to come to realization that I’m not going to fall. As I hold his wrists and feel the cords moving. I look back at his face and he knows that I know I’m not going anywhere for a while and he smirks. “Ok, now I think you’re starting to understand what’s going on here,” he says with a shitty ass grin. “Now, let’s see if we can get you a little higher so we can look eye to eye.” “No, you can’t, stop, put me down, are you serious?” All my statements met with a glare and smirk. He looks down at my feet and I follow his gaze. Only to see light under my feet as I slowly, and I mean really slowly am taken off the ground. He continues to curl me up and up so that when I look up, I am face to face with this mountain of muscle and power. I have just been curled for one full rep and it took like 20 minutes. My motion comes to an abrupt stop. “You need to understand little man that I am in charge, not you. I tell you what to do, you can’t tell me what to do. You have no power here at all. I can hold you here for twice what I did with the 200lbs.” I wiggle my feet back and forth trying to come to grips that I really am in the air, with two of the biggest arms I’ve ever seen holding me with ease. He starts walking around the room looking at my stuff and sliding it with his feet, while I’m just hanging there. Once all my boxes and stuff are over near the bunk he moved, he goes back to the middle of the room where we started. “Alright little man, let me try to get a pump with your little body.” He slowly uncurls his arms till my feet are about an inch from the ground and his arms are fairly straight. He winks at me, then he stops smiling and gets a look of determination. I start moving back up, then down, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5...20...30...40...50, nice warm-up, 60...70...80...90...100. Still think you can tell me what to do?” “Damn man that was 100 reps with my 120 and you didn’t even break a sweat.” I say as he just holds me at the top of the rep. “Let’s get these 24” bicep up to 26 or better.” He states as he sets me down on the floor. But he doesn’t let go completely, he grabs my chest strap with his right arm, looks down at me, smiles and I feel my feet leave the floor with just the power of his right arm curling me again. “1, 2, 3...10...30... 50...70...100. How’s that for power little man? A buck 20 for 100 reps with just my right arm.” He switches arms and does it again for another 100 reps. “Now that’s a little pump.” He sets me down again and flexes a double bicep and his shirt sleeves just blow out. He grabs my bed and puts it up on its end, then reaches back over to me and lifts me up to one of the legs and slides it through the “D” rings I have on the back and let’s go. I hang there unable to get down. “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.” Laughing as he walks out of the room. He returns about 5 minutes later and has a bundle of rebar and the rest of his things. After setting it on the floor, he grabs the remnants of his t-shirt and tears it like tissue paper from his body. He comes back over to me and slides me off the leg and sets me down. “So are you ready for more of a workout?” he asks me but not waiting for an answer grabs my shoulder with one hand and my thigh with the other and lifts me to his chest. At this point I can’t resist and I feel his bicep with one hand. It is warm to the touch but hard as a steel ball, a steel bowling ball. He snickers as he feels me groping his bicep. Then with the same ease as before, presses me over his head and holds me there. “How’s the view little man?” As if I was lifting a pillow, he powers me up and down at a steady easy pace. I hear him counting again but this time the numbers are flying by 50...100...150... “Oh shit, how many are you going to do?” I ask trying to understand his power. “I’m thinking 300 before I go to one arm presses. 200...250...300.” I stop moving. He sets me down and again grabs the center strap again and up I go to the side of this mountain. His arm is curled out to his side then with a blast of speed again, I am moving like I weigh nothing. 300 reps, then over to the other side and bam, bam, bam, 300 more reps. He moves me like I am nothing to him. With my feet back on the floor, he shakes out his arms and stand right in front of me. “Now that gives you a small sample of how you are going to help me with my workouts. As you see, I can do just about anything I want with you. Now let’s see what you can do, I want you to try and straighten my arm.” He curls it just a little and I grab his wrist and push with all my might. “Push harder dude, straighten my arm, you don’t have far to go. Come on little man put your whole body into it. You have to be stronger than my one arm, come on do it.” At this point, I am red in the face and putting every ounce of strength I have just to move his arm. I am almost hugging his forearm trying to get it to move. He starts laughing and I feel his hand grab my waist strap of the harness and I am instantly propelled in the air and upside down. He just starts laughing as he holds me there. Back on the floor he tells me, “hey go move your dresser over to your side of the room.” Now the dressers are solid wood, not the pressed wood shit, these are solid. I grab it and try to slide it and can barely budge it. He walks over, one hand on each side and lifts it up. But instead of putting in on my side of the room he sets it right in front of the door. Then to make matters worse, he grabs the second one and puts it on top the first. Laughing he steps back and says, “I guess we know who’s going out that door and who’s going to be left in the room.” “So how did you get so strong, dude?” I ask inquisitively. “Well let me tell you while I pump my biceps again.” Before I can move out of reach, he has my chest strap and I am propelled again out to his side. He is about to do side bicep curls with me. “You count this time while I tell you a little story. I went in the Marine Corps at 18 and was only a little bigger then you are now (25). I volunteered for a special medical testing procedure (46). They told me that this procedure would help the entire military if it worked (78). I grew about 5 inches and gained about 30lbs (110). They thought I would have been bigger, so they thought it was a failure and decided to discharge me (150 switch arms). But in reality, it did work just took longer to develop in me (38). After about a year, I was eating and lifting like a mad man (59). Before I knew it, lifting the front of an SUV was easy for me (88). But I kept going pushing myself harder and farther than anyone could imagine (126). Came to school here for my master’s degree and to understand how to get bigger (150).” “Dude you just freakin curled me 150 side bicep reps and you did it while talking. I mean, damn dude, you are so freakin incredibly strong. Now you’re just holding me here, wow, dude I just can’t believe how strong you are.” “You will before today is over, little man or should I say little boy?” As I look at the mountain, he appears to have gotten bigger but it might just be the lifting that he just did, and his muscles getting pumped that make him look bigger. He just smiles down at me and starts flexing showing the pump he just got with me. “Dude” I start to say but am interrupted. “From now on you call me Hercules, I like that name.” “What? You want me to call you Hercules? Dude really.” His right arm shoots out and grabs my shirt and harness and before I can really comprehend I am propelled toward his chest and slam hard into it and am nose to nose with him. “You WILL call me Hercules; do you understand?” My feet off the ground by a good two feet and his right arm tight as hell, I’m not going anywhere and he’s shaking me back and forth just to emphasize my predicament. “ok, ok, ok, Hercules…can you put me down now?” “I can do anything I want with your buck 20 and I choose to make sure you understand I’m in charge.” He carries me back to the upright bed and slides the leg through the “D” rings again and let’s go. I sway there knowing I don’t have a choice. He starts unpacking his stuff and putting things in the top dresser, weighing it down even more. He opens one of the boxes and pulls out metal rebar about 4ft long which are bent on the ends. He looks at the wall behind where my bed is and brings the rebar over. “Well they aren’t going to mind, cause they will probably redo the walls in here anyway.” He states. Then places the end of one of the bar a little over his head, pulls back his arm and slams it into the wall, let me repeat that and let it soak in, He slams it INTO the wall. It sinks a good foot into the concrete block wall, like I would stab a pickle with a toothpick. He tugs on it and sees it is solid. He repeats the process spacing them out about three feet apart. “Holy shit that went a good foot in.” I state out loud but thinking I was saying that to myself. He looks at me with a sullen stare, and just smiles. Then back to the rest of his unpacking. A good two hours have passed and he is done. He comes over and looks at me, “how’s it hanging?” Laughing at his own joke. “I would greatly appreciate if you put me down so I can take a piss and then maybe I can unpack my stuff?” “Sounds good.” He states “You’re not going to try and run away are you?” “No, sir. The door is blocked and the windows don’t open and there are bars on them.” He looks out the windows, “I can open them, what’s your problem, weakling?” He lifts me again with both hands and slides me free of the bunk leg. He then carries me into the bathroom and looks around to make sure I can’t get away and puts me down very slowly, laughing the entire time, teasing me with the floor by bouncing me up and down as I am about to touch the floor. After a few minutes he sets me down with a thud and walks back into the main room. I relieve myself which takes a few minutes as I was holding it for about an hour. I slowly reenter the room and start to unpack my stuff as he is laying on his bed; well as best a beast of his size can...feet off the end, shoulders a good 6inches off either side, his hands wedged under him so they don’t hang there, and his head resting on my sleeping bag as a pillow. That dude is huge; I’m telling ya. I load my dresser trying not to make too much noise. I think I can handle the bed and slowly bring it down to the floor. It is heavy but with a lot of struggling I get it back on four legs and push it into the corner of the room. I make my bed and figure to lay down myself and rest, but as I look around the room I see pictures and trophy’s and curiosity gets the best of me. I venture over and see a pic of him holding two young guys that look like him, one in each arm and they are out to his side and a good two feet off the ground. He is smiling and they look scared. There is a caption under the pic that reads, ‘my bros hanging out with me.’ Damn this dude is big, I mutter to myself. I then see a pic of him lifting the front of an SUV, while an older man is at the tire. This caption reads, ‘Helping dad with auto maintenance.’ Oh my word. I look at some of the trophies which are for local weight lifting contests that he placed in. There are other pics of him doing pushups with the two ‘bros’ on his back; doing squats with the bros holding onto a bar; and the last one I see is what appears to be a barbell bar bent into a ‘U’ shape and his two bros standing back to back inside the ‘U’ and it looks like it’s been rammed into the ground, trapping them. At this second I feel breathing and sense a large shadow over me. I slowly turn and am face to abs with Jeff. He looks at me then at the picture, then snickers that turns into all out laughter. “Those two...are my older twin brothers that used to pick on me all the time growing up. Now, I play with them like they are toys, karma’s a bitch, huh?” Without warning, he grabs my upper arms and presses them in then lifts me upward carrying me away from his side of the room and plants me close to my bed. “It’s nap time little man, I need some rest and so do you.” He states. “But I want to head to the gym and then grocery store, so if you’ll move the dressers I will head out and be back when you wake up.” I state trying to reason with him. He spins me around so my back is at his abs and then curls his arm around my throat. I try and stop him but is futile to even try. He continues to bend his arm as if I’m not even there, my neck wedged very nicely into the crook of his arm. Not tight but just locked in place. Then he stands up to full height and I am propelled into the air, my own body weight working against me. “No, I don’t think so,” he states and slowly contracts his arm and flexes it, “I think you will take a nap and not argue with me. In fact, I insist.” As his arm tightens and I start losing conciseness. He brings me higher so that his mouth is even with my ear and whispers, “night, night little boy, in 3 ... 2 ... 1.” I try to struggle and pull on his arm but it’s just doesn’t move at all and as he starts to count I fall deeper and deeper in to sleep, hearing the enjoyment in his tone, I slump down. He then very nicely lays me in my bed, takes my blanket and tucks me in, wrapped like a burrito. To make sure I am not going anywhere he grabs two long rebar and lays them across me. One at my chest and one at my lower thighs. Then bends the ends around the bottom of the bunk, trapping me in place. I awake to what I think is an earthquake as my bed is moving around and I’m being jiggled from side to side and it appears that the room is moving too. But as I slowly become more awake I realize a few things at one time. First, I can’t move. I see that I am wrapped tightly in my blanket and then see the two bars holding me into the bed. I struggle but can’t really move. Second, is that it is just my bed that is moving, more precisely, it is going up and down fairly quick. I hear the baritone voice under me 201.202.203.204. I see Jeff’s knees bent and realize he is under my bed bench pressing it. “What the hell are you doing?” I scream. “Oh, good morning little man, just let me finish up my second set and we’ll talk. 250...275...300…” “How many are you doing ya little shithead.” I say without thinking first, then realize, not the best thing to say after what happened yesterday. The movement stops abruptly. “I will chalk up that last comment to the fact that you are just waking up and not fully awake. 350...375...400...450...and 500.” He set the bed down and slowly climbs out from under it. Stands up and stretches his huge physique. Looks down at me and just starts laughing as I am struggling to get out of the bed. “What’s the problem? Can’t move? (Laughing even louder) Ah, poor little man all fastened in bed? Are those little 1/2" rebar too much for you to get out of?” He then grabs both ends of the bar on my chest, that are bent and with a twist of the wrist, unbends the bar, and removes them. He repeats the process with the bar on my thighs. I just lay there and watch as he manipulates the bars to his wish. He then grabs the blanket at my chest with his right hand and the bottom at my feet with his left and up over his head I fly into a standing military press almost 11’ in the air. “Ready?” not waiting for a response commences with quick reps that are flying by. Before I know it he is up to 35 reps and not slowing at all. At 50 he starts laughing again, “you are so freakin light little man...75...100...how much did you say you weighed again?” “Me, um, well, I, um, weigh 120lbs!” “150...damn this might help a little.” The motion starts to slow but not because I am heavy or he is tired, but I realize he is doing resistance reps, slow downward rep and explosive upward and this goes for the last 20 reps. He stands me on the bed and the blanket slips down off me and I run to the bathroom. After taking a long piss I come back into the room and Jeff is shirtless and stretching. “You ok? Did you have a nice night’s sleep?” Jeff asks as I am staring at the huge mountain of muscle. The guy could win any heavyweight bodybuilding contest he entered, hands-down. “So while you were sleeping I went to the grocery store and got a bunch of stuff, mostly my protein and supplements, but I got some things for you too. Breakfast is in the mic. Hope you like scrambled eggs, bacon, breakfast potatoes, and biscuits. Orange juice on your desk and coffee is made. I want you to know that I’m not just a strong, big man, but I can take care of you as you have been doing a lot for me lately.” Still staring, trying to take in his size and the fact that all my fantasies are standing right in front of me and most of the fulfilled yesterday with his ‘workout’. Like a zombie, I walk over to my desk and down the orange juice like I hadn’t had a drink in weeks. We both sat down and ate the huge breakfast he got from the campus diner, lots of food. There were three steaks, two southern fried chicken steaks, bacon, sausages, taters, gravy, eggs, like about dozen or more, bread and biscuits. I also noticed a lot of grocery bags filled with stuff in the kitchen area. As we ate we talked about ourselves and got to know each other. He told me that he just wanted to show off yesterday and establish himself as the Alpha male. He likes to lift and just thought it would be fun and didn’t mean to scare me. I thought it was safe to tell him that I was gay and that most of the stuff he did with me, I actually enjoyed, he just smiled. We talked about working out and he told me that he is actually 7’4 at 335lbs with like 6% body fat, which made me feel even smaller than what I already am. I mean, I am 5’1 and 120lbs, on a bad day, usually weighing in at a whopping 115lbs soaking wet. So the next few hours we got know each other and talk about our past and stuff. I automatically cleaned up the dishes and started putting the over 30 bags of groceries away, filled the fridge, and put all his supplements and stuff he uses over on his side of the room. As I was walking back to my side he steps in front of me, looming like a large mountain. “Do you mind being our houseboy, if I keep buying the groceries and stuff?” He asked very politely. “No man, not at all, kinda used to it as I had to do it when I lived at home. My step brother and step father demanded it from me, so I’m just used to doing it and really don’t mind.” As the day wore on, Jeff took a nap and I decided to venture outside to see what was happening around campus and find where my classes would be. Then stopped off at the gym for some climbing time and do some cardio. I lost track of time and started heading back around 4pm. As I entered the hallway, I noticed loud thuds coming from our room, almost like someone was tearing the place apart. I noticed our door wedged flat into the wall across the hall. I hear Jeff groaning like he is being hurt. So I rush in, “What the hell is going on in here, are you ok Jeff?” Oh, he was ok alright, but the rebar he was bending wasn’t and to top that off he bent them all into perfect “U” shape and tossed them on MY bed. He spins around and his eyes were so dark navy blue that I thought there were black. “Where the fuck have you been.” His voice so deep and angry it resonates the walls and into my bones. I had the thought of just turning tale and running as fast as I could, but I couldn’t move. I looked at him and as calmly as I could, answered his question, “I went out to the gym for cardio and climbing and then walked campus to make sure I knew where my classes where for next week. I left you a note on my desk.” I walk to my desk and grab the piece of paper to show him. As I am turning both his hands shoot out, ball up my t-shirt very tight, and he proceeds to slowly curl me as he starts talking, “I didn’t see you when I woke up, I didn’t see the note either. I waited and waited. I thought you changed your mind and tried to get another room, tried to get away from me, tried to tell the school authorities what I had done with you, tried to get me in trouble. You wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t dare. I was afraid you weren’t coming back. I didn’t want to eat dinner alone.” Our faces mere centimeter from each other. His voice still angry and booming; his grip very tight; my feet just dangling again. I grab his fists and try to talk him down, “Jeff, we discussed this earlier, I want to be here, I want to help you, shit, I want to cook and clean for you, it’s what I do best, well that and just hang off your fists.” I smile trying so hard to get him to calm down. I feel his fists tighten more and am moved higher and higher till his arms are over his head. He shakes me hard back and forth. The note I wrote in my hand and he looks at it for the first time. Reading it then looking back up at me, slowly the ceiling gets farther away from my head as he slowly puts me down. “Sorry little man, I just got worried. Don’t want anything to happen to my new friend, my new toy. I hope you’re not mad at me, I just a little upset when I didn’t see you here.” As school was about to start, I made sure I left notes high enough he would see them and he started looking for them before he got upset. Football season was on us with parties after games and tailgates before. Jeff and I didn’t see much of each other during the day but at night it was workout city in our room. Pushups with me on his back; benching me and anything else he could put on my bed, which included one of the dressers; one arm and two arm curls with his little toy friend; shoulder and military presses, you name it he did it and I went along for the ride, like I had a choice. As classes continued I was “asked” or rather bullied into tutoring one of the football jocks. There were a few nights I didn’t get home till late, which cut into Jeff’s workout time. He understood but it made him wonder why. So one evening Jeff followed me to the ‘frat’ house and saw the guy the I was supposed to be tutoring forcing me to wrestle him and dominating me with ease. Then the bully would press me overhead for a few reps, nothing like Jeff could do, not even close. But it upset Jeff that I didn’t tell him and that I allowed it to happened and not report him. I left the frat house later than usually wanting to get home so Jeff wouldn’t be upset. As I am walking, sore from the wrestling session, I feel this huge hand grab my shoulder spin me around and there is Jeff’s massive upper body. I look up and see his face in not mad but a strong look of concern. “Are you ok?” I stare at his face and nod my head yes. “I got concerned so I followed you and saw what that ass is doing to you instead of paying you. Do you have your harness?” I nod again almost afraid of what might happen if he went back to confront the jock. “Put it on cause I need to go for a run.” I look puzzled but never questioned him in the past so not now. I slip it on but he loosens the strap and lifts me onto his back and puts his arms through like a backpack and I’m the backpack. He pulls a belt out of his bag and puts it around both of us securing me to his back. “Here we go, hang on.” He takes off at a nice jog making sure I’m not getting hurt. We get to the main road, not much traffic but we are heading away from the dorm rooms. He looks back smiles, and says, “ok now let’s open up these legs and see what they can do.” We are moving at a really good pace, the wind in my face as if I was in a car. I see a sign that shows the town of Grover 10 miles ahead. I feel him speeding up and before I know it we are in Grover and making a small pit stop in the local grocery store for water, I am still attached to him and he is having fun showing off. He buys some water and starts walking back to the college. The large gallon jug of water is down and he starts running or should I say sprinting at this point back to the room. We arrive a short time later 12 miles one way and he acts like it was a light jog. In the room, still on his back, he gets some of his power drinks and downs them. Jeff unloosens the belts and sits on my bed unstrapping himself from my harness. He then asks me why I didn’t say anything to him about the bully. I told him that he started paying me good money for tutoring but once his grades improved to the point he could finish the year and not worry about it, that’s when he started forcing me to wrestle and using me as a weight. I told Jeff that I asked him to stop and threatened I would stop tutoring him then he got mad and would grab me after my last class and carry me to the frat house. I told Jeff that I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want Jeff to hurt him. Jeff listened with understanding. Then stood up. Jeff had a Cheshire cat smile, and then crunched his knuckles in his fist, cracking his knuckles which sound like firecrackers. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I won’t hurt him bad enough that he can’t play but he will know that if he touches you again, well, let’s just say being injured on the field will feel like nothing compared to what I will do with him.” “However, you need to know that no one lifts you or bullies you or threatens you, because you are my toy friend and I get jealous. You should have come to me and told me, now I think I need to remind you that I am in charge of you and everything you do. I think you have forgotten that and me and my muscles need to drive that point home. So as far as I am concerned you just bought yourself a long lifting session.” He grabs me and stands me up in front of him and tightens the straps nice and tight. “Let’s pump these guns.” I am airborne and he starts pounding out rep after rep with his right arm. I am quietly counting and he is just smiling at how easy it is. My count passes 100, then 150, ‘oh shit he going for 300,’ I mumble, 200, 250, 275, and he starts slowing down pushing harder and harder but still knowing he will accomplish his goal, 300! “Jeff that’s the first time you ever done that many, good job!” He stares at me still at the top of the 300th rep. I see his left arm come up and takes the place of his right. “Again?” I ask. And it’s his turn to just nod. He goes at again like an animal pumping his arm up and down over and over like a machine. The last couple of reps he growls like a bear slowly getting the 300th rep and sets me down. His face and body so tense. “I don’t like you going to the frat house, so from now on you won’t in fact you’re going to take some time off, off from tutoring and off the floor.” He grabs one of the old rebar that he had bent into a U and proceeds to put me in the U shape then with greater ease than I saw him before, wraps the top part of the bar around my upper chest about 3 times and then the other part of the bar he wraps around my abs area pinning my entire arms to my side. He grabs another one and starts wrapping it around my knees, one part going up around my thighs, the bottom bar down around to my ankles. He then takes another bar and feeds it down the back of me and when it is at my feet lifts me and bends the ends so I am standing on the ends of the rebar. “Now little man you are going to hang out here while I deal with your bully.” He grabs one of the rebar at my chest level and lifts me with his right arm carrying me to the wall where he and shoved the rebar into the cement block and lifts me up and hangs me on one of them. He lets go and steps back smiling at his nice handy work. The wall was cold on my back and legs and moving my arms or legs impossible, the steel still warm. My feet over 5 feet off the ground. I wasn’t going anywhere till Jeff came back.

Big Muscles, Huge heart pt1 I was at a loose end, just surfing the internet, when I decided to log into Recon,com, it’s a fetish website, and although I had little interest in S&M, fighting, leather, uniforms or Master Slave type shit, I did have a thing for big built guys. I was taking a look at the 100 muscle pics and one profile stood out, a fair haired white guy massive shoulders, 52 inch chest ,huge biceps (easily 19 inches), 5ft 8 ( I prefer guys under 6ft), top ( I am versatile bottom, and due to being hung, I usually end up doing all the fucking, my stats at the time were 5ft7 185lbs 44c 15.5 bis and 32w) all pluses aside from 2 major negatives, he is in an open relationship and is South Carolina, whilst I am up here in NYC. I will be frank I took a look at his profile pictures, and did get a massive hard on looking at his body, I decided to take the plunge and send him a cruise, to my surprise he responded, with a cruise on my profile page, I thought he was just being polite as it did state on his profile that he was looking for guys who were 100kg + (226lbs), I was short of that by 15kg, although at 5ft7 and regular gym goer, I was still deemed by most to be stocky. I decided to message him and introduce myself, he responded promptly and said I looked good, and that I should continue working out, we spoke about what we were into and I wasn’t shy about showing him my 8x6 uncut meat, I gave it a thumbs up but I got the impression he wasn’t too interested in cock pics, as he was top. but at the time I didn’t have any ass pics, as I found it difficult to take a selfie on my shite phone of an ass. We chatted a bit more eventually he introduced himself as Roger, told him my name was Tony he said he had to go, so I jerked off to his picture imagining being enveloped by the 115kg of muscle mass that he was. A couple of months passed and a new phone and I decided to sign up to growlr, looking through the hot guy section I saw his profile again, I decided to re introduce myself, he responded straight away with a woof, we exchanged messages again and this time exchanged numbers so we could exchange more pictures through whatsapp. he send a headless video of him wanking and shooting a big load into the air, I was imagining him holding me down and fucking that big load into my ass, I sent him back some videos of me flexing my biceps and chest which he said was nice and he wanted to see my legs, I recorded some more of me with a full body shot, he was disappointed in my legs and told me I need to work my legs more in the gym, then conversation went dead, I had my ego bruised but I used his suggestion as challenge to get bigger. Months passed and I still lusted after this Southern Hunk, I stepped up my training in the gym with more empathise on training my legs, I was already self conscious about them before he pointed it out, I started training them twice a week, and within a few months my thighs had grown from 24 inches unto 26, still a long way off from his 30 inch monsters, I was happy with the results and had all but forgotten about him, when I was just looking through my phone and saw his number, I decided I would throw caution to the wind and send my progress pics. I sent 5 pics but didn’t get any response, so I assumed he was not interested, then a few days later I got a woof and a thumbs up, and he complimented me on my progress, i told him that I was pleased that he was impressed by my progress, but I am still nowhere as big as I want to be and that I was toying with the idea of going on a cycle as I wanted to get a lot bigger, and bigger quicker, He also told me that his relationship was over and his ex was a complete Jerk Off, his ex was always boasting about being a powerlifter, but his training regime consisted of doing 2 set of leg press, taking a picture to post on Facebook, whatsapp and growlr, taking steroids, Hgh but eating shit like Mcdonalds and Wendys. He said the guy must see something different to what everybody else saw, His ex thought he was built like a young Scot Mendelson but looked like a white Biggie Smalls. The only reason why his ex had a flock of followers was for 2 reasons, one they were friends with my Southern hunk and added him out politeness or the later being that he could get his hands on steroids cheap, so bodybuilders, powerlifters and strongmen would kiss his arse to get cheap deals on gear. He said that if I needed any advice on what to take and how to take it he would be more than happy to help. It was at that point I thought it would be better if I rang him, as I was paranoid about talking about steroids on whatsapp, as us don't want to get into any legal trouble, so I asked if it was ok for me to ring him, he said it was fine, i don't know what i was expecting from the conversation, but he was softly spoken but oozed masculinity we talked about training, steriods and eventually spoke about music, it was strange that sex was;t mentioned at all, I felt good when I got off the phone, if at nothing else I felt I had made a new friend, and he was somebody I could talk about training and music with. We kept in contact for the next couple of months, and in June I decided to take the plunge and get some test, I managed to buy some from a friend from the gym, buying the gear was the first step, I was still shitting bricks about injecting myself, when I got off work the next Day I messaged my Bodybuilder friend, and told him I had some stuff, he was delighted and told me to FaceTime him the next day so he could take through the process of injecting myself for the first time. The next day came around and face timed my Southern friend, he asked if i had showered, which I had, if I had cotton and alcohol to clean the area of my ass check where the injection was going, I did what he suggested, took 1cl of test 400 into the syringe then changed the needle for a thinner one, then took the plunge and jabbed myself my first steroids, there was a bit of blood, but no pain. I thanked my sexy Southern Friend for his help, then we ended the conversation. I continued to go to the gym, and after a couple of weeks my bench had gone from 100kg to 140kg, I was feeling great every time I stepped on the scales my weight was going up, but my waist was staying around 34-36, by August I had gained 10kg and was unto 95kg, 210l lbs, 17 inch arms I had kept my bodybuilder pal informed of my progress, and one day I decided to give him a real treat, Due to being well hung I rarely got the opportunity to bottom, so in a desperate bid to get some sort of pleasure from my Ass hold I decided to buy a dildo, it had been years since I had got fucked, my last partner although a big strapping Bronx River hardman, was bottom, so having the feeling of something up there was a welcome pleasure. I also filmed it and sent it to my 115kg (245lb) fireplug muscle friend. His response was immediate and said it made him very horny, and loves ass, and has no interest in my cock, he said he’d love to fuck my ass, long and slow and despite being a big Strong Alpha Male, he said he is no beast, and likes to be more sensual when fucking a hot bottom. I was horned up as fuck at this news, so I asked him if we could meet, he said he would like that but I would have to visit him as work prevented him from going out of State without a lot of notice. I am a manager at the place where i work so I arranged cover with some of the other Managers so i could take some time out to go down South, I was looking forward to a couple of days of lifting eating and fucking. I told him what time I would be arriving at the Airport and he said he would meet there, I as the flight went on the more nervous I got, there was a little nagging at the back of my head that he wouldn't turn up, luckily for us both he did turn up and he looked even better in the flesh than he did in his pics, Facetime and photos on the internet did this man no justice, he was huge, he filled his clothes really nice, thick neck, massive shoulders, big thick thighs, respectable basket and a big beefy ass, he had the must stunning clear blue eyes in contrast to my Dark Brown ones, at that point I knew that it wasn’t just gonna be quick fuck, I knew I had found the one, and the search was over, this guy is the one but you will have to wait until the next instalment to find out what happens next

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Hey guys, things are getting intense in this story. There are a couple ways it could go next and if you have any routes you would like it to take in particular, leave a comment! A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Thursday Night: Wrestling. Part 6 I’m lying on my back in my bedroom with my eyes closed. Many thoughts run through my mind as I lie there. “Troy broke up with his girlfriend,” I whisper to myself. “No,” I respond. “She broke up with him…” I honestly have no clue. Who did the breaking up and why? My bed begins to vibrate and I am jolted out of my thoughts. It’s my phone. I pick it up and read the message. Just another text from Joy. “Shit.” It is 6:30 and I planned to meet with Troy an hour after dinner. I ate dinner at 5:30 and I remember seeing him there. So technically we should be meeting now. “Maybe he’s just waiting for his food to digest,” I say to myself. “Or maybe he’s too upset to wrestle after his break up.” I hope that he wasn’t too upset. I really hoped we could wrestle today. I felt like he was finally...VRRRTT! VRRRTT! My phone vibrated again. It was a message from Troy! Troy: Hey man, I’m ready to wrestle! Meet me at 6:50. I quickly change into my singlet and in 5 minutes I am walking into the gym. I make it my biggest priority not to mention his break up. He is already in front of me, sitting on the mat, looking at the ceiling with blank eyes. Yeah, I definitely should not bring it up. I walk over to the mat and hearing my footsteps, he opens his eyes and smiles. “Hey, bro,” he says quietly. He lacks his usual energy and that bothers me a little. I try not to let it show. He is wearing an extremely tight black compression shirt and a pair of tight, blue running shorts. This makes me a little happy. He’s still wearing clothes that show off his bod. Good. “You ready for this man?” I say. He laughs. “Ready for what exactly?” “To get your ass kicked,” I say smiling. His eyes widen at what I say. “I will fight as strongly as I can, but I’ll be honest. I don’t mind being dominated by you at all.” I hesitate to speak. I was not expecting that. “Game on,” I say. We get on the mat and move into our positons in front of each other. I size him up and look into his eyes. They have this deeply serious look. Like a threatened animal he looks at me with so much intensity that I begin to feel afraid. We continue to look into each other’s eyes. There’s tension in the air and he is beginning to breathe heavily. His chest and shoulders begin to raise up and down. Then suddenly he lunges at me. He pins me to the floor, his chest directly on mine, and I immediately flip him on to his back. “You’re faster than me,” he says. “But I’m stronger.” “We’ll see” I say. He rolls onto his knees and lunges at me again. I quickly dodge him and I’m on his back in an instant. I pin him down and all he can do is grunt and whine beneath me. He tries his best to get out of my grip but it is no use and he eventually taps out. I let him go and in a flash he turns around and is on top on me with both hands clamped over my wrists. “Whoa!” I say. “This is cheating!” “Well I gotta do something to beat someone so experienced.” The word experienced slips off of his tongue as if it had some sort form of double meaning. I wonder what he meant. I can’t move and he continues to look into my eyes as he pins me down. My dick twitches a little from the position I am in. I need to move. “Fine,” I say. “You can cheat a little you big baby.” “Prepare to get owned” He lets me go and we go at it again. This time no rules. Troy plays dirty. On two occasion his hand made harsh contact with my cock and balls causing me intense pain and giving him an advantage. I knew he was doing it on purpose, but I didn’t want to seem like a bitch so I fought through it. He pins me down about three times before I begin to notice that he is a one trick pony. Each time he pinned me he had a handful of my cock and used it to his advantage, but now I was ready. I saw his hand coming down and dodging it, I grabbed for his arm and spun him onto his back. Then I did something risky. With one hand pinning down his left hand I used my other and put pressure onto his own dick, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “Oh fuck!” he says. His eyes close shut and his head tilts back in agony. I jump on his stomach and pin him down. He gives up easily. That was the beginning of the end. I pinned him 4 more times after that within seconds and he begins to get angry. “You’re going down, man!” he yells at me. Anger is in his eyes. We are both sweating. But Troy is soaked from how much effort he is putting into fighting me. He rips off his shirt, his hard pecks and abs in full view now and I’m caught off guard that I have no time to prepare myself when he tackles me. His sweaty pecs touch my face and I can feel the dense, hard muscle push against my teeth. My cock springs to life and I’m fucking embarrassed. Shit. “Look how the tables have turned,” he says. “Not so fast!” I say. I wiggle beneath him and be begins to laugh. Luckily I wiggle just enough to free my leg and I bend my right knee right into his crotch connected with his rock hard cock. “Ugh!” he yelps and rolls onto his side with both hands over his dick. He lays there for a second and suddenly he springs back to life and comes at me again. I have time to react and duck. He tumbles over my back, grabbing my spandex as he falls, and pulls me onto him. He lies on the floor on his back holding me in his arms, my back to him. I struggle but eventually break free and try to stand. He grabs at my legs and I fall back onto him. My face lands directly between his legs and I basically lose my shit. His shorts are so thin that I can feel his dick pressed against my cheek. I can smell the musk from his dick and I get harder than I was before. The awkward part is that my dick is also in Troy’s face and he doesn’t seem to give a fuck. I feel like this moment is frozen and I don’t move and suddenly I am flipped on to my back and I see Troy with hatred in his eyes. He jumps at me but I dodge him quickly and make I am quickly on top of him with both of his arms pins. “Shit!” he yells. He struggles beneath me like a wild animal. He seems crazy. Withering like a mental patient wearing a straitjacket. His breathing is heavy and his eyes and face are red. Then suddenly he calms down. His breathing slows and his eyes begin to glisten. Tears drip down his face, adding to the sweat on his face and he looks so pitiful that I let his arms go. I stand up and put my hand out to him. He slowly raises his hand and I help him up. “How are you doing, Troy?” I say. “Are you ok?” “No… but I think I will be.” “What’s going on?” “My girlfriend…She left because I didn’t want to give up bodybuilding, but I’ve been thinking a little. Maybe I should stop.” “But she was wrong for wanting to ruin your dreams of being bigger and stronger.” Troy turns away from me and continues to speak. “I don’t think I should let her go.” I get angry at this. There is no way I’m losing him to some bitch who can’t see something amazing in front of her. I grab his shoulder and turn him around to face me. “You are strong! Look at these arms, these legs, and those abs.” I lightly punch each body part as I describe it. I notice his cock violently twitching through his shorts as I do this and his hand quickly clamps down on it. “Don’t give up on gains, man. You can find someone else, maybe someone as into body building as you. Someone just as strong.” “Who then?” he says. “Uh… I don’t know man.” “Exactly.” Troy stands, picking up his shirt and putting it back on so he can leave. “What are you going to do, Troy?” “I think…I think I’m done with lifting. I quit bodybuilding!” His fists are clenched and are turning red. “I’m doing it for her…” he says and walks away, leaving me in the gym alone.

You Can Stop - Part Two (with a big thanks to ShreddedFreaksLover and FitnessBel for their assistance in the couple of statements I needed in Spanish. And to Phoenix27 who also offered to help.) by F_R_Eaky Part One: Part Two [rattle rattle rattle crattle rattle POP hsssssssssssssss] "No... no no no no no no nooooo NO!..... DAMN IT!" Ted pulled his car over to the side of the road but let it coast for as long as it could, including a turn off onto a slightly smaller street. "Why... WHY?! Why didn't I take a flight? Why did I decide that a two week trip across the U.S. would be a relaxing vacation?" It was the middle of June, just before summer started, and Ted was taking a couple of week's worth of vacation to celebrate his birthday, abroad on a scenic car trip of the United States. Truth be told, however, he was actually taking it to avoid contact with Cris, his best friend in the whole world. Over the last couple of years his friend has gone through some physical changes. Radical changes to say the least: a drop of 150 pounds of fat that his body seemed to then turn and inflate into more and more muscle that just seems to keep piling on and swelling ever thicker and harder, he's become just over two feet taller, his feet have grown up twenty-eight and half sizes, and he has a cock that appears to be growing out of him like some kind of natural, flesh made fire hose. "Awww fuck!" Said Ted exasperated. Shakily one hand went to his forehead while the other went to the waistband of his pants. He needed to undo them quickly to allow some room as just the quick thought of Cris made him spring wood as hard as the petrified forest. "I'm a top.... how can I be a top when I know someone who's almost two feet taller than me and is growing into the hulk?!? And how is it happening to him? Even late bloomers just don't suddenly grow two feet...OVER two feet in just over two years. It's not done.... it can't happen that way. It's medically impossible! His organs can't develop fast enough. He should've collapsed. The human heart doesn't function well anymore once you get past a certain large size. He was my best friend... my little best friend. I enjoyed being his protector....his guardian.... his close fantasy. I know I was. I was the closest thing he had to a really big...BIG! MAN!..... When we had friendly good-bye hugs, I could feel him twist and squirm so I wouldn't feel his growing erection in his pants. He was Cris.... he was Crisito! I was the big man. I WAS THE BIG MAN!" Ted shook even more violently. He was dealing with conditions and emotions he didn't like, he didn't want to face, and his plan to run away for his birthday, he now realized backfired completely. "Oh....SHIT!" Looking around, he realized the little stretch of road he was on, he vaguely recognized. His car's check engine light having come on, he got off the highway at the nearest exit and hoped that problem would be a quick fix. But now, now something as popped and he could smell the radiator fluid leaking out. Where was it he pulled off and into? He originally wasn't sure. He wasn't exactly paying attention. Recognizing the street and area he's on, however, made him understand he's pulled off near Cris' town. Getting out of the car, he popped the hood open , looked, and confirmed at least one of his fears, He'd blown a hose and possible the cap to the radiator. Even if he could get replacement fluid, there's probably a good guarantee that it will leak and he'll need to replace the radiator, if not something else as well. Leaving the hood open, Ted opened the car door and sat back down inside, after rolling the windows down. Pulling out his Android he started to look up local towing and repair shops. [toof toof toof... toof toof toof.....toof toof toof....] Ted began to hear a sound. He wasn't sure what it was at first. In fact, he shook his phone and cursed at it, thinking it might be trying to go out on him like his car was. [Toom Toom Toom.....Toom Toom Toom....Toom Toom Toom...] "What the hell is that noise?" [THUMP THUMP THUMP!] This time the sound was not only right upon Ted, but went right past him, and suddenly, as he turned his head around to look out the back window, the hood came slamming down, his car's front end rose up, and poor Ted was nearly tossed into the back seat. "Auuuuuh!.... Not quite the right grip!" a somewhat deep and sexy voice said. Ted looked out the front window as the car went back down, only to see the backside and bubbled ass of a giant bodybuilder, power lifter, or some such. The man's back and shoulders stretched out wider and wider than his tiny string tank top. His traps threatened to pull the straps off and away from the main fabric of the shirt. The sides were stretched out and pushed down by a thick flaring set of lats which were pushing a pair of arms sporting the largest tricep muscles Ted had ever seen. Those tris were above a massive set of forearms that looked as big as most men's upper arm. Well, that would be if the man attempting to hoist up the car was the size of an average man. Framing the lower back, the forearms only served to accentuate how tiny the man's waist came down to from that expanse of back and then back out wide again from the two granite boulders that made his ass, and the columns of pure tightly strung power that were his thighs, the pair of which stretched and strained the nearly paper thin workout shorts hidden underneath a very large pair of basketball shorts that would probably be pants on average sized men. This giant squatted down and grabbed the front of the car once again and then stood up, every muscle of his arms, shoulders, traps, back, butt and legs, moving in harmony, bulging in use, becoming larger by the second as the veins that fed them became engorged with blood. The bellies getting bigger and bloated, beefier and harder, defined and denser. Letting out a primal kind of scream as he got the front of the car raise up off the ground, the man's neck suddenly flared out thicker and wider, threatening to become as wide as and take over his head, and pushed his traps, delts, and back, even wider out. Turning his head to the side in order to call out behind him the giant stated hushed in deep rumbling tones, "It's okay, sir. My name is Cris. Put your car into neutral and I'll pull it down and off the road to my house. Then I can offer you the use of a directory, phone, and something to drink, if you've been out here for a while." It took Ted a couple of fumbling tries to get the car out of gear and he was erupting in his pants. The sound, the registering of Cris' rich, honey coated, but firm and strong voice into his ears sent a jolt from them down his spine, around his ass, and drove straight into his balls, the touch of which took his breath away and caused him to fill his underwear to capacity. It took about fifteen minutes to jog the car down the road, turn onto the next, and then into the driveway of Cris' home. Along the way, Ted marveled at how easily this seemed to be for Cris. There were a couple of small breaks, some heavy breathing to be sure, but still, no other man could do this without popping a vein or snapping his back. What's more the amount of speed Cris could generate while towing this car. As they were now in his driveway, Cris squatted down and put the front of the car onto the ground, and then turned around to address the driver. "There we go. Now you can rest in a shaded and air conditioned pla....Oh my Gawd! Ted! How are you?" Ted got out of the car and then turned to face Cris, his jaw going slack as he did so. Looking straight on, Ted knew he was looking about where the second row of abs would be. This meant that his head, the head that topped his six foot three inch frame, only came up to somewhere between that second row of abs and the bottom of Cris' chest, which was hanging, rounder, wider, fuller, thicker than ever. Ted slowly raised his head up and up in order to his friend's face, but it was becoming slightly blocked by his friend's own pectoral muscles. "It so good to see you! What a surprise!" and Cris pulled Ted into a big old bear hug, engulfing Ted in his oversized arms and planting Ted's face into the valley crevice of his chest. Ted began to fight back, to kind of punch Cris' arms and obliques trying to break free. "OH....MY....GAWD!" "TED! TED? Ted, it's me.... it's Cris." Ted backed off a moment and stared at Cris. Then he shook his head as though to clear his vision. "Cris..... CRIS! Oh my gawd.... this... this you!?" "Yeah.... are you okay? You seemed to be fighting for your life there and all I was doing was giving you a hug." "Just I didn't physically recognize you....right off the bat that is. You've....it.....growth..... Happened again did it?" "Uhm... haha.... yeah. I'm getting huge... HUGE!" "Uhhhhh." "Ted, are you okay?" and Cris stepped forward to catch his best friend. "Yeah... must be...the heat." "Out there a while were you?" "Yeah, you could say that. And uhm, sorry... part of recognizing you now is by voice and...." "I KNOW, RIGHT?!" "OOhhhhh" "Whoa! Better get you inside, you're looking very faint." "....that voice...." "Yeah, I know. A few more steps down and I'm going to be wallowing in the depths like James Earl Jones, Alan Rickman, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Sam Elliot." and Cris laughed deeply. "Oh auuugh huh huh huh auuuuugh huh huh huh huh...." "Ted? Ted?" Cris slightly bent over and with ease picked up Ted, two handed, and draped him over his shoulder and held him like one would a small child. After carrying him into the guest bedroom, Cris went and got a wash cloth, ran it under cold water, and applied it to Ted's forehead. This brought Ted too almost immediately, albeit a bit groggily. As his vision cleared from coming to, he looked up and could see the great torso and head of Cris' body looming over him from the side of the bed. He knew part of it was due to the angle of his vision from laying on the bed, but still, even taking that into consideration, Cris looked absolutely huge. He filled the room, with sheer presence if not physical actuality. "so....friggin'....big...." "I know, right?!? I'm getting huge, Quick rundown of the usual stats so you have an idea of where I am right now. So.... prepare yoursel.... well, that's kind of stupid as you're already laying down. Alright.. whoooooooo..... okay, so get this..... I am.... eight feet five inches tall. My upper arm measures twenty-nine inches around, which if I was your height would be twenty-one and half inches. Can you believe that? I mean look at these arms...." and Cris stood up and did a front double bi pose. "I'm becoming like an Olympian! My arms both in real numbers and ratio wise have gone over the twenty inch mark! It's fucking incredible! And with the rest of my muscles as strong and developed as my upper arms, it means that I weigh in at a 636 and a fourth pounds, or just over 260 pounds if I was only 6' 3" tall." "You're too...." "I know, Ted. I know I've grown absolutely huge and all, and there is a lot to be worried and scared about, but I keep coming back from every test healthier and healthier, bigger, broader, thicker, denser, harder, taller, stronger.... I'm feeling better and looking more defined and cut as well as larger every day. Seriously, what's wrong with this?" Cris did a most muscular pose this time. "Too big... Cris you're...." "And get this... things were becoming too small for me at work. Neither a desk nor chair to fit my frame. Hell, even the cubical was becoming too small, so I had to quit that job. I wondered what I was going to do to earn money, and then I get approached by of all people, the manager for the Harlem Globetrotters. They're the ones who gave me my latest height measurement. I'm going to be working as one of the giants on the team. And get this, they wanted to come up with something better for me as a nickname, because when Paul Sturgess was playing for them he was known as 'Tiny.' I'm nine inches taller than he was. Can you believe that? Just the other day I was only an inch taller than him and now I'm nine inches taller." "Just an inch...taller..." Ted hoarsely whispered. "What's that? Well, at any rate since, I'm nine inches taller than 'Tiny' was so my name had to be worse so to speak, so as part of the Globetrotter's roster I'm now Cristóbal 'Mini' Espino Maclérigo, Cris Espino for short. They're the reason why I was out jogging on the road. I'm in training. I needed it. They couldn't believe someone my size had no basketball experience. When I told them what was happening, they explained they had good insurance and would help me get connected to the world's leading authority on growth issues. As long as I'm with them, they're helping me find doctors, furniture, clothes.... SHOES! Shoes, because a twenty-two inch long, nine and a fourth inch wide foot needs a size US Men's 44 shoe. And I get to hang around a bunch of guys that doesn't quite seem like ants to me. Plus I get to train. I get to work out and lift and train my body to maybe even get bigger. Think about it? With my voice lowering, and my body developing thicker hair and hair in more places than I had it, they think I'm going to stop growing soon, but it is possible I could match Robert Wadlow or at least come in at a close second." Those last few words rang in Ted's ears and head. He'd be a close second almost as tall as or as tall as Robert Wadlow, the world's ever tallest man recorded. "You can stop. YOU CAN STOP!" Cris got that tingly feeling all over his body again, twice, but he took no notice as he was wondering about his friend's reaction. Ted was now sitting up on the side of the bed, then standing up to approach Cris, only a step away. "You should stop! You keep thinking this is great and wonderful but you're doing it all wrong. You're still with doctors who told you one, two, three spurts ago you were almost done. Now you're almost three feet taller than what you were. THREE FEET TALLER, CRIS! Your internal organs can't be developing fast enough for this to support your ginormous body, yet, but you decided to go out and do work outs and running, cardio exercise when your heart could be too small to support your body doing things like just waking up, let alone a work out." "Ted! What the fuck?! Where is this coming from?" "I'm just worried about you and you don't seem to be taking true care of yourself. Look, I don't mind you getting all huge and powerful on me here, but you can't go out and start flexing all that muscle until you're sure you're done growing. It's great being the big guy, the strong man. I get it. I understand. It's also one of your biggest fantasies. But if you don't really think about what you're doing, it could all be just an instant, a flash of a life that's taken away forever." "Dios mio, Ted!" "Cris...Cris.... .....ito" whispered Ted under his breath. "Look, what I'm saying is just slow down a bit. You don't know if you're done growing outwardly or inwardly yet and you need to be cautious until you do. For the now, relax, take supplements, do light workouts, save the super human, super-hulk acts until you know your insides have caught up to support this body. Don't cause it to burn out so quickly after becoming this. Let yourself slowly develop into it so you not only get all this size you like, but can enjoy it for many, many years." "Oh!...oh..oh...hahahahahahaha...Ted...." and Cris reached out and bear hugged Ted again and held him, cradling him. Ted's body pressed against his torso and between his mammoth thighs and super boat feet. "Ted....Ted....mi amigo...hermano....my Tedito. Are you this scared for me?" Ted breathed a heavy sigh. Cris just called him Tedito. Diminutive suffix. He appears small to Cris now. Yet, as he is engulfed in the arms, chest, and legs of this giant man, as much as it makes his blood boil that to Cris he is the small and ever shrinking man, part of him, is becoming more aroused towards Cris. The bigger Cris gets, the hornier Ted becomes and the deeper his desire is developing for his once short, small framed, high school friend. He knew he'd need to act the part right now, his car needing to be repaired. He'd tell Cris his reaction was due partially to the heat, partially to being exhausted from the drive. He would tell him that his company realized they made an error and allowed him the time off to be with either family or friends. He would then leave when the car was finished, saying he needed to leave to ensure he was able to get home and back to work on time. **************************************************************************** Six months later Ted was sitting in the living room of his family's home in Spain for Christmas. He was having problems sleeping so he got up and went to his Grandfather's study and turned on the television to see if he could catch the broadcast of some US late night show from the night previous. Finally he settled down upon one. [applause] "Alright, welcome back, welcome back. So if you weren't with us before the break, you missed seeing a small demonstration of regular and comedic basketball skills by the world famous Harlem Globetrotters. They have freshened back up a little and changed and we'd like to welcome them back now. Please welcome, Cristóbal 'Mini' Espino, Alishia 'Jupiter' Joiner, Stephan 'Slapshot' Terrence, and Eirik 'Velocity' Van Laren." [applause] Ted sat up in the couch a little upon hearing his best friend's name. He was quickly placed into shock however as soon as the team members came out, receiving not only applause but cat calls and whistles from the audience members as well. And it was no wonder why. Although they were in their public speech or interview uniforms, the fact of it was they were all not only tall and good looking, but Cris' shirt barely came over any part of his shoulders and the hem stopped half way down his abs. Even without that visual done on purpose to help strike up conversation, Ted could clearly tell Cris was not only taller, but even bigger and buffer than before. The quartet of players allow Alishia to sit in the chair closest to the host while the other three sat on the couch, Cris actually squatting down upon the arm rest, which had the audience members oohing, awing, and laughing. Even sitting up on the raised arm of the couch, it was still low enough that his knees were up and away from the couch about twice as much as any of his teammates, his tights bent upward. The audience, now, also got a glimpse of Cris' pants, not only nearly looking painted on, but coming up short, stopping at mid calves. If that wasn't bad enough, one look at him and one could tell his back and him could take up about three fourths of the couch width himself. His thighs pushed one another and made him sit in an exceptionally wide stance. His lats were taking on a w appearance and pushed his upper arms, which looked like bowling balls, up and out at an angle almost parallel to the floor. "Welcome, players, welcome. I guess the first thing I should help state and explain is that you four are just representatives to the program here this evening. That is, you do indeed play for the team, but that there are many more of you than just you four." The players looked at one another before Eirik smiled and said, "You take it Alicia." "Uhm... that's right. The roster for the Harlem Globe Trotters is actually enough to field about three teams so that we can cover and show support for more events across the country and the world." "And with just you four we have not only a tremendous amount of diversity of athletic prowess and skill, but also of various backgrounds. Within you four there is Caucasian, African-descent, and Hispanic-Latino race, there is not only male but female players, and not only American born players but African and Dutch players as well." "That's right. Obviously of course, I am one of the female players." [OOOOW!] "Yeah! GIRL POWER!... hahahaha.... and Cris here, despite his looks and what folks think Hispanics and Latino's look like, he's one of the Hispanic-Latino American players we have, and he and I are from America, while Stephan is from Trinidad, Eirik is from the Netherlands. And our larger roster for the three teams are all just a diverse. The organization originally started to help out and encourage minorities to get out and be active, take pride and part of the community, strive to do something, and we still do. The roster has grown and changed over the years to reflect the various things and statements we stand for. The Globe Trotters men and women of all races, country of origin, language spoken. We recognize the game is being played and watched by humanity, not just a few select or chosen people." [applause] "So you go around the world and you play, you entertain, you give speeches, why? What after all these years are the Globetrotters trying to achieve?" "Well, the Globetrotters over the years have sponsored and supported several outstanding charities and camps for children and families. It's all about one having a good, clean, fun filled time of entertainment, and two, bringing various causes to the front of society's mind to support and help them. One of the newest one's is the B.I.G. campaign, B.I.G. standing for Battling Inaccurate Growth patterns." "And how did you guys come to support that organization?" "Well... " and Alishia looked towards Cris, "I would again think that obvious." [hahahahahahahahahahaha] "I'm thinking there might be a tie in here. First let me ask you, it's said that the Guinness Book of Records is helping sponsor and promote the upcoming year's worth of scheduled events. How come they're doing that?" "I think that should be state by my teammate down there, Cris." "Alright, Cris, can you tell us about this sponsorship? And I should mention at home for some of the folks that some of you player's nicknames are meant to be oxymoron's, such as is the case here with Cris whose nickname is 'Mini.' Why is that, Cris?" "Ah haaaa.... well I'm kind of the answer to all three of the questions. My nickname is mini because I'm not only the tallest player on the current roster of the Globetrotters, but I'm also the tallest player of all time in the Harlem Globetrotters." "That's right the tallest was Paul Sturgess, and you are nine inches taller than him. How tall was he." "He was seven foot- eight inches tall." [whoooooa, wow, oooooh, aaaaaahhh] "But I should say that fact about me being nine inches taller isn't true any longer." "Isn't true, what did you grow?" "Yes." "You've grown since you joined the Globetrotters?" "Yes." "How old are you?" "I just turned twenty-five last June." "And so you're now how much taller than seven foot-eight inch Paul?" "I'm one-foot three and a half inches taller than Paul now." "One foot.... woha ha how.....That makes you..." "It makes me Eight feet - eleven and half inches tall." "Wow that's half a foot since you joined!" "Right, and that's why we're supporting B.I.G. and Guinness Book of World Records is supporting most of our events this up coming year. I originally started out three years ago at five-foot eight inches tall and have grown three feet three and half inches since then. I've had doctors looking at me, testing me, doing research, but they've not come up with a reason as to why I'm just growing and growing. I just happen to be lucky that everything is growing at a decent, constant, and proportionate rate." "I...let me tell you, I'm not sure about proportionate there. Your feet are huge. What size.... you know, they joke and say people with big feet have boats for shoes but yours would have to be..." "They'd pretty much be equivalent to the world's largest cruise ships." [hahahahahahahahahahaha] "So do you know if you've broken that record?" "Yes... At the start of the year they're going to take my measurements, confirm, and present me with certificates for breaking the world's tallest man in history, because I beat Robert Wadlow by .4 of an inch, the world's biggest hands, feet, and shoes, and I'm also going for the world's largest arms." "Wow....Your whole body is just busting out and breaking all kinds of records. Are you getting used to all the attention your height and size brings?" "It was a little difficult at first, but uhm....OOOOOoooooooomphhhhhha!" and raised his left arm in front of his teammate Eirik's head and did a biceps pose. "I'm getting used to it." "Good gawd! Look at that! I think... can we get a play back on that? I think your arm just obliterated your teammate, Eirik's head from view! You look freakin' incredibly built, for a tall man, of any height of tall. How large are those upper arms of yours and how much do you weigh?" "Well to answer your previous question, first, my shoes are a size 46 quintuple D which means my feet are twenty-two and two thirds inches long by just over nine and half inches wide." "Good knight! It must be murder finding shoes!" "They're all custom made. As for my weight and arms.... my arms are thirty-three and fourth inches around, which to put that in perspective, if I was only six foot three inches tall, my arms would be just over twenty-three inches." "Good....gawd....Why aren't you competing in bodybuilding? I bet you'd take that title as well." "Actually I am, but I'm announcing that on a separate program than the Globetrotters." "And what was your weight?" "Eight-hundred eighty-three and a half pounds." "WHOA! I could just ask questions of you all night, but I need to head to commercial break. Anything you and the rest of the teammates would like to say? Alishia?" "Shout out to my lil' girl, Tanya. Merry Christmas and Momma loves you, now mind your daddy and go to bed!" "Stephan." "I'd like to say hello to my fiancée, Rhonda. Love ya, baby. See ya soon. Happy Hanukah" "Eirik?" "Hello to mum & dad and the whole family as well as everyone in the Netherlands, especially Amsterdam! PROOST!" "Finally Cris...haha aka hahahaha 'Mini'." "I'll shout out to all my family in Puerto Rico and Spain - Quiero mandar un gran saludo a toda mi familia en Puerto Rico y España. A mis abuelas y abuelos, mi madre, mi padre, mi hermano mayor, Mateo, que cada vez está más pequeño y pequeño , y a mi hermana Catalina. Os quiero, ¡Feliz Navidad! And one more shout out to mi amigo mejor, Ted. Hermano, que esta cada vez más pequeños, tambien. Saludos!" "Ok! What he said. We'll be right back with the band, Madrigal!" Ted sat there breathing deeply, shaking, trembling. Cris' voice was lower. He was even bigger and bigger built. Cris just told him via television that Cris' brother was getting smaller and he was getting smaller, as well. His vision started to white out. His hand holding a glass began to shake and spasm. His cock sprang up and down, inflating and deflating, becoming hard and soft. His free hand quickly grabbed the remote control and began flipping through the stations looking for something to calm him down. "......and welcome back to the Howard Stern show. So if you're just joining us in the last spare minutes of our program... SHAME ON YOU! You're too fuckin' late. Or perhaps not. We had a big guest on the show today, a very big guest, in fact in about a week's time he's going to be declared the biggest fucking man of all time by the Guinness Book of World Records. It's Crystalball..." "haahahahahah Howard!" "I can't say it all. It's your name. Introduce yourself, and you know what, if you don't mind go ahead and throw your middle name in. For Christ's sake, the American government is so dense with all its forms and ignorance of other name practices in the world it's not like your people even have the chance to actually put your entire name down without having some unworldly senator looking at you like your some kind of freak, so go ahead, say it all and say it proud!" "Cristóbal Eduardo Espino Maclérigo." "My gawd! What a name. I couldn't get that all out. I'd sprain my tongue. Wouldn't I, Robin." "Hmmm that's right. True that." "But let me tell you, it sounds so fuckin' sexy. Almost all Latino names are like that. They sound so exotic...so....... hawt! I tell ya, if I had a name like .... Espiritus Sancta there...." "Howard! ahahahahahah!" "Well whatever it was, my plain Anglo tongue can't wrap around it, but I tell ya, if I had a name like his, my tongue would've have wrapped around four times as many women in my life as it did." "So a total of four then. hahahaa!" "Robin! Ouch.... do you feel the love, Cristóbal. Do you see what I have to put up with every day at work? And she's not just a coworker, she's a friend! But any rate before we wrap up the program... I warned you I was going to do this, Cris. You're getting honored for your body breaking several records: world's tallest man, world's tallest bodybuilder, world's biggest feet, world's biggest hands, which if you didn't catch earlier, Cris is eight feet eleven and half inches tall - that's .4 of an inch taller than Robert Wadlow whose record height was recorded the same year as his death, 1940, so subtract that from this year and that's how long this record has been held by Robert and not broken. Anyhow he's 8' 11.5" tall, he wears a size 46 quintuple E because he feet are absolutely fuckin' huge 22.66" long by like 9.25" wide. His upper arms are 33..25" thick, as in big around. That means his upper arm is as large as most average height men in America, or in other terms it's only two and three fourths inches shy of being exactly three feet thick. Because of this incredible super human build on him he weighs and astounding 883.5 pounds! But we've got one more tale of the tape to do. One that the people of Guinness World Records won't touch..." "Oh nooo..... nooo.... Howard...." "No... no... I warned you I was going to do this. I've asked this of all the men who taller and bigger than I am and you are the biggest out of all of them. I've seen pictures of you, your outline of IT, running down your pants or shorts leg...." "aaaauuuugh, come on...." "No... no... you're the biggest man in the world, soon to be proclaimed, and I want to know, American wants to know." "Not all, America...." "Oh come on, Robin. You know they are. You are!" "I'm different... I'm a woman." "Yeah? Well I know something about Crystalball here that you don't. It won't matter how much woman you are because Cris swings the other way. But the question is, 'Exactly how much IS he swinging the other way?' Americans are perverts at heart. They want to know deformity either for intellectual, curiosity, or shock factor. So we've got the people who officially measured Jonas Falcon's penis here, as well as Mr. Falcon himself, wave hi, Jonas..." "Hey..." " and we want to know, World's Tallest Man, World's Tallest Bodybuilder, World's Tallest Homo... are you also the World's Biggest Man Down Under?" "Auuuugh...." "Are you willing to let these people measure your dip stick?" "I...I don't ...." "I'll haunt you forever. No matter where we are, where you go, and you're going to be a hard man to hide, you know this, I will hound you and ask you until you reveal all. My listeners want to know." "Alright...alright I'll do it, but to paraphrase Susan from the TV show Coupling, 'I present this penis as a protest.'" "HAHAHAAAAAAA Presents his penis a protest! Nowhere else in the Radio world will you hear a proud and sanctimonious penile statement like that, folks." "It makes a great tongue twister for warm up before you go to work on one too.... present penis in protest...present penis in protest...present..." "HHAAHAHAHAHA ROBIN! AW GAWD! We're all goin' to Hell as soon as the broadcast is done folks. Into the basket, press down, no passing go, no two-hundred dollars. Ok... so, Cris... if you step right over here. This'll stop anyone from seeing it if they walk in. And can you give us an idea of what we're going to see? Do you have a teeny average size penis on an giant body, do you have a fairly large sized cock on a giant body or do you have a giant cock on an average size body?" "Uhm.... I kind of have a cock that's almost the percentage bigger of the average penis as my body is bigger than the average body." "Really? You're not shittin' me?" "Nope." "You're that fuckin' hung?" "I'll let your experts measure and see." "Ok...first... are you completely soft? Totally flaccid?" "Yep." "Ok... then if you're willing, drop trou!" "Hmmmm ok...get my shorts over my bubble butt.... and ....." "OH MY GAWD! JESIS H.... The man is the first bipedal donkey folks. You....well.... I we'll need to see what it is in a second here.... team what you got for Mr. Softy?" "Thirteen and one fourth inches long." "Good...night....Cris! Cris! Do you have any boyfriends who live to tell others what you're like in bed? I mean you only have to grow during erection one fourth of an inch before you tie Jonas Falcon in size! Jonas, I think you're goin' to have to pass the crown over. Ok...Cris, now I want you to put on those headphones there. Yep..... ok thumbs up if you can hear the things playing on the computer monitor in front of you." "Sure I can....OH MY!" "I hope they're the kind of guys you like, Cris." "Oh...no...not here in pu....OH!....OH! OH! OH!..." "We've got something on all monitors, Cris. Just sit back and enjoy the show.... Because we're goin'.... holy shit! Robin, are you seeing this?" "How can you not help but see this." "Folks his penis is stretching and inflating rapidly to a much larger size. Cris, how the hell do you not pass out during sex? Still rising...still growing..... Someone needs to go back to the timer controls on the recording and playback to see how long it takes to stiffen up. Wow. That is just... out there! It'd be a third leg when it gets done, folks. It's so fuckin' long and thick. It's tryin' so hard to rise up, but the length of it and the weight of it is causing it to instead just stick straight out and hover and bob in the air like some kind of flesh made crane arm. Ok... I think that's it... good night the amount of blood needed for this..... Even before I hear the results I must stand and give you and mother nature an ovation for this DNA combination. Team do we have the results?" "Yes...21.25" "Good night... twenty-one and a fourth inches long! He's just shy of having a two foot penis! What the hell would that be if he were my height?" "About fifteen and a fourth." "Fifteen and a fourth inches! And what if I were as tall a Jonas there. How much more would he be packing than his thirteen and a half if he was hung like Cris?" "He'd be just under thirteen and three-fourths." "Just under... well Jonas it seems like even proportionately Cris has got you beat by almost a fourth of an inch. And what if he still is growing? Good gawd, Cris. You make love, you're going to kill someone with that thing. You have a boyfriend?" "Not right now, no." "Well, if you did, I wouldn't know to say if he was a lucky or an unlucky son-of- a bitch. HAHAAHA... anyway, thanks for sharing, and over sharing per my request. Good luck to you with your time with the Harlem Globetrotters and in finding clothes and everything that fits. Speaking of... God Bless in you finding a partner that can handle THAT thing. It'd be like that horror movie Anaconda right there in your own bed! Alright, alright, we need to get out of here for today. Thanks for listening to the Howard Stern show we'll....." [CLICK.... ..... ...... ..... .....Crrrrrrack crash!] The glass Ted was holding in his right, shaking hand began to crack and fracture and finally shattered in his hand. He remained there almost all night, his vision blanking out to white noise, his hand bleeding into what was left of the cup and milk he was drinking, his penis going back and forth between extremely limp and flaccid and exceptionally hard and spewing cum. ************************************************************************** It's June. It has been just past a year since the last time Cris and Ted have seen each other, which was suiting Ted perfectly. Despite Cris having once been his best friend, it was becoming far too confusing whenever he was around him. It was too confusing with just the sight of him. The crash of emotions ripping through Ted's mind he simply couldn't handle in his life right now. Fear and worry over what was happening to his best friend of so long. Would Cris be alright physically or would these growth spurts suddenly turn on him? Jealousy over the fact that Cris was becoming far taller, stronger than he could ever hope to become, which then lead to feelings of inadequacy about his masculinity, his able to protect, his dominance. He's never wanted to dominate Cris before though. Why did it seem so important now that he should be on top? It was because despite the fact of them never showing an interest in each other beyond friendship before, despite having had tons of relationships with other men, it meant within Ted there was a yearning to be with Cris for every part of the day. A passion to be with him that keeps growing as much as Cris was physically growing and more the bigger, the stronger, the more virile Cris gets. A lust to feel that power whether it would be being able to take it for himself, or feel himself physically over come and engulfed by it. Too many new emotions. Too many old emotions changing. Ted has keep his head buried in work all this time, only being out and about now because he won a competition without meaning too. The corporate heads not only gave him the vacation trip, they ordered him to take it. Luckily for him his flight to Las Vegas was already arranged with the trip, there would be no need to drive through the Midwest where Cris lived. He spent the first couple of days exploring a few of the various casinos, actually managed to win one-thousand dollars at one table. Today however he decided to make a day of shows and this afternoon's fare was going to be Cirque du Soleil's new show, Variations (Toutes Choses Grandes et Petites), Variations (All Things Great and Small). The show was a wonderful display of acrobatics, trapezee, rope, and silk artistry, as well as fantastic side show acts, songs, and dance. It occurred to Ted that the title and theme for the show, Variations, had to be because the settings of each act took the audience all over the world: Japan, the United States, Ireland, Italy, Norway,... However he soon realized, the names of the places were all connected to fictitious or mythological stories from Lilliput and the Pryor Mountains to Brobdingrag and Jötunheimr. Ted's heart began to race. They had everything separated into little people: gnomes, fairies, leprechauns, and big people: giants, Cyclopes, and the like. He began to get the shakes. "No!" Thought Ted to himself. "He is not here, and even if he is, I will keep control. I will remain composed. He won't know that I'm here. No need to be near him." He breathed much easier when Cris didn't show up through the whole program. Traveling back to his hotel, Ted managed to spy a sign advertising a charity wrestling event to support cancer prevention research, being held by and between the American, Wrestling International Foundation and the Mexican, Loco Lucha Libre, in which a team from each group would fight over a charity belt and title. Ted thought "What the hell. why not?" to himself and when he got back to his hotel called the number on the posters to see if there were any tickets left. There were and he ordered one and even placed a bet for the Loco Lucha Libre team when asked if he cared to place one. "This should be interesting." Ted chuckled to himself. "These things are more drama than a soap opera than athletic competition." After dinner, Ted made his way to the Arena and waited in his seat surrounded by rowdy, raucous, people who were chanting and screaming for their teams. Soon the arena lights dimmed except for the center, the spot lights came on, the loud, blaring into music came on, and the announcer came down from the ceiling with microphone in hand. "ARE WE READY TO THRASH AND BASH?!" The crowd roared extremely loud in high anticipation. "The let's welcome, first, the American team, The American Eagles!" Again the crowd roared such as to nearly drown out the announcer's words. "Member number one standing six foot one inch tall and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty one pounds.....Jack Necca!" [RAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!] "Member number two, standing six feet four inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and sixty-seven pounds..... Jameson!" [RAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!] "Member number three, standing at seven feet even and weighing in at three-hundred and fifty pounds.......Joe Nathaniels!" [RAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!] "Member number four, standing at six feet four inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred sixty-five pounds....... Reg Romany!" [RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!] "And now let us welcome to arena, the team for Loco Lucha Libre....but before I introduce, I should let everyone and the American team know.... as this is a charity event, the boards of both organizations decided to make it a challenging and special event. The four man American team will be fighting a one man Lucha Libre team. Worry not, those of you who have placed bets, it will not be as one sided as it may seem. Introducing to the ring, standing at a towering nine feet six inches tall and weighing in at a staggering one-thousand fifty-three pounds, El Oso Masivo, The World's Tallest Man and World's Tallest Body Builder ...Cristóbal... Eduardo... Espino Maclérigo!" Ted suddenly sat up and forward in his seat. The audience became a mixture of laughter, boos, and chatter of disbelief over the stats listed by the announcer, but then Cris came walking in ducking everything used to make the contestant archway as he stood at least head and chest above it, and the crowd fell silent. Striding in wearing black wrestling briefs that did nothing to hide his enormous bulge, so it was assisted to cover by a Roman gladiator skirt of leather straps, his feet were covered in a modern twist of the Roman sandal and a boot. He was popping and bouncing his exceptionally hairy, mounding pectorals as he walked down the aisle, occasionally doing crab shot poses and growling loudly. Walking up the ring steps sideways so his huge feet could fit on the steps he hit the top and then without thought simply stepped over the ropes of the ring. No assist, no push down or pull down by him or any other person. At his height he could simply step over them as though they were toy size to him. As the American team balked and stammered, Ted could hear the ring side announcers begin commentary. "I don't think the American team is liking this, and why not? Look at the size of this guy! He had to turn sideways for his feet to be able to go up those stairs." "True, but the real question is why didn't he just step from floor to ring top? I'm pretty sure this guy can do it. He's a giant!" "And imagine if he does a kick to one of the other guys? I've just been handed some other stats on him... his shoe size is a US size 46 quintuple E, which means his feet are twenty-two and two thirds inches long. That's almost a two foot, foot!" "And not just the size of his feet, but remember and imagine it being powered by those legs.... I mean the man's thighs, no a single thigh, looks like it is bigger around than any of his competitor's waists, maybe even their chest!" "Those thighs are apparently fifty-two and half inches around. That is just slightly bigger than Necca's chest measurement. Ungodly!" "And just think about getting arm slammed or picked up or choke held by the arms of that man. Those upper arms are almost thirty-seven and three-fourths inches around!" "That...that... is hard to put one's mind around." "Well let's bring him down to our level, so to speak. If he was say a moderately tall guy, say six foot three inches tall, his upper arm would be just over twenty-four inches around. He's got the build of Mr. Olympia competitors." The match started and it was clear that the American team was going to have to gang up on Cris in order to have any chance at winning. This was made apparent when as seven footer Joe Nathaniels squared up and off against Cris he only came half way up Cris' abs! Jack, Jameson, and Reg all hovered around Cris' navel. What an odd show. Joe bounces off the ropes to perform a clothes line to the front of Cris' things and just goes bouncing and flipping off as Cris' thighs were immoveable. Two of the guys jumped Cris' arms who then stood up to full height and proceeded to flex his massive guns as high as he could form the peaks. Between the increase in muscle/arm size of the peaks and the hair on his arms wicking off sweat, it didn't take too long before each wrestler had to break their hand or arm hold on Cris' arms and drop to the floor. There were a couple of times where it looked like numbers might have the advantage. Joe and Jack providing a distraction, Jameson and Reg clasped wrists and bounced off the ropes to deliver a two man clothes line to the abs of Cris. It knocked the wind out of him, a little, but didn't really stop him. Joe turned at one point and kicked the back of Cris' knees bringing him down on one knee. However things soon turned back in favor of Cris, who showed he could easily throw off the four men, even if all were on top of him. In fact, a couple of times it almost looked as though the breakaway shrug had sent one or two of the American team over the ropes. The crowd was thoroughly entertained and spent a lot on donations, food, drink, programs, anything they could get their hands on for this most excellent match. After an hour and a half, with an intermission, of roaming and bouncing around that ring, the team signaled Cris it was time to end it, and they agreed to end it with him as the crowd was just going wild over him. Cris managed to let them know he'd studied some wrestling moves and could do this spectacularly, if they let him. Agreeing, Cris had them fly off of him after a four man pile up that came to a possible pin and count of two. Then one by one Cris got them to bounce off the ropes, take a clothes line from him, which practically knocked them out cold, but then he picked them up, hoisted them above his head, and body slammed the first one onto the floor, the other three on top of the first guy and then each other. One hand however remained under the American member's back so it took the brunt and shock of the slam, not the member's back. The crowd going wild after Cris placed a finger tip onto the chest of Jack Necca and held him and the other three under him down for the count and the ring of the bell, they began to shout out "OSO! OSO! OSO!", "CRIS! CRIS! CRIS!" or a combination shout of "CRIS...TÓBAL.... CRIS...TÓBAL.... CRIS...TÓBAL...." The ring announcer pulled up a ladder and stood on it to help raise Cris' hand in victory and was still pulled off of it by Cris' hand. The four American members left by various means: Joe was carried off in a stretcher with an oxygen mask, Reg was supported and quasi carried by his usual two teammates in regular wrestling matches as he stumble-walked out of the arena, while Jameson and Jack were assisted to walk off by their wrestling wives. They had waited for Cris after all had left the arena, but due to what happened next, contacted him later to thank him for a great match and show, as well as blush and nervously exclaim how wild and thrilling it was to actually be picked up by someone, without having to do a choreographed jump assist, and flipped over to their back. They were mind blown to say the least. But the reason why this happened days later was because the broadcasting company had an idea that went slightly askew. They decided to pull out a supporter of Cris' from the audience and interview him while bringing Cris up from behind to stand for pictures and sign autographs for the fan. Fate decided to throw in an irritating ripple into this part of the event for the fan supporting Cris that they chose, was Ted. Actually Ted had taken bets on and was originally only supporting the "lucha libre" team, but as the switch was made, he wound up thus supporting Cris. An unaware Ted was pushed towards an interview area, interview holding his back, while stuffing a microphone into his face. "This is Mandy Kinpata here at the epic Wrestling International Federation and Loco Lucha Libre's charity event where we've just seen that massive giant, Cristóbal Eduardo Espino Maclérigo, who chose the ring side name of El Oso Masivo, take on four men to win this champion charity title. We're here with one of his fans. Tell me, sir, what is your name and why did you support Cristóbal this evening?" "My name is Ted, and I didn't support Cris this evening." "But we have your winning ticket stub for betting on him to win the fight." "No, I was betting on what I thought was going to be a representative, Latino-Hispanic team for Loco Lucha Libre." "Well, aha...even though the team turned out to be only one man, Cris, it was still a spectacular match, and him coming down here to help support such a great cause, that has to make you a great fan of hi....." "Nothing has to make me a fan of his, Mandy. Look he has a big heart for charity causes, but in real life he doesn't look out for the important things, he's irresponsible with his health, and he doesn't think abou....." Before he could finish what was probably going to be a long tirade against Cris, Cris had come from behind and hearing him, reached out with an arm, grabbed Ted, and hip carried him back to the locker room. "Well.... apparently Cris has an enemy of some kind and the world's tallest man didn't take kindly to it. He's drug the non-fan off to the back. We'll see if we can get in and cover what's happening." Most of the fan crowd and then the arena administration crowd made space and made it quickly as Cris stormed through with Ted on his hip. He stopped briefly to open one of two double doors to his room, which was a grand viewing box hurriedly turned into a dressing room as the regular dressing rooms were all too small for Cris. Shoving Ted inside, Cris the unhitched the other door, twisted, bent, and turned to get his massive frame through the double doorway before standing up to full height, puffing his chest up, and addressing Ted while closing the doors behind him. "What the hell was that about?" "About you. About all ... all this! What the hell are you doing? It's obvious that you've still been growing and you need to be careful how much exercise and exertion you put on your body until they stop your growth or can ensure you're healthy enough to compete regardless thereof." "Oh come off it! There has got to be so much more to it than you're worried about my welfare, health, and safety. You were fuckin' giving me a character assassination out there!" "No.... not really.... I'm talking to abs here. Do you realize I'm talking to abs? YOUR abs? I used to talk to the top of your head. A few more inches I'll be able to do that again, except it's going to be your lower head not your upper one." "Dios Mio! Lay off about my cock..." "No! You fucking looked obscene out there in those trunks, and those strips of leather only highlighted that you're packing a five foot soft cock! What kind of message is that to send to kids?" "I don't have a five foot cock. It's only three feet." "THREE FEET!?!" "Well, thirty-six and half inches, but only when fully erect. It's a bit smaller when soft. Proportionately, I'd only have a two foot long cock if I was your size." "ONLY A TWO FOOT..... FUCK YOU, CRIS! You just don't see.... you're so blind at how you're body is growing and morphing into a freak of nature! At my height or at your height, who the hell are you going to fuck with a two foot cock?!" "Ted!" "You've not taken this seriously. You're not being cautious. Hell you've thrown caution to the wind. And you don't even think of the safety of others. What would've happened if your heart wasn't able to support this gigantic body while doing all those moves? Forget you dying alone, what if you died while falling on top and pinning one of the other wrestlers? One thousand pounds of dead weight resting on top of him. People can't survive under that, Cris. You could kill a man without wanting to like they did in old days to torture confessions out of them by being pressed under weight." "For fuck's sake, Ted...." "You should go to the doctors and tell them they needed to remove your pituitary gland or something. There should be hundreds of treatments but you really haven't sought them have you. Now you're so big, you really can't live in this world. You're a foot and half taller than most rooms, you're like two-thirds the maximum amount of weight most elevators can carry, not like you could stand up in them. Your toes can't even navigate steps your feet are so big. And these muscles.... getting ripped is one thing.... achieving a trainer's or gymnast's type of build is great, but this.... any more muscle mass and you won't be able to bend your arms. You won't be able to jack off that giant flesh tube of yours. You just don't seem..." Cris interrupted Ted suddenly by stepping in his way. Flexing his left arm slowly right in front of Ted's face, Cris made sure to cause his bicep to rise and peak very slowly, showing off its definition, its size, its hardness and density, its squirming veins. "Madre de...!" "You like it don't you?" "Grow up, Cris!" "I am. I am growing up. Bigger... Hmmmmmph....Stronger.....rrrrrrrrrrrrr.....taller.... oooooooooh......and more hung every day. And it's killing you, isn't it?" "Shut up!" "You just can't take it that I grew up to match you and then surpass you. That your once small, weak friend, is now suddenly so big he can not only take on a man your size, but take on two...three....four.....five.....maybe six or ten.... AT THE SAME TIME! HOOOOOOOOMMMMMMPH!" Cris was performing a series of classic bodybuilding poses as he said this. It made Ted blush and flush hot, so he turned away, but not before there was the sound of fabric lightly tearing and then fully ripping and suddenly from under the leather straps of the gladiator skirt shot out Cris' three foot cock. "MY GAWD!" "You can't take it that I've become more virile than you. That with one load I've probably got enough cum to impregnate a town...... a metropolis!" and Cris flexed and bobbed his erect cock. "I've got enough cum to blow up a man's ass and make it spew out his mouth! .... ..... ..... And you actually....secretly want it....don't you?" "You...." "I what? Say it..... SAY IT! It's what you've wanted me to do, supposedly, all this time since I first grew two inches! You don't really care about me and my health, otherwise you'd be hearing what I've told you. I'm getting checked out by doctors. They've tried several treatment options. They can't tell why I'm growing or what will stop it. They only know that I am growing and that everything, despite what medical knowledge and examples and testimony says, is working fine and normal on me. No deformations....no break downs....I'm healthy as a horse...." "A TROJAN HORSE! YOU'RE TOO FUCKING BIG! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND!?!" "Yeah.... I'm a Trojan horse...a big huge vessel with no real substance inside me. You want me... you know you want me.... You're own fucking cocks gives you away. It's tenting your pants, right now. As we scream at each other. I'm going through something I can't explain. It's scaring the hell out of me. It really is. As I watch the world around me get shorter and shorter, smaller and smaller, tinier and tinier and then I realize, it's not getting smaller, I'm getting bigger. But then the question becomes will I become too big for most of it...any of it....all of it? Am I doomed to become this man that eventually grows off the face of the earth and my force winds up pushing it off its axis and orbit? "I could've used a friend during this time. Someone to stand beside me and tell me things would be alright. And if that friend of so many years found himself attracted to me...he could've told me. Let me know, so that maybe.... just maybe....I would've told him I had been falling for him. Falling for him years ago. And even if there were problems trying to figure out the physics of how to make love between a now supposed six-foot three inch runt and whatever I became.... .... ....I could've had the chance of having a love during this time. A love to support me. A love that once was and could still be at the same time my best friend. Be he couldn't admit that could he. He couldn't submit to being the smaller guy, even though he could still act the top with me." "You....can....." "Knock it off, Ted!" "NO! YOU CAN STOP! YOU.....YOU CAN.....stop..... you just need to listen to yourself, hear what you're saying. You need to take care of yourself better. You need to visit the doctor's more. Quit telling me I'm on a binge here. You can get your feet bound... there are drugs for your bones, shots for your organs and muscles, to get this under control... you just need to..." "Ted...." "YOU CAN STOP! YOU CAN STOP! YOU CAN STOP! YOU CAN STAHHHAHAHAOP!" "You're right Ted. ... ... ... I can stop. I can stop trying to deal with you. I can stop trying to get you to accept me. I'm just trying to live my life while they figure this out. You don't want me to do that. As such... I can't live my life with you involved in it." Cris felt that odd tingling sensation he frequently got around Ted the last few times they met and hung out. This time however the sensation felt about six times stronger and as it coursed through his body he turned with a primal yell and kicked the metal double doors open and off to his make shift dressing room. "rrrrRRRRRRRRRAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!" SLAM - CRASH! "You can stop, Ted. I don't want to hear any more of your denials and bullshit. As a friend I've prevented the door from hittin' ya where good Lord split ya. There will be no photo opportunity, no autographed pair of trunks for you. Get out, and if you ever find yourself somehow in my moving circles...keep quiet and don't let me know you're there. You've shrunk while I've grown, in more ways than just physical size, and you've become too small for my attention." With that Cris took out his android phone and very easily snapped it two, symbolizing that he was getting rid of Ted's phone number and contact information. Ted shook and trembled for several minutes and finally exploded. "YOU ASSHOLE!" WHAP! Cris' hand flew out backwards and smacked Ted not only across the face but face down through chest as well, Up he sailed a few feet into the air, across the room, and out the open doorway. It took him a couple of minutes to regain his composure. Everyone in the hall, the reporters, the camera men, the other wrestlers waited allowing him to do so while they shook off the shock of the bursting door and then Cris' anger. Then, Ted got up, stumbled, regained balance, and quietly left the building. The reporters' nose for news kicked in and they began to attempt coming through the empty doorway and bombard Cris with questions. He turned rose to his full straight as could be height, puffed out his chest and lowly and slowly commented. "Ladies and Gentlemen, of the press and otherwise, despite my breaking the door down, that was a private moment. If you really feel the need to find out about it, you will have to ask later. You can see where this is a good idea because right now...." He picked up the metal bar that was originally between the two double doors and bent its ends as though tying the bar into a bow. "I don't feel like discussion right now." And he dropped the metal bow in the doorway. **************************************************************************** "Awwww cmon' man. Itsh the middle of the night...und itsh gotten fuck-(hic) cold here in Orlando." "It's not the middle of the night, ya bum. It's cold here because it's February, and this ain't Orlando. Closest fucking metropolis is across the river, St. Louis. Get out of here. You're stinking up the place and pissing off my customers." "But I need shomethin'...jush a little d'nashion to get shomething t' eat?" "I know what you'll eat. I know why you sound the way you do. Because Martha two doors down has pity on you like she always does and gave you twenty to go get a hot meal and instead you walked into Sparrow's Liquor and bought a bottle. For Pete's sake, man. It's only noon!" "Well shen, I could ushe shome lunsh." "That's it... I'm done. Gary! Walk him out of here." A man that was about six foot five, three hundred pounds, filling out a t-shirt and black suit jacket beyond capacity, walked over to the man, stated, "C'mon buddy. It's not happy hour as of yet, and even if it was, you're not making the boss happy.", and pushed the man out the back door and into the alley. The man stumbled and fell, then picked himself up and walked right up to the back door, put his face on it and yelled, "BASHTARDO!" He walked away mumbling to himself, "Esh moo...moo...moouy grande bashtardo.....no....bashtarda...." and then sung in a high pitched voice, "My llamo es Gary y soy una bashtardita! hmmmmaaaa fucks you!" This was Theodore James Wentworth the Fifth. A man of great renown and respect, via his fancy sounding name only, now. After his last encounter with his best friend, Cris, things did not go well. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened to Cris, how Cris was going to live, what his place could ever possibly be in Cris' life, and how it would fit in with his desire to be like he was in most of his relationships, a dominant top. He still couldn't accept his growing feelings for his friend. He couldn't accept the humiliation he received from Cris at their last meeting, especially the fact that the beginning and ending of that story was caught on digital recorders and broadcast all over t.v., cable, and the internet. It cause his mind to wander, his work to suffer, and thus his life to degrade. Eventually he lost his job, any money he had saved, his house, his car. He took to begging and wandering here and there, hoping he could once again make it if he hung around where his old job was in Orlando. Problem was he took to drinking and being in such a constant state of inebriation was prone to pranks of high school and college boys who played the practical joke of getting him snookered and then driving him to a town two hours away. Thus began his life of traveling across the United States. Only one group had some pity on him and did him one slightly good favor. Knowing his mind and life was pretty much gone, and that perhaps family lived where he once was based, after finding he did have his ID in a coat pocket, they took him to an all night tattoo parlor and got that ID information tattooed on his left shoulder. Was a good thing too, as he lost the ID two pranks after. Now he was somewhere in the Midwest, although his mind told him that he was still in Orlando. But the town he was in had a wonderful park that contained several structures for extreme biking and skateboarding, as well as miniature golf. Finding that the door to the windmill was unlocked and that the inside of the windmill was large enough for storage, he crawled in for his evening nap, praying that the structure would keep him warm enough to survive the night at least. ... .... .... ..... ..... The next morning Ted woke up in a luxurious, four post bed with satin and silk sheets. The sun light streaming through the window not only blinded his eyes but made his head feel as though a street jackhammer was working inside his skull. His head began to bob as his stomach began to complain and gurgle and soon he was over the side of the bed and puking directly into a prearranged, plastic bag lined, waste basket. Within minutes of the dispelling of the last amount of liquor in his system, a butler came striding through the door, looked down with his eyes only, at the waste baskets, and then stated in an eloquent, perfect pronunciation, Southern drawl, "Ah.... I see sir is up." He then walked briskly and floating like, as if he were being dragged on wheels, to a wardrobe where he got out a bathrobe and some clean clothes. Holding the bathrobe out to Ted he announced, "His Honor, the Mayor of Fallen Brooke, will be with you for lunch. He is currently in his study working off several items of business before he will see you. Until then, you are to make yourself available for use of this bathroom here, and then you may change into these clothes. We had them tailor made for you. ... ... .... As well as one can for such an emaciated form." "Were are my clothes?" "Those rags were properly disposed of; burned faster than Sherman did Atlanta." "I want my clothes!" "You can wear them again come Ash Wednesday! You are to go take a bath right now." Ted said in exasperation under his breath, ""Escucha, bastardo. En mi ropa estaba mi credencial, así que tráemela antes de que te rompa la cara, capullo!" The butler looked at Ted and cocked his right eyebrow at him. "I said, 'I need to have my clothes searched for my I.D. and I would prefer to choose my own replacement clothes, please.' For those who don't understand Spanish.'" Turning and opening the door to the bathroom, the butler looked sternly at Ted and replied, "Entiendo perfectamente español : mexicano, puertorriqueño, panameño, y español en ambas formas formales y coloquiales. Mis padres estaban casados en el momento de mi nacimiento, por lo que no soy un bastardo. Conozco varias formas de artes marciales, manejo de armas , y mi último trabajo fue en el servicio secreto, por lo que definitivamente no se vas a romper la cara. Puede que sea un agujero de culo, pero usted es todo un culo." "That last phrase doesn't make any sense in Spanish." "No, but it makes perfect sense if you speak English." "But I do and that makes no..." "I might be an ass hole, but you are a whole ass. As in all, total, completely encompassing...ass. Você compreende? Comprenez-vous? Ti comprendere? Vy ponimayete? Begrijp je dat? ¿Comprendes? ” Ted said, looking down at his feet. "Yes..." "Y en español." "Sí,... ... ... totalmente." "Es muy bueno. And might I suggest, sir, that when you pick up the soap to wash, you begin with your mouth. Any language is best spoken...cleanly." Ted took the towels from the butler very red faced and proceeded to walk into the bathroom. "Well... aren't you a knowledgeable...." "I have no problems in punching you in the mouth and addressing you as 'Señorita Puta' during your stay here." "...person...." Ted walked into the bathroom and shut the door. After about two hours in the tub, the first hour used to soak all the dirt and grime off, Ted put on the set of clothes. It is amazing how much an attitude can change after washing a couple years of dirt and grime off of one's body, and the booze out of one's system. Opening the door the bedroom called out to the butler. "Uhm....Butler? Sorry, I don't know what to call you as I was kind of mouthy and didn't allow you to tell me. ... ... ... Hello?" Looking around the suite he saw no one was there and so he went to the door he saw the butler come through and opened it up. "Hello?.... Mr. Butler....whatever your name is? I'm all clean and done....and uhm a little less sassy right now. Hello? Jeeves? .... well, okay, maybe a little bit of sass left." Stepping out he saw a magnificent foyer that was probably two maybe three stories high. It was interesting architecture. Sure there were columns and such but there were so tall, so big, for a home foyer, but the thing that drew most attention was the odd front door entrance. There were two double doors the opened in to show off the front porch, but the area they were built in looked like another giant set of double doors. The bottom two inside corners we made up on the real doors people use. At the top of the wall that was made to look like the two smaller doors were a set a big huge windows that mimicked the shape of the windows in the proper doors. The difference was the small windows in the proper doors were heavily frosted while the replicated ones above were crystal clear letting in as much sunlight as possible. Being the afternoon now, the windows flooded the foyer with sunlight. Ted stood there basking in the warmth, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. "I don't know who this mayor is..." thought Ted, "But I need to thank him greatly. It has been a long time, too long, since I have been sober. This is all like I'm waking up from some nightmare and into a golden world. HUH!" Ted opened his eyes for just a moment thinking maybe he had died and this was Heaven. Growling from his stomach let him know this was still Earth and that he was not dead. He wasn't sure where to go from here and figured he'd wait for the butler to come get him. Closing his eyes again, he bathed in the light of the sun beam and continued to breathe deeply. PAD PAD PAD PAD PAD PAD "hmmmm" thought Ted. "Something is making a decent thump. Must be some kind of machine going off somewhere." THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP Ted swore he might have felt vibrations that time with whatever the noise was. The instinct of fight or flight was beginning to well up in him. He made the decision he should make a break for it and run back to the bedroom. DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! It was too late. Whatever it was had come up behind him, almost right behind him. It was close enough the vibrations through the floor nearly knocked poor Ted down. He was glad he was still standing in case he needed to make a break for it, but for now fear held him and he closed his eyes tightly and thought to himself, "Perhaps if I stay still, whatever it is will not see me or will mistake me for statuary." The next thing Ted heard was a laugh and a voice that was so deep, yet full and mellow, it sent ripples of vibrations running over his brain, down his neck, and into his chest and lungs where they continued to bounce for a few minutes after he stopped talking. The tone of this voice just dripped masculinity, virility, sex appeal and poor Ted's cock, despite his malnourishment as of late, sprung a full, rock hard, woody in his new pants. "Ted?!... Ted is that you? Dios mio, Ted you look so freakin' thin! I'd say I should get you some water, but I think you should have a soda of some kind, help add the pounds back on you. Well, compared how I'd look to you know, you'd probably expect me to hand you a Pepsi." Ted turned around slowly and his straight on gaze was met with nothing but thigh on either side. These thighs just bulged out massively from the knees, their size and weight making it impossible to walk straight. The legs would have to be kicked out to the sides, damn near split walking from how Ted figured it. Each tear drop shape of the front of these thighs were large enough that Ted could place his hand on one of them and it wouldn't be large enough. The cuts of definition were so large and deep Ted though he could stick his hand into them like an actual crevice on a granite mountain. Hell, the striations looked nearly that deep. And then running over them, all these mighty tubes just under the skin. "My gawd!" Thought Ted. "The sculptor of this statue got so detailed. The work on these veins is breathtaking." But then Ted had to shake and quiver a bit, remembering as he followed a plumping vein down the thighs, across a cable car strand for hamstring and down into hard diamond shaped calves that this wasn't a statue, it was a person that had walked into the room. He lingered on the calves because they were so big they nearly looked the same size as the thighs... perhaps. Then he saw the feet at the bottom... the huge, massive, meaty, thick, strong and slightly hairy feet. Realizing the shins, calves, and thighs were hairy as well, Ted, began to follow that trail back up stopping and taking a quick breath when he realized, near the knees, floating just above them, but hanging in between like the pendulum of some giant clock, was the head of a penis that was ginormous, and it was connected to a shaft that was just as impossibly huge - and it was soft! It curved slightly at the top, or more correctly its base as the colossal cock had to hang over and ample set of balls, the size of which Ted thought for sure he could bowl with and might give a strong man trouble to lift. Continuing to arch his head and neck backwards, he saw the thick yet feathery bush of hair that covered the crotch area and spread up and out over the swelling eight pack of abs that looked like it was so stacked and hard that it could actually serve as an old fashioned cobblestoned road with horses trotting on it. The obliques of this giant man were the same, and together with the abs they would provide a surface for a quartet of ladies to scrub wash clothes on. Up and up this stacked column of cobblestones Ted looked until his vision was blocked by two excessively large and round capstones that blocked out all view of the ceiling. Damn, did these fuckers still out and past the abs. Like it might be an actual foot or more from ab wall to the edge of the chest. It was so thick and full, so broad and wide, it barreled so large and heavy, for a moment Ted thought it might cause the man to topple, or that again, perhaps this was a sculpture and the chest part of the torso had broken way and rolling off the top of the abs. But there they stayed swelling just a little and then receding, in and out, in and out, as Ted took very large and long deep breaths. Ted could see something that looked like small stalactites, one each hanging off of one or the other pectoral, nearly pointing down and enticing him to come suckle and drink. Attempting to bend to the side to look around the great chest precise, Ted found his vision blocked on either side by the thick, massive lats that now had the appearance together of creating not a v, not a triangle or an inverted pyramid, but something more akin to a w, trapezoid, or a bracket. Combining with the man's back and shoulders, they made his mega man's backside a wall, literally a fuckin' walking, moveable solid wall. But it wasn't these thing that impeded Ted's vision as much as it was what they held up. Pushing them up and out at angles that were more parallel to the floor than hanging and pointing down to it, the lats held up the giant guys arms making them practically stick straight out. "If this was a statue...the structural support need to hold those arms in the air would need to be...." So full, so tight, so dense and large were the bellies of the biceps and the triceps that they weren't the simple curve of something ball or oval like. No they were more like an elongated and squared circle or oval or a rounded cornered rectangle. Until the giant flexed them. Whenever he moved his hand inward, that bicep popped with power and began to rise and rise and rise, so high Ted thought that when fully flexed and held the biceps peak could surely have snow form upon it. But no, those rivers of hot blood crossing here and there, making the biceps look like sacks of basilisks or great sand worms, would create too much heat and melt that snow away. The veins snaked and extended their way down into forearms that Ted was certain was larger round than his waist...his chest! Both his thighs put together! Who was this man? Who was the person who drug him while asleep out of the golf windmill? Who was this god like being that was so muscular Hercules himself would cry in fear upon meeting him? This giant, hairy, muscular, manly, musky, hung, virile, alpha supreme male... "Oh gawd... I'm too close for you to see me." said this mega mayor and the form began to move and pad his freaky feet in order to back up a few feet. Ted looked up and up and up and waited and waited. Slowly, eventually, cresting over the chiseled chest with the forest of hair, came the man's face and then Ted saw...Ted knew.... the face was, the mammoth man was his former best friend Cris. "AH! AH!" Cried out Ted as suddenly his body began to spasm and shake uncontrollably. "Ted? Are you alright?" Cris said as he bent down to be closer and more eye level to Ted. Once there Cris could see that in almost one split second, Ted had not only become aroused, not only achieve full, maximum stiff, erection, but that he was already spewing copious amounts of cum in his new pants. The sudden rush of arousal and climax at nearly the same instant moment was a little too much for Ted and he dropped to his knees and into the waiting hands of Cris. Looking up at Cris he hoarsely whispered, "Cri....Cris.... Crisón,... mi Crisito..." and then passed out. ************************************************************************** It was several hours before Ted woke up, and he didn't want to when he did. Dreaming he was out on a beautiful sunny day, he was laying down in semi-tall grass and he was enjoying the smell of it and the feel of it on his face, in his fingers, surrounding his torso and through his feet. He was running his hands through this grass and inhaling deeply when he came too. There was a bright light as he actually opened his eyes and his vision adjusted from sleep to awake. Looking out he could see a couch just on the other side of very odd coffee table. It looked more like a set of two tiered steps, except they were made of glass and iron metal. The higher side is what faced him, while the lower side was on the side closest to the couch. The couch also appeared odd, or at least it did to point of view. The couch he was on was huge...really huge, especially compared to the couch across the way. Ted couldn't even feel the end of the couch, which at six-foot three inches tall he was usually used to feeling if laying stretched out on one. After closing his eyes again, Ted rolled over onto his back and ran his fingers across the couch cloth. Again, there was the feeling of being able to run his fingers through something. "Hmmmm must be a couch covered in shag rug material." Thought Ted to himself and he laughed as he ran his fingers through it and rubbed his arms up and down and then rubbed his feet over it. Opening his eyes to look down at his own feet, Ted suddenly took in a sharp intake of breath. He saw his own feet, but there...several feet away from his own feet was another pair of feet that looked nearly gigantic. As his depth perception changed focus he realized looked down, the middle of his vision was blocked by something tubular and mounding , like a fairly large pipe, rising out of the shag fur of the couch and heavily flopping over an end. It was then that Ted realized he wasn't lying on a couch, but on the torso of a man. Another gasp and Cris sat up and then turned around to look up towards the head. He immediately fell forward and propped himself up on one elbow firmly planted in the rich deep brown "grass" he had been lying on. "Easy," said Cris. "Don't sit up too fast. You're still a little too weak and you may pull your I.V. out. You were really quite malnourished. They've been giving you loads of I.V.'s with vitamins and other nutrients in them." Ted looked across towards the fairly large face of Cris and began to quiver. Finally tears welling up in his eyes he buried his face into the crevice of Cris' protruding pectorals while attempting to hug them and hug Cris. "I am so sorry...Cris... I've been.... I've been...." "Estúpido?" "Yeah...." The two lay there for a moment with Ted looking up several times, mouth open, attempting to say something, before grunting in frustration and looking down or away again. Finally he just began to blurt out. "Cris.... I am so sorry. I've been the world's biggest jerk. I... I had begun to develop feelings for you, my friend....my brother. I've had them for a while and I didn't know how to tell you. And then you started growing and growing....and growing. I was so scared for you, but at the same time I kept picturing us being an item as slipping away. I'm a top man. You know I am. I love to take the lead and to be rough, but with you getting bigger and bigger, taller and stronger, I just could be the top to you. I couldn't dominate you. The bigger you got the more distant I figured you would be relationship wise. It was even worse given the fact that you were developing a cross between donkey and horse genes down there." Cris laughed a small, low chuckle. "At the same time, the bigger and larger you got, the more it turned me on. I can't hardly look at you right now without blowing a load. You are just so mind blowingly huge! So fucking sexy! I wanted to be with you, but I also still wanted to dominate you. And then I also had to try and balance out those emotions with the fact that my friend was growing and growing without any knowledge why. I knew you needed support, but your body was changing so fast I thought I was losing my best friend, you just looked so different after each growth spurt. And I was so scared for you, but I didn't know how to show support, because I didn't know how to handle it. Then you were becoming more confident, more aggressive, more out there personality wise, the man I fell in love with seemed to be disappearing personality wise as well. "All these emotions thrashing inside me, all the changes you were going through. I was just in panic mode. It doesn't give me an excuse for how I was acting. I was an ultimate jerk. I should call my own self a pendejo. I needed to be there for you, as your best friend, whether I ever expressed my love to you or not. You needed me and I failed." The two sat there for about another fifteen minutes in silence, staring but not actually staring at each other. Finally Ted began to speak again. "I nearly died when you threw away my phone number and kicked me out, but I don't blame you. I don't know how you found me, and I don't deserve this treatment, but I will find a job and pay you back. I.... I really appreciate this." Another poignant pause occurred before Cris spoke. "As the mayor of Fallen Brooke, I have quite a few connections. When the mini-golf owner called for the police to come in and remove you from his windmill, I was called by the police chief. They identified you by a tattoo on your left shoulder and I told them to bring you to my house." "I don't have a tattoo on my left..." "You have been out of it a while. ... You have one of all your personal information ." "Oh my gawd." "You've really been messed up, haven't you." Cris wrapped his arms around Ted and pressed him into his chest for a huge bear hug. "So....obviously you're still growing. Hopefully, despite all my negative predictions otherwise, everything is growing normally, just extremely large?" "Yes. Everything about me is huge, but functioning normally, and I am no longer growing. I stopped growing about six months ago and the last check up shown the plates fused, so there is no more growth. I have stopped at this tiny, short, little height." and Cris laughed. "Short little height. You do realize I only come up a fourth of the way up your thighs when we both stand up. So... out with it.... how big has my friend.... we are still friends aren't we?" "Tedito.... we're still best friends. I wouldn't have told the police to drop you off here and paid for doctor's and medicine if we weren't." "I'm glad. So how big has my friend grown? Do you fit in anything anywhere anymore?" Cris belly laughed. "No.... no, not really. Let's see.... I'm twelve feet six inches tall." "Twelve!..." "Yep. I am exactly twice as tall as you are. My monstrous dogs down there are almost three feet long, thirty inches to be exact and twelve and one-third inches wide, so I now wear a US men's size 68 6E shoe. I weigh three-thousand six-hundred pounds, which if you make proportionate for comprehension, if I had the same build at your height, I'd weigh four-hundred fifty pounds. I weigh this much because my muscles have grown as though I have the muscle disorder where their growth and development isn't inhibited. My upper arm for example is Seventy-four and one fourth inches around. That is my upper arm is almost as big around as you are tall." Cris raised up one arm and slowly flexed it causing the extremely full and flat belly of his biceps grow and rise up higher and higher until it filled Ted's vision. Ted quickly developed a raging hard on seeing an upper arm that was roughly like three feet tall. "If I was your height, it would mean that my upper arm would be just over thirty-seven inches around." Ted swallowed hard. "Dios mio.... and... how..... how big is.... is... is your?" "If I was your height my cock would be three feet long." "Three feet long?!" "Yes but on me that means it is six feet long." Ted leaned forward again, his hands out to support himself on Cris, but he began to absent mindedly run his fingers through the thick and fluffy hair over Cris' chest. "I see you're really liking the hair." Ted smirked. "You've become like a god, my friend. So big, so strong, so dense, so tall, so hung, so hairy, you're just the ultimate man. The prime alpha male. That alone turns me on beyond all belief. Add to it that I know you... your personality... and it just....I want you so bad right now. I'm burning inside with so much desire for you, I feel like I'm going to explode. I know... we can only be friends." "No... not friends." "Yeah... I know.... my brother from another mother. Mi hermano." "No...." "No?..." said Ted looking up with a look of fear in his eyes and panic on his face. "Mi amor." Ted flushed hot and was starting to shake a little and to faint upon hearing those words, but he kept himself awake. "All this time we've dated other people because we thought since we grew up together we were too much like brothers to have a relationship. The truth though is that I've been falling in love with you for years. It killed me to snap my android and throw away any chance of recalling your phone number when I kicked you out. I took a trip out to Orlando to call upon you, but you had lost your job, your house by then and I'm guessing was already in a drunken stupor, because I put out a notice to look for you, to have you contact me, but no answer came." "Yeah... I had a really rough patch with a lot of travel apparently. ... ... ... But.... how can we even try this? Even if I decide to compromise and be your 'bitch bottom', hahahaha... how are you going to make love to me? I'm only three inches taller than your cock is?" Cris thought about this for a moment. "Maybe we don't have to compromise your favorite roll?" "How?" "Well....if my cock is only three inches shorter than you are tall, my cock head should be as big as someone's ass to you. Why don't you fuck my cock?" "You're pulling my leg." "No... I'm serious. Here...get up." Cris had Ted hop off of him and he stood up next to the couch. "Go ahead and grab it. Work the head. You can ride it up as it becomes erect." Ted marveled as he began to stroke and pat and smack Cris' penis head as though it were some guy's ass in front of him. A penis that already looked so huge and gigantic to Ted began to swell and lurch and grow in length and girth. Ted moaned as he could feel the blood pumping up into the shaft, the heat rising through it all. He felt the life sized anaconda grow thicker and thicker, swelling harder and harder in his hands while it's length increased and kept pushing him further and further back. Grabbing a hold around the shaft, Ted rode Cris' cock as it rose up and up until it hoisted Ted up off the couch and surprisingly he pulled himself on top to set on the head. After catching his breath, Ted balance himself and stood up on Cris' cock and proceeded to take his pants and shirt off and throw them to the floor. He then walked down to the base where he held onto Cris' abs and obliques as though he were rock climbing and attached his mouth to Cris' right nip. "OOOH!" Cris cried in surprise, but adjusted his stance to stand firm. After performing that action, along with kissing every little muscle belly of the obliques Ted could find, he then sat back down at the cock base, his feet dangling over the sides and resting upon Cris' goodly sized balls. Rubbing as sensually as he could muster, Ted drug his hands up and down Cris' prick's shaft and base, while his feet rubbed across and over Cris' nuts. "Oooooh wow....that's nice..." moaned Cris. Several minutes later, Ted turned and lay down length wise down Cris' cock, head facing into Cris' thick bush of crotch hair. He then shimmied his way out to the head and once there began to balance himself and get himself ready to enter Cris' slit with his own throbbing member. Ted caused the schlong to droop down so he could get his feet onto the couch, then grabbing behind the head as though it was someone's waist, Ted pushed Cris' member down and then slowly and gently pushed his way into the slit. "hoo HOOO!" gasped Cris in excitement as he staggered back a step. "Yeah.... you like that, doncha? My big fat cock going into your slit." Ted began to buck his hips while making his hands caress the helmet all over. He shuddered all over for surprisingly the piss slit was just as tight for him as any hole would normally be. Cris on the other hand was having a problem with the sensations that was travelling up his shaft through his crotch up and over his abs, chest, neck, chin and lower lip, or down through his balls, down his thighs, over his knees, past in his calves, into his feet and curling his toes. "oh OH! OH! OH!... .... .." he gasped several quick breaths. "The sen-SA-tion...huh huh..... all those nerve endings being stroked like.... oooughhh! stroked.... gawd! Stop.... STOP!" "Hmmmfff.... NO! You're tight slit feels too good. So wonderful! Take it! Take my cock! Non stop! Humping like a fuckin' bunny!" Ted doubled his efforts and began to plow double time in and out of Cris' slit. "AAAAAUGK! OH! OH! YOU HUH HUH HUH YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP! OH OH!...." "NO! Take it! TAKE IT!" Cris began to shake uncontrolably. His footing began to give and stumble stood back and forth. He kept trying to push his cock forward and herky-jerk his groin and cock from Ted or cause it to yank Ted off the couch. "Ted TEAAAUUUUUUUUHFFFFFFFFFFFUCK! HUH HUH HUH STOP! STOP!" On either side of the giant couch were two huge metal sculptures. Cris reached out and individually pulled them closer in between convulsions created by Ted's mad non-stop drilling into his piss slit. When they were finally only arms length on either side of him, he used them to help support himself and keep from buckling whenever the sensation of Ted' cock rubbing shot across his body. "YEAH....C'MON! MY GIANT BITCH! MY LOVER! EXPLODE! EXPLODE FOR ME..EE...EEEEE AH! AH! AH!" "OH! AI! AI AIAIAAIAIAIAIAAI HUH HUH HUH GRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNN O! NO! NO NO NO! NOT HUHUH HUH YET!" The next growl Cris made he brought his arms down in front of him making the most muscular of crab shots of all time. His neck swelling, his traps rising, his delts flaring, his biceps popping, his fore arms swelling, his abs and obliques contracting, and his chest barreling and tightening. Problem was Cris was still holding onto the statues at his side and with a great sound of stressing and stretching metal he bent them down. Eventually there were pats and smacks of flesh upon metal as Cris' violent tremors began to become more violent and he was forced to relieve his shaking by smacking the ruined metal sculptures with his hands when the energy hit his finger tips. His hips were gyrating and bucking, his thighs were swelling and straining, his calves were becoming swollen with blood as the balls of his feet began to be in charge of his balance and keeping him standing. His head was snapped back and his face was contorted in ecstasy. He cried out and he pleaded with Ted. "OH! ooooh gawd...stop...please.... stop I can't .... I can't take it.... Ted.... TED!" But Ted who was also beginning to lose his sense of balance and control, looked up to see the giant twelve and half foot tall, supremely muscled body of Cris straining, flexing, rolling, popping to keep balance, to keep stance, becoming covered and drenched in sweat like some competitor upon the Mr. Olympia stage. Ted reached out with one hand and began to stroke up the hard under ridge of Cris' penis. This in turn made Cris scream out in pleasure and kick one leg out to the side and slam the foot down onto the floor for extra stability, causing the marble in the floor to crack and crumble. "you fuckaaaaauuuuugh YOU FUCKER! OH! BASTARDO! HNNNNNNNNNNGGGFFFF" Ted now began to caress the ridge of the helmet from the underside where the sides come together out and around to the top. Start and the slit and down and around. Slit and then down and around. All while still pumping, humping, and fucking away at the new hole that was his favorite. "You're gonna cum... and you're gonna cum....NOW!" Ted rammed his cock in slowly this time, while taking the thumbs of his head to press in at the slit and the firmly rub out to the head ridge at the same time. "OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH NO OH NO OH NO NO NO OH OH AI AI AAAAAAACK UUUUUUUUUUH AI?!" With a sudden most guttural sound, Cris' body shook like he was having a grand mal seizure, then his left knee gave out and he dropped to it as his head and back snapped back, his colossal chest and muscle gut extended forward and his super schlong thrust Ted into the back of the giant couch. "AAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!" The sound was said to be heard a few miles away. Cris' chest caused his arms to contract and the metal statutes groaned and snapped in two. He fell back, his taught bubble butt landing on his left foot. And then the stream came.... Ted could hear it. Feel it. Like the sound of a torrent of water gushing out of a much smaller pipe it filled Cris' dynamic dong and suddenly spewed forth like a geyser. The blast was so powerful it knocked back into the couch and then kept him pinned down as several volleys that would've been a couple hundred feet long, had there been room, struck him, and splattered against his chest. One couldn't tell that Ted was having his own orgasm. One wasn't sure it his face was contorted in pleasure or if pain from the blast of his lovers orgasm hitting him in the chest. And even though he had an ample amount of cum himself, it lost in the massive pool left by Cris' rapids of spunk. Cris grabbed Ted, and then flipped himself over, butt on the floor, back resting against the giant couch. He placed Ted onto his chest. Trying to gasp out something to say in between several extremely powerful after shudders and minor orgasms, Cris finally passed out, not noticing that Ted had already done the same. It was said that it took nearly an thirty minute soak in a tub to be able to release Ted from Cris' cum soaked chest hair. The cleanup of the living room took a number of hours, of which the butler complained and threatened to quit his job if he wasn't invited to at least watch the next time Cris and Ted chose to go at it one of the more public rooms of the house. Ted managed to heal up and regain some weight, muscle weight under Cris' tutelage. He eventually found work, in the area local to Cris' home and the two have been insaparable. They have celebrated more and more anniversaries together, and Ted has remained the top by jumping up and clinging to Cris' cock whenever he wants it, or by staring hard at Cris and his muscles and whispering at him "You can stop." Cris has never started growing again, but the phrase now causes him to nearly rip out any underwear whenever he is wearing a pair. In fact, Ted will tease and drive Cris so nuts with the phrase, making him so horny, the public now has to cry out and remind Cris of his mayoral duties, "You can stop!"

Partly inspired by true events : P Part I Part II Part III – All The Way It was hard to consolidate beauty as I knew it before with the erotic sensations that were now constant and overwhelming. The sun shot red rays across the sky in protest of the coming night, and the trees watched silently, their leaves soaking up the last of the usually sporadic sunlight. I felt the pump in my arms, fibers straining against the weight. Normally I would take solace in the calmness of the twilight, in the gentle passage of time between phases of the day. But fuck, I was huge. It was hard to focus on anything else. The tree branch began to bend as I lifted myself up towards the sky. It wasn’t iron, but it would have to do. It was easy. With just a simple flex my will was transformed into action. Nothing could stop me. I rested my chin on the bending branch. The sun set. I had grown twice since last night. I didn’t have the desire for anything else. I worked out upon waking up and then again after I ate and rested. I bought new clothes in the interim too. The others fit me way too tightly, making it almost uncomfortable to breathe. Every motion was exaggerated by the fabric stretching against my hardened stature. Although by now I didn’t really care. I was out here without a shirt on. People could look at me if they wanted to. I was going to be gone soon, and they would not recognize me except for my hair. I lifted my chin from the branch and started to let myself down slowly. My bare feet descended to the grass, toes touching first and then heels falling softly. I couldn’t help but flex each of my swollen muscles, starting with my calves. The impressive cliff they formed created a shadow even in the fading light. Next it was quads. Big, bloated, and cut to the nines, they strained my already exasperated shorts. And I didn’t even have to flex them very hard. It didn’t help that my glutes stole most of the fabric, forming firm, round globes that eclipsed my lower legs. I ran my hands up and across my abs, each brick bringing my erection to greater attention, and finished with a double bi pose. That one was my favorite. It put the power that lay just beneath those titanic arms on display so effortlessly. My dick now rose to full mast, my shorts struggling to hold together. It felt good to be a man. I went back inside to the guy I had just fucked. He was tight, wiry, but nothing like me. He was face down, ass up. The smell of the candle I had left burning mixed with the smell of his skin as I ran my tongue down his back and up to his neck. I turned him around to face me and folded my legs on each side of him so that I sat comfortably on his abs. I let my body linger there, imposing, towering over his. My pecs hung heavy in the bottom frame of my vision. I bounced them, just because I could. I looked straight into his eyes, almond-colored, framed by long, dark, curly hair. I loved the way he tried to move but could not make much of an impression. He blushed a little bit. He almost reminded me of myself a few days ago. What a different life that was. I moved closer and kissed him, gently. I could feel his body tense with pleasure under me. “Where’s your shirt?” I asked. “On the side of the bed,” he said. I casually reached for it and felt how light and small it was in my hands. “Do you mind if I try it on?” I said. He nodded, trying to maintain his composure and pretend this was a normal request. He was doing a subpar job of it. Who could blame him? I knew I had picked a good one. A muscle junkie through and through. And here I was to provide the fix. I lifted it over my head and from the very start I could feel how little of my body was going to squeeze into this tiny polo. By the time my arm reached the sleeve I got stuck. I fumbled awkwardly for a minute, wrestling this puny piece of fabric over my muscular frame. He giggled, and I allowed it. Finally I was pulling it down over my abs. The fabric wrapped up each ab individually, like they had been covered in cellophane. I ran my hand over it just to feel how tight I stretched the fabric. I noticed as I looked down that the buttons sat undone and my upper chest was popping through. I motioned to button them up, but there was obviously no way that they were going to come together. I smiled down at him. “You’ve gotta catch up, dude. I can’t even button up your shirt.” Throb, pulse. I lifted up my arms almost in auto-pilot. I heard a tear. Fuck, if I wasn’t hard already. His dick responded too, jolting on the crevice of my ass. I felt around to know what part of the shirt had torn. It was the underside of the seam where the sleeve meets the body. “I’ll lend you one of mine,” I said, unapologetically. I left out that most of my shirts had succumb to a similar fate when I had tried to find just one that fit my massive frame. I tried as hard as I could to split the shirt around the bicep. I wasn’t quite big enough yet. But I would be. It was only a matter of time. Damn stretchy fabric. But fuck if I didn’t look good filling them up. Every last inch of it. Approaching eighteen, last I had counted. With that, the show was over. I lifted the shirt off, this time with care to avoid the clumsy nature of its donning. More tears, here and there. I didn’t bother to avoid making them, it didn’t matter anymore. I got off of him and lifted him up, putting my arms under his knees and grabbing his torso. His arms clasped about my neck, hands reaching down my back. His hands were soft, and I could feel them navigate over the muscles in my back, exploring every bulge, solid, strong. I sat on the edge of the bed, my arms the only thing preventing him falling from the ground. I kissed him, in reassurance that I was not going to drop him. His cock pressed against the tight, warm flesh of my abs, and his hands migrated over to my pecs, circling my nipples with his fingers. That sensation was more erogenous than I expected, and I almost let him slip. His body falling away from mine startled me, and I pulled him close again. I took my cock, throbbing and begging for release, and pressed it right up against his hole. Pre smeared across it, and I started stroking up and down. I wanted release. I grabbed him tighter and began to lift his ass up and down across my cock, my arms getting tired and swollen and all the more pumped as I kept using him like he was a fleshjack. Before I knew it I was already about to cum. I lifted him a little bit higher and brought my cock between us, cum spurting onto my chest and up to his chin. “Now it’s your…” I touched his dick and within a few seconds he was gone. His cum only managed to splash up against my abs, but it was appreciated nonetheless. I couldn’t help but grin as his face was lost in the ecstasy of orgasm. I stood up, holding him, and walked over to my dresser. I set him on top and pulled out a shirt, handing it to him with a towel. “That’s for you.” I gave one of those cheesy jock-like winks, and turned around to head to the bathroom. I could feel his glare as my solid, round cheeks fell up and down with my stride. I gave them a good flex (and threw in some calves too) before I left his view. It was time for a run. -- An hour later I was outside. The night air brushed against my skin, my entire torso free and exposed. Darkness was my only company for most of the path until I reached the more suburban part of town. I was alone even though my path was now lit. Hardly anyone roamed about at this hour, and they wouldn’t have recognized me. But I wanted them to see anyways. To recognize me for what I had become. My footsteps fell heavy on the ground and made echoes on the still houses, but I was hardly any slower than before. It wasn’t long before I made it to Charlie’s place. I stopped under a streetlamp, the light reflecting the prodigious results of my transformation. He was in his garage, working on some old beat up truck that looked like it was from the 1950s. No one else seemed to be home. Despite the noisy footfall, he failed to notice me. I watched him for a moment. His skin was dark under the fluorescent bulb hanging over him, his back solid and clinging tightly to his wife beater. Every motion showed a muscle working, displayed the effortlessness that he carried himself with. He pulled what must have been the oil dipstick out of its place, and the various muscles in his arms flexed to form dark shadows beneath them. I felt a flush of embarrassment that I did not think I would ever feel again. “Hey,” I barked clumsily. He paused for a moment and wiped his hands before he turned around. He stared directly at me for a moment, the radiant jade of his eyes investigating my presence. His brow folded in the slightest confusion, as if he were trying to decipher someone’s face in an old photograph. And then he smiled. Teeth white as an ivory tomb. “Sup, little man.” Shit, he beat me to it. Did he recognize me? Or did he say that to everyone who passed by? Now that his initial confusion had passed, there was no hint of alarm or concern on his face. I started walking towards him, trying not to let my confidence falter as I stepped out of the streetlamp’s light. I tried to convince myself there was no reason to let my conviction falter. By now I must have been bigger than he was. Stronger. Nonetheless, he didn’t flinch. Neither his stance nor his expression wavered at my approach. And then we were face to face. He leaned on the grill of his car, relaxed. “What brings you around here?” he said casually. I didn’t really know. “Just out for a run,” was what came out of my mouth. “You seem to have been through a lot in the past few days,” he said. He lifted his arm, and without thinking I grabbed it. He did not seem to mind; if anything, he was amused. I held my hand still too, at first. His calm demeanor startled me. I just needed to break his confidence; I had to make him know just how much stronger I was. I pushed, and he gave just a little. The thick bellies of my triceps knotted and I could see his forearm tighten up and strain against the force of my powerful arm, the thick calluses on my hands rubbing rough against his soft skin. Still, forcing his arm back was more difficult than I anticipated. I was winning, but just barely. Meanwhile I could feel the blood rush to my cock even though I was using all of my strength. “Say uncle,” I said. I wanted him to admit it. Without changing his expression, he opened his mouth and his face leaned in towards mine. I almost expected a kiss. Instead I heard music. Even though it must have come from him, it sounded rich and deep as though it were another person’s voice. It resonated all around me like a bell, sonorous and pure despite its depth. Between long notes, the melody rang with strange sounds that were akin to words that I did not recognize. All of my anxiety and rivalry faded as the strange tune resounded in my ears. My vision started to become hazy. His golden arms blurred into the fluorescent lit background, his soft lips disappearing as everything began to go dark. I felt my head fall on his chest. It hummed with the bell’s tune. I could not stay awake any longer. -- I awoke as the sun was rising. My head was still foggy, but not unpleasantly so, as I lifted out of my near comatose state. My body was similarly sluggish and numb. I felt clumsy as I attempted to orchestrate my way off the ground, feet stumbling in the grass. I also discovered a ringing in my ears, but low and distant-sounding. It faded slowly as clarity came back to me, my body regaining its composure. Beams of sunlight loftily fell through the morning fog and landed on my silken skin. I had not changed. I gave my pecs a quick bounce just to be sure. Still massive. Memories came back from last night slowly and sporadically, like mud through a sieve. The details were mostly unclear, but my awakening here on the ground meant that I had lost. Despite all of the changes I had gone through, Charlie was still stronger than me. My heart fell into my chest, full of anguish. I could not even remember how he managed to subdue me. But I had an idea on how to fix that. I reached into my pocket to find my car keys. There was a note inside. It said: “Next time, make a better wish.” Whatever that meant. I was fortunate enough to see Delilah’s car leave as I turned the corner on her street. I didn’t know how to explain to her what had happened or my plan, and I wasn’t about to be talked out of it. I parked at the end of the block and walked as casually as I could feign up to her doorstep. The tacky porcelain frog that stood out harshly from the otherwise bare porch revealed her spare keys. Luckily, they held one that opened her basement. I threw it into the grass, not taking the time to remark how light it was for me now. The basement was even more cluttered than the last time I had been inside. Old musty books full of pseudoscientific literature and what looked like very serious scholarly articles littered the tables and floor. Clearly Delilah had devoted most of her free time to discovering what they were and how to make sure they didn’t kick the bucket in her care. However she did it, it was working; they seemed just as irreverent and indignant as ever. My arrival only seemed to encourage their frenzied buzzing. Inside the dull plastic box, she had left a small bag of blood as their only company. An iron meal for an iron bug. I paused for a moment. No, this was what I wanted. The risks were irrelevant. I needed to get bigger. Bigger than him. Bigger than anyone. That was all that mattered. I cautiously opened the container and slid my hand quickly over the opening as I removed the lid. It was almost instant, the sting. My hand clenched; fuck, it hurt. But unlike our first encounter, it remained stuck in my skin. I could feel it. A warm, almost hot sensation emanated from the sting. Like a hot summer day running through my blood, up my beefy arms and into the rest of my formidable body. It flowed through me, saturating me with whatever chemical or enzyme or magic flowed from its metallic proboscis. It felt as though I was going through the most intense workout I ever had while standing completely still. It was completing me. I was strong, alive, vibrant, unstoppable. Eventually the iron bug dropped from my hand, satiated. It scuttled away lazily, finally ending its fervent rampage against its impregnable prison. It seemed to shine crimson beneath its metallic sheen. I slid the lid back on, careful not to let out the other bug that was still madly trying to escape. Attempting to head towards the exit, I found myself dizzy with euphoria and my body was somewhat difficult to move. My flesh felt hard to the touch, like an insane pump from a non-existent workout. My blood was still warm, marked by a pleasant tingling. I don’t really remember getting back to my house. I only remember putting the keys back under the frog and somehow finding myself lying under the sheets in my bed, wrapped up like a cocoon. My blood was still warm, and the muscles beneath my skin were unbelievably tense, pumped, and changing into something even harder. My cock matched them in turgor, fighting for attention. But I was too busy wrapped up in the novel sensations to pay it any attention. Soon the heat began to make me dizzy, and I started to drift off. My eyes shut. I smiled. It worked. I couldn’t wait to find out what I had done. Part IV

This story is coming to an end. Got some hot stuff here. Enjoy! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Thursday. Cardio, Biceps, and Back Day: Part 5 It is 9:45. Troy and I are standing in the weight room drenched in sweat. I’m pumped as fuck. We ran 2 miles this morning and decided to work chest and back afterwards. We are 15 minutes into our bicep workout. I can see the veins in Troy’s blood pumping with blood with each dumbbell curl and his arms aren’t all that’s pumping with blood. His cock is obviously hard through his running shorts, which are so short that they barely reach the middle of his thigh. I see his meat twitch with every curl and in a way I can feel his alpha energy radiating from his body. I have two 40 pound dumbbells and he has two 45 pound ones. His biceps are obviously stronger than mine. His rock hard biceps are burning read as he curls and I wish so much to be as big as him. We finish our last set and I pat him on the back. It is still drenched with sweat from our run, but I don’t care. “Fuck bro, your biceps are swole as ever,” I say. “Thanks man,” he says. “But look at yourself. Those are boulders. Flex those babies.” He looks in the mirror and flexes his bicep. I flex both of my biceps. I am wearing a black stringer tank top and the flexing reveals my hard pecs and with both biceps flexed, I look amazing. Troy’s eyes light up. “Shit bro!” he says. “I need to get a pic of this!” He takes out his camera and we strike the same pose. “Look at the two of us alphas.” He says this while showing me the picture. “Two powerful bros, ready to crush all of those that get in our way.” “Me, an alpha?” I say. “Yeah dude!” he basically yells. “Look at these arms!” he says and grabs holds of both of my biceps. “You’re a beast!” I don’t know how to respond to this, but before I can Troy gets a message on his phone. He looks down at his phone and his eyes open wide. “Holy shit, man! I got an internship in Superset City!” “WHAT?!?” I am shocked. Superset City is the fitness capital of the entire United States. The only people that live there are pro bodybuilders, extreme fitness enthusiasts, and basically anyone with a bod worth showing. “I got an internship in the swollest city in the word! Fuck!!” He is shaking with excitement. “When will you leave?” I say. I am a bit panicked. Troy can’t just leave. “Next Fall is our senior year. Dude, you should apply. I don’t have a roommate yet and it would be cool to be able to work out and chill with you every day!” “Really?” “Yeah, man! Just promise me you’ll think about it” I hesitate. I never thought about doing an internship, but to go away with Troy would be amazing. I don’t know why he wants me to go, but I don’t want to let him down. “I’ll think about it.” I say. “Great!” We continue to work out. Troy is even more pumped than before and we charge our way through the rest of our biceps and back workouts. We are burnt out by 10:45 and in a desperate need to shower. Troy follows me into the locker room. I no longer feel nervous when I go in here alone with him and I immediately begin stripping. Once my clothes are off I see that Troy is already naked too. He stands directly behind me and I know he is looking at me. “Wow man,” he says. “I feel like you are swelling up every time I see you.” I turn around and look at him. He stands in front of me fully erect and I feel like I could ask him anything at this moment. He just doesn’t seem to give a fuck that his showing me his all. I look down at his hard abs. They are protruding from his stomach, each individual muscle begging to me caressed. His cock points straight to the ceiling and is oozing with pre-cum. My dick starts to stiffen up and I see his eyes twitch down towards it. “Like what you see, bro?” he asks. This question shocks me. How do I respond to such a question? Should I tell him that his hard body turns me on or would that ruin our friendship? I decide to try to turn the conversation. “Dude, you look great, but I need to take care of this hard on,” I say. “I always feel like busting one after a good workout.” He looks at me inquisitively and slowly begins to move forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He stands right in front of me and I see him debate something in his mind. His eyes are full of questions and then suddenly a look of remorse comes over him as if he suddenly changed his mind about something. He backs away slightly and walks towards the showers. “Let’s go man!” he says over his shoulder. I watch his tight ass as he walks away. Fuck. My cock is dripping just thinking about those swollen globes. I follow behind him and get into the second shower, He is in the first and I hear him turn on the water. I turn mine on and thinking about his ass I start stroking my cock. I feel so close already. Suddenly my curtain is open and I am shocked. My hand is immediately off my erect dick and I turn around. TROY IS STANDING IN THE SHOWER WITH ME!! “You know… Out of all the muscles on your body that I have touched,” he says, creeping slowly towards me. “I have never touched this one.” He slowly reaches his right hand down and wraps it around my cock. Fuck! What is happening? He begins to stroke me and my body is filled with immense pleasure. His other hand begins to play with my nipples. I feel so good that I don’t know how to reacted, so I just melt into his hands. He begins to stroke faster and faster and his left hand beings to feel my abs. I begin to shake, my climax is building. “There it is big guy,” he says, “Let it all out. Show me what an alpha’s cock can do!” My cock bursts! Hot white streaks splatter Troy’s chest, dripping down onto his own cock and I finally let in a gasp of air. I fall back against the wall soaking wet. “Nice, bro!” he says and steps out of my shower and back into his. I’m still shaking as I hear him begin to moan. I finish cleaning and I know he is done when he turns his water off. I wait a minute, still lost in thought and then I turn off my water and go out to get changed. I don’t speak as I get dressed. I don’t know what to say, but then I remember his text about wrestling from yesterday. “So dude, you still wanna wrestle tonight after dinner?” I say “That’s right!” he says. “Heck yah man! I don’t have a singlet, I hope you don’t mind if I don’t wear one.” “Nah man, that’s cool. I just won’t wear mine.” “No! You have to wear it dude! I love that thing on your bod. It shows off the best of you.” “You mean my dick?” I say and laugh. “That’s just one of the good parts,” he says and laughs also. Well, at least he likes my dick. That’s good. Right? Troy’s phone begins to go off and he looks down at it. The light in his eyes die down as he ignores the call. I notice that his attitude is a little damp. “You ok, man? I ask. “Everything is cool,” Troy says anxiously. I can tell that everything is not cool “What wrong?” I’m just a bit worried about my relationship. My girlfriend is worried that I will get too big and she doesn’t want to date anyone bigger than me.” “So what does that mean?” “She wants me to stop working out.” What?! That’s crazy as fuck.” “Agreed.” “Well I hope you guys can work it out,” I say although it is a lie. “Thanks, bro,” he says. We begin our walk out of the gym and plan to meet to wrestle an hour after dinner. It wasn’t until dinner time that I heard from my friend Angelica, who had heard from Cassidy, who had heard from Joy that Troy and his girlfriend had broken up, not even an hour after the two of us had left the gym.

This is starting off a bit slower that I usually go. The tags will happen over the course of upcoming chapters. This is the long set up. I hope you enjoy this one as always. - Frank. Abduction Part One by F_R_Eaky Julian was expecting to have a decent day today. He didn't have any grand expectations for it, but he figured he would at least moderately enjoy himself at the Pride Festival activities on this balmy Saturday afternoon. Coming in from the middle entrance he knew he'd turn to the right to walk down the main promenade, looking at only the booths on the right hand side. He'd then see who was on stage at this end of the promenade before turning round and heading up the entire length of promenade to see what booths were on what originally was his left hand side and then at the end who was on at the stage on the left side promenade end. After that he'd go back up that half of the promenade to the center and scope out all the food booths. Tomorrow he'd let his friends know which ones had the best food for the best price to have lunch at after the big Pride Parade. For the now, he'd scope out everything on the promenade and afterwards he'd walk off to the side to head to the Missouri-Illinois LGBTQ History display pavilion. It was early in the Pride Festival day, so the promenade wasn't crowded yet. There was plenty of walking room. At the end of the right hand side of the promenade the stage was bare, nothing happening as of yet. No performers. No awards. No competitions. No administrative announcements. Julian looked down at his feet to rest his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. He always forgot to bring his sunglasses.. Seeing that his right shoelace was untied, he stepped off to the side of the stage so as not to go butt up in the crowd and bent down to tie his shoe. What happened next would change Julian's life forever. A strange and wondrous series of events would begin right here and now, although, if Julian foresaw what would happen he'd probably have done his best to stop it. Coming up from tying his shoe, Julian felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. It wasn't enough to make him unconscious, but certainly enough to knock his senses off line for a few minutes. If that wasn't bad enough, a fairly large and meaty hand grabbed his left arm and helped pull his torso up, the hand's partner rushed in and gut punched Julian severely. He would have doubled over but his head met a great wall of pectoral muscles. As he stood there in a semi conscious state, breathing into the shirt covered valley of a set of protruding pecs, his body supported in a standing position by his attacker's hands and arms, those arms pulled him in close, tilted his head back, and began to suck face, long, passionately, and deeply, as if Julian had just walked on and became an extra of a Sean Cody production. His mind tried to tell Julian he should do something, but the blow to his head made his vision and his mind spin and his nose tingle. The punch to the gut made it almost impossible to breathe, which in turn affected his reasoning capabilities, and his attacker lip locking with him only took the impossibility from almost to absolute. The rest of the world, if anyone saw him, saw Julian becoming weak in the arms of his lover. And what a lover this attacker could be. Midway through the deep passionate pucker, the man wrapped one arm under Julian's ass and easily hoisted the 5' 9", 155 pound, platinum haired, ice blue eyed, twenty year old off the ground. In a few short minutes Julian was carried away to an awaiting van parked at one of the metered parking spaces outlining the park. Depositing Julian into the passenger seat, his abductor quickly placed a blindfold over Julian's eyes and then tied his wrists to the arms of the seat and buckled him in. That was the only thing about the car ride that Julian would ever recall. Julian did realize when they stopped that it was several hours later. The white blindfold over his eyes allowed colors of various pastel light through and a cooler breeze caressed his skin which meant it was now around dusk. His nostrils were also filled with the scent of a fresher breeze, tinged with hay and occasionally the smell of animal manure - he was at a farm. This was confirmed when a large door was heard to be rolled open and he was escorted inside. Walking all the way to the other end of the barn, Julian was placed into a chair and given a grunt command with a firm hand on a shoulder as an order to sit down. After being placed in the chair his hands and legs were then bound to them using some sort of fairly strong rope. ["I apologize for the rough handling. I am a bit taller and stronger than most men."] "That doesn't mean you have to handle people this way. What the hell gives? Bashin' the back of my head and then punching me in the stomach, and then...then... KISSING ME!" ["That part was needed in order to make it seem like you were willing to go with me."] Great. Thought Julian to himself. He's using one of those voice altering devices to speak to me. "What gives with the voice. Why do you need to sound so computer like?" ["It is necessary for fear of vocal recognition."] "Vocal recog....what the fuck, bro.? You mean you're someone I know? What the hell is this a surprise party of some kind gone wrong?" ["The first statement is correct, the second one is not."] "I know you?! This is fucking ridiculous. What a way to treat a friend, coworker, or acquaintance. What the hell do you want anyway? I don't have a lot of money. Neither does my family." ["It isn't money that I want."] "Ok, fine then. I'm not gonna just sit here. HELP! HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" ["Screaming will only wear you out and make you more exhausted. You are in a barn in the middle of its hay stores, the bales of which will absorb your screams. No one outside the barn can hear you, and if they could, there's no one here as they are gone on vacation to Florida for the next two to three weeks."] "So... what... what do you want with me?" ["I need your help. I need you to make love to me."] "Say wha da fu? What makes you think, after this approach for picking up dates, that I'm going to want to make love to you? Why do you need me to make love to you?" ["I need you to make love to me to.... to see....."] "To see what, if you can get it up? Do you have an injury or something that won't allow you to get erect?" ["I need to see if I...I am gay. ... ... ..."] "To...to see... if you're gay? How can you not know? You either are or aren't. I mean seriously, dude. It's something you're born as not something you..." ["I have never been with anyone...ever. Now...away at... ... ... well, away and out in the public, people are wondering what my orientation is. I've been raised, so to speak, to be heterosexual, but I can't quite seem to bring myself to be with a woman. I get erections at the sight of some men, but that could be a passing phase. I need to know if I will stay erect and climax at the touch of another man or if I don't."] "So what? I'm your test subject? a... a...guinea pig of sorts? I'm not just going to make love to you to prove, what? Do you need emotional support to realize it's okay to be gay? I could give you pamphlets, books, websites on information and therapy for that. Just let me..." ["I THINK HOMOSEXUALITY IS FINE! I don't think it's an abomination or a sin. It's just....it's just in my line of training..uh....work...there are...obstacles...people...that rise up and make the path difficult. I want to know how to plan out and map my life. Should I stay this course or change it depending upon whether or not I'm gay. I just.... I....just want to...to make...sure."] "Why did you choose me to verify this?" ["Because... I.... knew you were gay.....and...I....like you."] "So this was a way to get a date?" ["No. ... ... ... It's just a way for me... maybe I'm the only one who needs it done this way... but I need to confirm my sexuality. You... you were gay and kind and smart... .... ... and I knew I had a build you like. ..."] "Build I like? What kind..." ["Please... if you promise to do this for me, no questions asked, I will release you. All I ask is that when I free your hands you don't try to remove your blindfold and you don't attempt to make an exit, of which there is only one, by the way. If I see you attempt one of those two things, I'll knock you out and dump you somewhere. I just want you to make out with me so I can see if mentally, physically it's what I respond to. I've never been with anyone, ever. I've had my blood tested for any diseases, just in case, and can show you that paper if you're worried. You can do it however you like best. Just let me know how to bend or lift or whatever. I basically will be a semi-slave to you tonight."] "Alright! Alright... geeze....I'll do it. Although you better have one amazing fuck bod to touch." The abductor bent over and undid the rope on both of Julian's wrists and his ankles, but stood directly in front of the chair. Julian stood up slowly, keeping the blindfold on for even without physically seeing, he could tell them man was a fairly big man. Slowly, gingerly he stuck his hands out and soon came into contact with a fairly thick and full chest. "Geeze...." Julian whispered as he continued to move his hands up the body of his abductor. Groping, caressing, feeling Julian began to get a sense of how big this man was. His own head only came up to about the man's nose or mouth. He has a very thick and powerful neck that was rooted into some pretty damn broad and solid shoulders, which of course sat above some fairly barrel like pecs. Julian's hands then went down and over the flattened peaks of his abductor's relaxed biceps. "You are built like a brick shit house, and a fairly tall and wide one too." ["I'm 6' 4" tall and weight two-hundred thirty five pounds."] "Oh my...." Julian's knees buckled at the thought of the size of this man as well as from being exhausted and hungry not having had lunch or dinner so far this day. ["No worries, I have you."] "Sorry... ... ... I'm a little weak from skipping lunch and dinner...." ["If you want we can stop this and I can get you something to eat first."] "No, no. It's okay. I can do this." Placing his hands on the abductor's chest again, Julian glided them up the neck and reached out for the chin, causing the abductor to flinch his head back and inhale sharply. "Don't worry. I'm not going to try anything stupid. You are built way bigger than me and could knock my head off I believe, or put me into a more permanent state of unconsciousness. And as tall as you are, and assuming you've worked your legs out too and aren't chicken legged, if I attempted to run away, you'd chase me down in minutes." Julian's abductor relaxed and Julian went back to seeing the man's face via his finger tips. The man's chin was strong but not too prominent. The jaw line was pretty square and the cheek bones were set fairly high. Although there was a two day or so worth of stubble on the face, Julian could tell the cheek bones were hidden slightly be a pair of fairly chubby cheeks. "My gawd..." thought Julian. "He has got to have a wonderful set of dimples to look at." Next were the full, pillow-like lips that was below the man's slightly bulbous and wide nose. A thick but well groomed set of eyebrows floated above a pair of eyes that felt as though they might have a slightly outside downward turn to them almost as if he were oriental of some sort. Then the hands reached the top of this behemoth of a man and became entangled in thick mop of hair that hung down to the man's shoulders. ["What do you want me to do?"] "Well, first..." said Julian as he moved his hands down to his abductor's waistband and then run them up inside his shirt."We're going to remove this shirt..." As the abductor reached down with his meaty hands and grabbed a hold of the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up, over, and off his torso and head, Julian sent his hands gliding across the man's abdominals and obliques, then catching up to the man's pecs, giving the nipples a squeeze. The whole time Julian was getting harder and harder in his pants over how built this man was, and now how hairy he was - he could run his fingers through it on his chest. Tall, built, hairy... this man's body had almost everything Julian ever wanted in a man. "Oh gawd, he can't be handsome... if he's handsome then I'll... and what a fuckin' eight pack. I could trace that all...." ["Pardon?"] "Nothing! Nothing... just kind of mumbling to myself." Julian kept alternating hands left and right, back and forth, letting each one massage a nip, or stroke the obliques, or trace the abs. He kept this up for quite some time until wrapping his arms around the abductor's neck, he spoke. "What I need you to do now, if were truly going to see if you're gay, is to pick me up and support me either around the waist or under my ass." As the abductor did so, Julian lip locked him giving him one of the deepest, most passionate kisses he had ever given a man. Julian wasn't sure who this was, even after being told the man knew him somehow from somewhere, but that feeling, that instinct that he somehow knew the man quite well was talking over along with a burning desire the more he felt the man's granite like body. The man although surprised at first by the kissing motion, began to return it back just as equally passionate, and when Julian began to use his tongue to caress the abductor's tongue, the abductor followed suit pressing his full pillow like lips even deeper towards Julian. Julian ran his hands through the man's thick hair, over the plinth like neck, across the mountain mounding traps, skimmed over some bowling ball like delts, and finally after caressing the tris and running a finger to trace the quickly rising blood vessel across the top of flat yet still quite mounded bicep, begged the man to flex one for him so he could cup it in his hand. The feeling of the large ball of biceps was almost enough on its own to make Julian reach an early climax. "I need you to put me down and for you to get out of those pants." ["You will trick me. You will leave me once they are around my ankles."] "No.... I will stay here, I promise." The man did as he was told to do so, even taking off his socks and shoes in the process. When the man announced that had stripped out of his lower clothing, Julian dropped to his knees and asked for the man's foot. Raising his foot, the man allowed it go slightly limp as Julian moved it to position it on one of his thighs. Upon contact Julian let out a small gasp. ["Are you alright?"] "Yes. I expected you to have decent sized feet, being a tall man and all, but these are getting up there." ["Is that a problem?"] "No..." and Julian swallowed hard before answering. "It's a turn on. They feel about as long as a ruler, maybe slightly longer. They are wide too, thick, meaty. They're just as muscular as your upper body is." ["Size sixteen, 4E wide."] Once again Julian swallowed hard as he began to caress the man's foot with both of his hands, massaging and rubbing them, running his finger between the man's toes. Eventually he moved his hand across the arches and ankles, through the hair on the man's legs up the shin and across the back to grab a hold and kneed the man's very ample calves. The abductor's ankles were as thick as his wrists and the calves were hard dramatic sized diamonds. Julian shuddered out a breath, realizing, calculating in his mind that this man was overly blessed in the genetics department. He was incredibly thick in a regular, average, skinny state, which meant that he could blow up far more than what he was now and carry an insane amount of muscle weight on this frame. Tracing the hamstring up to the thigh bicep, Julian caressed the abductor's thigh, moving his left hand to trace and feel the crevices and mounds of the tear drop shapes, while his right traveled up to, run into, cup, and grab the bulging, bubble butt cheeks. These legs matched his torso in being so full and stacked with defined, dense, muscle. If the man snapped his leg straight, knees locked, foot pointed, it became a massive column for Julian to climb and cling around like a growing vine of ivy. Suddenly Julian pushed himself away. "I can't do this. Go stand on the other side of this barn!" ["What? What is wrong? What is the matter? I don't understand."] "I just can't. No... this is wrong... I won't. Stand on the other side. GET AWAY FROM ME!" ["Is there something wrong with my body? I thought you liked very muscular men. Am I too hairy, perhaps I should shave?"] "It matters not if you shave! I just can't. It can't happen. I need you to leave... me... alone!" ["I... I'm sorry... for... whatever I did... please... please I need you to finish this.... I need to know..."] "How are you feeling right now?" ["Confused.... scared...incredibly lonely now that your touch has stopped. Extremely upset at the thought of upsetting you. Losing you...even though I don't really have you because I..."] "You were turned on and you don't want the feeling to end. You're feeling a physical and emotional loss at its sudden stop. All this from the touch of a man. Have you ever felt this way towards a woman?" ["No."] "Alright. Then trust me, you are gay. How are you hanging now? Still erect, or soft?" ["Soft... ...suddenly very soft....I think the shock and feelings of guilt and embarrassment have made it even recede slightly less than normal."] "Alright. I did this out of selfishness." ["Did...what?"] "Pushed you away. I was hoping it would make you flaccid. If you're going to keep me here, make me do this to you, then I need to get something out of it for my own sake. I want to feel you get aroused. I want to feel it become erect in my hands, and if your body is any hint of what you might be packing, I'm going to fuckin' love this." Julian motioned for the man to come back towards him. When Julian could feel the presence of the abductor's body near him, he got back down on his knees, reached out and felt for the man's crotch. He wasn't displeased or surprised. "Holy shit..." Julian gasped. "You had better be just a shower or I'm going to be in big trouble..." The man pulled his body back a little and blushed all over. Julian could feel the heat rise and radiate all over the abductor and feel the man's stance shift into one that was coy and shy instead of the usual confident and aggressive. "Do... ....do you know how big you are?" ["Eight and a half inches soft."] "A..aan....and e...erect?" ["Eleven and three-fourths by six"] "Holy shit.... fuckin' beast...." Despite his now slight apprehensions, Julian reached out and began to caress and stroke the abductor's mighty cock with his right hand. His left hand went past to cup and fondle the man's balls, which felt as equally larger than an average man's testicles as the abductor's cock did. Within seconds, Julian's thumb glancing across the man's scrotum had the abductor moaning in pleasure. In only a minute or two, Julian's right hand felt the abductor's cock surge and swell, throb and bob, lurch and lengthen, tighten and thicken. It grew impossibly hard and straight like an iron bar with a many a veins crossing over it and a clear and firm penile raphe underneath. The head quickly out grew it's hood of excess penile tissue, the abductor being an uncut man. That head grew a bit thicker and fatter than the rest of the penis forming a perfect helmet at the end of such a long shaft. Fully erect the abductor's penis just stuck straight out from his body. Its own length and thickness making it too heavy to physically rise and point upward and smack the man's abs on its own. It did however bob and bounce like a fishing rod, each and every time a pulse of blood coursed through it. Once fully erect it didn't take long for Julian to stop his stroking procedure and begin sucking on it in true sucker and lollypop style. The abductor shuddered and moaned as Julian's lips encompassed his cock head and form a seal around it. He uttered and sputtered as Julian's head moved forward, causing his lips to do the same and caress that shaft as long and as far as he could. Julian did all manner of tricks to suppress his gag reflex, which was being activated more and more by the super shaft filling his mouth and then throat. Soon his tongue went to work, swirling round and round the shaft, tracing the raphe and licking the underside of the cock from base to piss slit, before beginning an in and out dart and flick session that traced the crown of the head and flicked the slit until the abductor began squirming and wriggling in mad, mad ecstasy. ["AUGH!...FUCK!....WHAT...HUH HUH HUH....WHAT THE HELL...ARE.....ARE YOU....DOING TO ME!?"] Julian didn't break his contact to inform the abductor at exactly what this was. Instead he kept working and working the mega meat until he was able to take it all the way down so that his chin tickled the abductor's balls while his nose were tickled by the abductor's public hair. The abductor couldn't hardly take it anymore. His legs began to contort. His feet and toes began to curl. Slowly, small strides at first, he began to step forward, pushing Julian more and more until they hit one of the great walls of hay. It was at that moment the abductor heard a pop. "Take me.... take me now. I don't care that you're my abductor. That you have kidnapped me. I need to feel you in my lower parts now!" Julian jumped towards the man, his arms clinging around the man's bull neck, his legs wrapping around the tight waist, his lips planting a firm, firm kiss on the man's lips. The abductor wasn't sure what to do, so with just hands and body for guides, Julian finally got himself lowered onto the abductor's dynamic dong and showed the man what it felt like when one takes a tight, tight, ass balls deep. ["Oooooh my gawd! I....I.....it feels.... IT FEELS!...."] "Shut up and develop a rhythm to your pounding. Get into that....lose... UGH! your. ... OH!...s...self and go with the rhythm. OH OH OH OH FUCK!" Julian's back and shoulders were being pushed up and back, digging into the hay bales, individually pieces of straw stabbing and slightly cutting into him. His hole felt like it was being stretched and stretched and stretched while his insides felt as though they were being moved around. The abductor felt like he had found a jacking machine that finally fit him. Waves of pleasure crashing over and overwhelming his mind and senses. His primal instincts took over, leading his body into that natural rhythm of pounding and ramming. It wasn't too long after this... ["Oh.... oh... AIEE! I'M GONNA.... OH SHIT....IT'S GONNA...GONNA!"] In a quick motion, the man stepped sideways and Julian felt his back exposed to air. The man pushed Julian off of his cock with a loud pop and then suddenly became spastic. ["Auuuuuuuuuuuuuugh HUH HUH AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH AH HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FUCK HUH HUH AH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HMMMMMMMGRRRRRRFFFFFFF HUH HUH HUH OOOOH!"] Having landed on his feet, Julian stood there, in front of the man, in absolute amazement. Despite the man falling on his knees and Julian being a couple of feet away from him, the man managed to shot his load across and up the distance to splatter on the front of Julian's shirt. The realization sent a spasm down Julian's spine, over his ass, across and into his balls, which in turn sent a sensation up his cock and there Julian shook and shivered in orgasm. Julian heard the man moan a bit more and then the sound of his body collapsing backwards to the ground. He also manage to deduce that he had to be in the opening that led to the doors of the barn. "Fuck it..." he thought to himself. "It'd only help prove my story if I'm found pants less. Leave the jeans behind." And in a swift motion, he blindly reached and jumped above him, near the edge of the tunnel and latched onto the strings of one of the hay bales. With a bit of struggle and jumping, he managed to weaken the bale that was the cornerstone of the arch and soon he could hear and feel the multitude of stacked bales above him coming down. Julian then turned and ran out the tunnel. ["No! Wait! Auuuuugh!"] Julian removed his blindfold once he could tell he was out of the bales of hay. He stumbled slightly as his eyes adjusted to the light and began to see again. "Damn, this barn is huge!" Julian never stopped running as he could hear his abductor roaring in panic and stack was shifting constantly. This man was not only large and strong enough, he was well versed and practiced in hay baling and pitching. The man was almost clear of the fallen hay bales by the time Julian got to the barn door and managed to pull it open far enough for him to get through. Hearing the heavy footsteps breaking in to a run, Julian knew that an escape via a driveway or pasture run wasn't an option. Instead, he had to go into the house and hope that he could lock and barricade himself in and his abductor out and make a phone call for help. Still blinking his eyes to adjust and clear his vision, Julian spotted and stumble ran towards the house, hearing the barn door not only being pulled open slightly wider but practically being flung open the entire way in one fell swoop. He ran and ran his footsteps beginning to bound and bounce like a jack rabbit, but his attacker, his abductor, despite making plodding sounds like a bull, began to prove he's more like a Clydesdale horse. Julian wondered if he would make to the house in time, when suddenly there was a blinding light that over took the whole yard. "Oh shit, I set off automatic flood lights....can't see..." Julian heard the word, ["fuck!"] behind him and the heavy sounds of large feet and man they're attached too fumbling and falling. He never heard the final thud, though. At that same moment he tripped and fell, face first to be planted firmly into the ground, his feet high in the air.

Hey guys here is part three of A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains. Here is the link to part two. https://muscle-growth.org/topic/8710-a-college-weight-room-story-the-path-to-gains%C2%A0/#comment-89862 Enjoy! A College Weight Room Story: The Path to Gains Part 3 Outside. Tuesday Morning. Cardio and Abs Day: I wake up to my phones alarm at 8:45. I grab it from underneath my pillow and turn the alarm off. There’s a text from Troy. Troy: Morning bro. I’ll be at your front door a couple minutes before 9. Be prepared. It’s a nice day out. I jump out of bed and take off my clothes; my roommate has left for his early class so I have the freedom to walk around my room naked. I go into my bottom dresser drawer where I keep all of my gym gear and throw on a pair of black compression pants and a blue stringer tank top. Then I grab some black gym shorts and drag them over the compression pants. It would feel weird running in just the compression pants themselves. I can’t have the imprint of my dick visible for the whole campus to see. Before I leave my room, I look into the mirror. Perfect, the stringer hangs low enough to keep my pecs visible. The juicy round globes burst through the stringer and I’m not even pumped. Next, I grab a small bag and fill it with spare clothes and put it on my back, then I go downstairs and head for the front door. I check my phone as I open the door and I see Troy has texted me again. He’s already outside. I go out and he’s standing in my driveway wearing a fitted grey shirt and a pair of fitted bright yellow compression shorts that show a clear imprint of his heavy cock and balls. What… how… why is he wearing that outside? I can’t believe my eyes. He wears the shorts as if showing off his junk is a normal part of his day and I try not to look down at his cock. I gather my thoughts and try to behave normally. “You got here fast,” I say. “I woke up early and I was so pumped that I had to get here!” “Let’s do this then!” I reply excitedly. I really want him to turn around so my eyes stop wandering to forbidden places. “Yeah, let’s go!” he says and immediately turns around and breaks into a run. I start running and follow closely behind. Oh shit, now I have his tight ass to look at. Squats have really been doing him justice. I can see each ripple of his chiseled glutes through the yellow shorts. I try to focus on something else and I raise my eyes to his back. I can see his mountainous traps poking through the tight grey shirt, riding their way up his thick neck and I crave traps of that size. I need to have traps that huge. I notice darker spots appearing on his shirt and he begins to slow down to an eventual stop. “That’s one mile down,” he says. “One more to go.” He then strips off his shirt, revealing his solid abs and finely haired chest. He has a little happy trail that doesn’t take away from the marvel, but increases it. It makes him seem manlier. He turns and run again. I try to focus on other things as we run: the science buildings, the freshman dorms, the trees, the nice 70 degree weather, but his recent shirtlessness has all of my attention. I stare at every inch of his back as we run. His entire back seems to be flexed as he runs and I wish I could stand and punch it repeatedly to feel the power I know it holds. We stop in front of my house again after two miles and I am beat. “Alright,” I say between breaths. “That wasn’t so bad. Now I need to go to the gym and work on abs.” “Abs?” he asks. “I actually need to work my abs, bro. Can I come with?” “Hell yeah, bro! Why not?” We walk to the gym from my house. Troy puts his grey shirt back on and a little bit of my anxiety shrinks. I was starting to lose it from seeing him shirtless. It’s a short walk; takes less than 2 minutes. We show the desk worker our ID’s and head into the weight room. “So what do you usually do for abs?” Troy asks. “I start off with weighted ab crunches,” I say as I walk over to the weight rack and grab a 45 pound plate. “Ready, bro?” “Wow man, that’s a lot of weight. How many reps do you do?” “40.” “Jeeze.” He looks nervously at me. “I’ll try.” My world suddenly stops for 2.5 seconds. Did he just say he will try? I think I may have just found his weakness…Abs. He grabs a 45 pound plate and we make our way over to the floor mats. We both lay on a mat and begin doing crunches. Troy seems fine in the beginning, but he begins to slow down. He stops at around 26 reps, but I keep pushing. He looks over at me as he lies on his back with eyes that subtly hint at jealousy. “Damn Von, your abs are stronger than mine!” I push to 40 and then lay back, breathing heavily. “I know you have 3 more sets in you,” I say. His eyes basically pop out of his face when I say this. I smile cockily at him. I seem to have a lot of control in this situation and I have to keep myself from laughing. “Um...Maybe you have 3 more sets of 40. I’ll go for 20.” “Haha ok man.” I am awestruck that I finally found something I am better at. We finish our sets and move on to doing ball crunches, then hanging leg raises, then Russian twists. Our abs are burnt out so we head to the locker room, grabbing towels from the front desk on our way over. He walks into the restroom first and I take a leak. Troy takes his shirt back off and begins to flex his abs in the mirror. I finish peeing and walk over to the mirror. I take off my shirt and start flexing my abs too. Troy can't be the only one to put on a show. “Your abs are getting solid, bro,” he says. “Thanks man, you aren’t too bad yourself.” His abs are red and twitching beneath his skin. My hands are twitching to punch those muscles, to feel the solid impact, but I’m too nervous to ask. “Alright, I need to get clean. It’s shower time!” he says. He walks into the locker room and I follow behind him. He goes to a locker and removes his clothes for the day. I set my little bag down on a bench and take off my shorts, leaving on the compression pants. I look up and my body stalls. Troy is standing with his back towards me with his hard, chiseled ass out in the open. His ass is as white as the moon and his huge round cheeks look strong enough to crush bricks between them. I stand there with my compression shorts still on and he turns around. “Aren’t you gonna shower?” he asks. Troy is standing in front of me completely nude with just a hand covering his cock. “Yeah… I’m just… I’ve never seen anyone get naked in here before.” “What?! That’s what locker rooms are for!” he replies, both hand waving in the air, revealing his flaccid 5 inch meat. “The locker room is a safe place to be naked and enjoy it and the best part is that people can admire your body and you can admire theirs without any consequences.” He starts flexing both biceps as if he is being watched by anyone other than me; his cock is swinging between his legs mercilessly. He turns around and does a double bicep back pose, extending one of his legs and revealing his heavy balls between the cracks of his thighs. He turns around and I look back at him awkwardly. I notice that his cock is starting to get a little hard and he knows it too, his hand makes his way down and he starts to stroke it. “Let me help you, bro,” he says.” He walks forward, still semi-hard, gets down on one knee and grabs the band of my compression pants, ripping them down and revealing my 4 inch, flaccid, black cock and ass for anyone to walk in and see. His head is extremely close to my cock and I am paralyzed with fear. He looks down at my dick as if it was a normal part of his day and gets back up, turns around and walks to the shower. “Let’s go, man.” I follow behind him and he stops at the first shower. I go to the second, but barely make it past him before he slaps me on the ass. HARD! The sound resonates in the shower area and I jump a little. “Damn, bro. Those squats are doing you justice.” “Thanks,” I say and chuckle nervously. “Same to you man.” “You haven’t felt these beauties man. Give them a good squeeze.” He turns his back to me, his ass waiting to be worshipped. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grab both of his ass cheeks and give them a hard squeeze. They feel like rocks in my hands. “Fuck,” I say. He begins to clench his cheeks and I feel so much power in my hands. It is getting harder for me to breath and I start to get hard from his clenching, so I let go. “Alright,” I say. “Shower time.” I walk into my shower and he goes into his. I hear his curtain close and his water turn on through the thin shower wall and I start to relax. I turn on my water and I make it extra hot. That was close. I feel the water rush over me and I start to breathe normally again. I desperately need to cum but I will save it for later. After two minutes, I hear something from Troy’s shower that sounds an awful lot like moaning. “Troy, you ok over there?” Uhh…I’m gonna be honest with you because you’re my bro. It’s been a while since I had sex with my girlfriend.” “So that means you’re— “Spanking the monkey, chocking the chicken, beating my meat, yup!” I can’t believe it. I’m in total shock. “Oh…” “Hey man, there’s nothing better than a good orgasm after a workout. Get hard and try it out!” He didn’t have to tell me twice, I was already hard and hearing him moan through the thin shower wall turned me on. “I always like feeling my pecs and nips when I jerk it. It makes my cock drip so much,” he says over the rush of the water. I begin to stroke my cock and then I hear his moaning. I begin to go faster and he gets louder. I start to moan and he hears. “There you go bro! That’s good shit right there. Fucking bust your nuts all over these walls.” I completely lose it at his words and blow all over the place. I moan in complete ecstasy and I hear him huffing and grunting as his wad shoots from his unseen hard cock. “Ugh..fuck!” he say. “I really needed that,” “Me too” “Well it was nice to do it in your company man.” We both finish showering and walk out of the showers, still naked but not awkward anymore. We walk to our clothes and as we get dressed, I see that his cock is still red and semi-hard from the tugging. “We should shower next to each other more often. It’s way more fun!” Troy says. I’m a little thrown off by what he says but I keep it together. “Haha yeah. Sure man.” “So see ya for leg day tomorrow?” “Yeah, for sure.” We are fully dressed by this point and walk out of the gym. Troy and I leave the gym and he fist-bumps me before we go our separate ways. There are so many questions in my mind. I know Troy is straight. He has never shown any sign of curiosity. He has a girlfriend, but why aren’t they having sex? I’m turned on by Troy, but only because he’s a strong alpha and I admire that. I admire how competitive he is and how he pushes me to be stronger. I know that I’m not feeling love for him, but today was strange. He’s never been this close to me before. He literally stripped me down today. Something is changing in Troy and I think I’ll start pushing him a bit to see what will happen. I know just how to push too… Wrestling.

(Just something I'd posted on cyoc.net ages ago, thought it might fair a little better here) This all started when I moved in with my roommate, John.We were both pretty well off , but since my parents had decided it was time for me to get a place of my own for college, I was pretty much kicked out until my four years were up. They said that they would pay my way into whatever place I chose, but there were to be no issues, “Or else.” My father had said. So I moved in with John, and we got on pretty well. Or, as well as most roommates do. Move in day was awkward, and with classes starting, we had little time for chit-chat. I was the first to get to the dorm, and chose the left side of the room. The dorm room was minimalistic, and the walls were just off-white, but there was a bunk bed, a small kitchen, and a sweet bathroom that would be awesome for after wrestling practice. John arrived just as I was about to hop in the shower before my run of the campus began. It had been a long drive from Nevada to California, and my car’s a/c had very recently gone out. While the dorm room WAS cold, I was still hot and sweaty, and ready for a shower. I stripped off my t-shirt after I had put my clothes and bags away, and as my shirt landed in the hamper, the door opened to reveal a guy about my size, but just small enough to matter. As I looked him over, he gave me a somewhat patronizing smirk, while looking me over as well. He was a hot boy-next-door kinda guy. Blond hair, small-but-fit build, tan complexion, blue eyes, and a killer smile. Raising his eyebrows slightly, I could tell he was impressed…and a little angry. I took a look at his bags, and he happened to have a wrestling singlet sticking out of his sports duffel. He was dressed in a tanktop and shorts, with running shoes on. I was tall, dark haired, and even though I was just bit bigger than he was, it showed. He put his bags down and walked over to me.“Hey man! I’m John.” He said, giving me the official bro-hug. “’knew coach would put me with another wrestler. Always trying to get me to make friends.” As he said this, he gave me a rather tight squeeze, pressing our bodies a little tight for friendly comfort. His whole front pressed against mine, and the hug lasted a little too long. Not one to be outdone, I returned with crushing force, causing him to elicit a cross between a moan of pleasure and a groan of pain. I assumed the latter.“I’m Nick.” I said, untangling myself from the sadistic hug. Immediately I felt kinda bad for not waiting on him to pick bunks. “I kinda picked my bunk already, so I guess you can be the top?” He didn’t answer, and instead walked over to the door, grabbed his bags, and as he rolled past me, he paused.“I like being on top.” He said with a predatorial wink.Puzzled and somewhat turned on, I walked to the bathroom, stripping the rest of my clothes off on the way. . . . Because this was an all-boys college, the nearest town, and girls, were about thirty minutes away. The college wasn’t particularly strict about dress code, so naturally, most of the guys wore whatever, but it being California, and the middle of July, we all wore the bare minimum. Class didn’t begin until 12, so I figured it’d be a good time to practice in the gym. Already, the mats were down, and wrestlers were beginning practice. The locker rooms smelled of musk and were just barely cooler than the outside. Mist was throughout, and I went to my assigned locker to drop off my duffel and dress. I stripped my shirt, and as I was undoing my shorts, the lockerroom door slammed. I decided not to pay attention until needed, and as I looked down as my shorts dropped, I saw the same sneakers from this morning. “Sup dude?” He stared up and grinned. I tried to return his smile, grunted, and got out my singlet. As I pulled it up, I watched from the corner of my eye as he appraised my body.“I’m not queer you know.” I said. While in just his boxers, he stopped and turned fully to me with a cold glare. “What makes you think I’m queer, asshole?” He spat through clenched teeth. “You’ve got a semi, and you keep looking at me like I’m a steak or something.” My eyes narrowed. Still glaring, he pulled down his boxers, and brandished his dick toward me. “Does this look like a semi?”His dick filled his pouch to the waistband, but it wasn’t even hard. He was twice my soft length, and a little less than my girth. My guess was about 6 inches soft. Hard, he'd probably add two inches at the least. At my surprised expression, his glare became a cruel smile, and simple stated “and as for looking at you…not that your hard on the eyes, but I wanna check out my competition.” He pulled his boxers and singlet up, “and see what needs taking care of.” He strutted out of the lockerroom, and as he passed me, he made a grab for my balls, making me duck away. He feinted back at the last minute, and laughed cruelly the whole way out. . . . As practice ended, and everyone packed up, It was just us on the floor.“Hey Nick.” He called. “How about a little friendly one-on-one? Whatever the winner wants, he gets tonight.”I hesitated. I knew he’d ask for something ridiculous tonight…something degrading. However…I could see this working to my advantage. Humiliating him ought to get him off my back. Even if neither of us followed through, I could still walk away with my dignity. “You’re on-” I had barely started out when he barreled at me, knocking me on my back and straddling my chest. As he sat atop me, my frame seized up slightly. I didn’t feel capable of movement, though his cold-heat hands were not so much restraining my arms to the mat as caressing my biceps.“Told you that I liked being on top.” He smirked, his blue eyes dark and hungry. Feral.As he sat atop of me, I began feeling violated, as if someone were touching me intimately through the fabric of both the singlet and my underwear, I could see both of his hands though. His body rippled for a second, and as I felt waves of pleasure shoot through me, I could see a slight shift of his body. I felt cold, and his embrace was hot. His patronizing grin widened, and he seemed to be getting a bit more substantial, whereas I felt a little more…weak.His body stretched longer in his singlet, and his body atop of mine felt heavier. His biceps mounded with strength, and his abs and pecs became more visible through the singlet.Within a short moment that seemed a long time, the exchange ended. He leaned down and whispered. “I’ll be back for the rest tonight.”Patting my abs as he rose to a height that was just barely larger than before, but still larger, he walked off to the locker room, leaving me on the ground, sweaty, confused, and with a great deal of cum in my boxers.

I will apologize ahead of time, there is no growth or sex in this scene, but it is setting up for the next scene. I hope you enjoy and please leave feedback if there is a certain direction you would like to see this story go. I keep hitting roadblocks in this story. Thank you everyone for all of your support Blue Pill Part 10 Modest would not even begin to describe fletcher valleys quarterback. It wouldn’t even begin to describe the massive home he lives in either. Chris had just returned home after his most recent fuck session in the gym with Luke amped up and ready to long dick his girlfriend Stacy for a few hours. “Hey baby, did you miss me? Cause my dick sure missed that tight snatch of yours!” Chris arrogantly flexed his dick inside his shorts, making the head of his python pop out the bottom. Stacy couldn’t take her eyes off the newly grown muscle man. “My god Chris, you’ve gotten so huge!” her eyes caught the tip of his dick peeking out of his shorts, so she reached forward and grabbed hold. She began massaging the meat in one hand until she realized that she couldn’t encircle it as it began to harden. “Jesus Christ! This things not even fully hard yet” Stacy exclaimed in awe as she got closer to examine it. Not believing what she was seeing. “Not even close.” Chris said with a smirk on his face. Chris reached one of his meaty paws out and wrapped it behind Stacy’s head, pulling her into his groin. He felt her begin pulling back so he let go. “There’s no way I can suck that thing! It’s too big already Christopher!” She had the look of fear in her eyes as she backed up, looking up from her man’s mammoth dick all the way up his muscular torso to his rage filled eyes. “Well if you won’t suck it, then I will just fuck you with it. How about that?” It was more of a statement than a question coming from Chris as he reached out wrapping a hand around her torso and pulling her closer. Stacy could feel Chris’s dick throbbing between her legs and up her skirt. “Now I’m fully hard, all 14 inches of me. Do I not have the biggest dick you’ve ever seen?” Chris began reaching under Stacy’s skirt with his other hand, moving her panties to one side as he readjusted his dick so the head was lined up with her clit. Stacy began to push against Chris’s rock hard pecs in protest. “You’re not fucking me with that freak dick! I don’t know how you got this big so fast, but you weren’t this big a few days ago.” “I know it’s great isn’t it!” Chris said with an evil gleam in his eyes. He began rubbing his gargantuan helmet along her pussy lips, getting his dick head wet with her juices. As Chris began pushing the head of his dick into Stacy, she began to scream in protest, punching Chris everywhere she could. “ENOUGH!” Chris slapped Stacy across the face. A look of shock and horror filled her eyes. “NOW I’M GONNA GET LAID AND YOUR GOING TO TAKE MY DICK WETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT!” Chris grabbed underneath Stacy’s arms and easily lifted her up as his dick head once again found the entrance to her moist cave. “Chris, please don’t!” Stacy shouted as tears began to fill her eyes. “Once I get completely inside you, you’ll love it, I promise.” Chris began lowering Stacy down onto his dick. She just rested on the head of his dick. Her pussy not accommodating to the girth of Chris’s gargantuan tool. Chris began getting frustrated so he switched his hand to rest on top of Stacy’s shoulders and he began applying force. Softly at first and then with increasing pressure. “STOP IT CHRISTOPHER! YOU’RE GOING TO RIP ME OPEN” becoming panicked, Stacy only thought of one way out. She swung her leg back and with all her might swung it forward. With the force of the impact of her foot on Chris’s baseball sized testical, it was enough for the behemoth to become winded. Chris let go of Stacy and grabbed for the shooting pain coming from his aching nut sack. Stacy tumbled to the floor and without missing a beat, ran out the door and out of Chris’s house to her car. “FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH. I WAS OVER YOU ANYWAY!” Chris yelled in agony as he lay on the ground holding his balls. Stacy sped off down the driveway leaving Chris and his aching balls in the dust, tears rolling down her face and anger in her eyes. After a couple minutes of lying on the floor, Chris began to get the nerve to get up. He grabbed onto the edge of his bed and when he fully stood he had a sharp shooting pain emanating from his balls. “Fuck! I need some aspirin.” Chris headed towards his bathroom. He flipped on the light and stepped up to his vanity, noting his body’s reflection in the mirror. Seeing his mass filled frame and vein covered beef only started to make his dick hard again. He opened the cabinet and rummaged through all the contents, not finding a single bottle of aspirin. “Shit!” Chris said slamming the cabinet door shut. “Maybe dad has some in his bathroom. Chris waddled his way out of his bedroom and pain stakingly made his way down stairs. Once he made it to the end of the hall he turned into his dads room and then into his bathroom. He opened the cabinet pushing bottles out of the way as they fell out and rattled across the tiled bathroom floor. Finally eyeing some ibuprofen at the back of the cabinet, Chris grabbed the bottle, popped the top off and downed 4. “That should do it.” Chris leaned down to get a drink of water from the faucet. Chris stood back up to his full height and once again caught eye of his own reflection. He began flexing his massive peaked biceps in the mirror. Making his pecs jump as he tweaked his diamond hard nipples. “Man that bitch is fucking crazy not wanting to get fucked by this.” Chris said as he went into a double bicep flex. Grunting and beginning to sweat, Chris noticed the head of his dick poking its way up past his belly button and along the ridges of his abs. Chris held one arm flexed as he reached down with his other hand and began massaging the head of his dick. Pre- cum began gushing out of the tip as his dick reached full hardness. He began lubing up his dick with his pre-cum. “Fuck, I gotta fuck something and soon. Maybe I will see if I can get that tight ass Luke to sit on my dick again.” Chris began to head out of his father’s bathroom, when his foot made contact with something on the floor sending it rattling across the bathroom. Chris hadn’t seen, over his mammoth pecs, all the pill bottles he had knocked out of the cabinet. Chris bent over and began picking them up and placing them back in the cabinet. He walked across the bathroom to pick up the bottle his foot had made contact with. As he reached down, he noticed that the bottle didn’t look like any of the others in the cabinet, but looked very familiar. As Chris looked over the bottle he recognized the label. It was the same label that the two bottles had in his locker at school. Chris popped the cap off and inside were black pills.

Something short, just to grease the groove a little... Hope you guys enjoy these! 1. Snow I tripped and fell into the snow. What a wonderful continuation of the hell that was that day. I swear someone must have jinxed me, because of all the bad luck I had. Almost burned down my kitchen when I was making breakfast, totally tanked the exam and now this. I didn’t get up right away, wallowing in the self-pity. There was no one around to laugh at me anyway, and soon I felt tears stinging my eyes. And then a rhythmic crunching sound alerted that someone was near. I turned my head and hoped he would help me up. 2. Rain Unlike snow, I liked rain, especially the warm one in summer. And I had a good day. My work went smoothly, everyone was pleasant. I stripped down to my swimwear and put the clothes inside the bag to keep them dry. I swam a few rounds in the pool before noticing someone was at the shore looking at me. He was getting soaked. As I got out of the water, I saw that he looked familiar, but the way his clothing clung to his body, showing all the bulges clearly was distracting me. Then he greeted me and I remembered. 3. Beer I drank too much. If the beer that I spilled on my shirt wasn’t a clue, the way my consciousness seemed to blink in and out, like a movie cuts between scenes, was basically a message on a neon sign. I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, it was getting late anyway. I paid my tab, adding a hefty tip, too lazy to calculate the proper fraction. I stumbled out the door, seemingly into a wall. Why would anyone build a wall right in front of a...? Not a wall. Him. He looked bigger every time I saw him. 4. Sweat I explored his body with my hands. He towered over everyone. He was heavier and more muscled than anyone thought a human being could be. If I pushed and a part of his body moved, it was because he allowed it, not because I was strong enough to do that. These days, he was juggling trucks just to warm up before his workouts. He was called a freak mostly behind his very wide back. He didn’t mind. I saw a droplet of sweat going down the slope of his chest, stopping for a moment at the tip of his nipple.

PREVIOUS REFERENCE: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/4099-my-partner-moves-on/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/3760-my-twin-moves-on-chapters-1-12/ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 19: Further Encounters, Part 1 February 10th, 2022 2050 Hours Sam moved quickly along the corridor. Only a few minutes before, The Twenty had walked this way. Probably still marching in single file, too. He paused for a moment. Which way? He strained to hear something. Beneath him the low rumbling of the compound generators churned the stillness the night. No other sound. To his left was a men’s room. He went in. It was vast and cold and institutional, but strangely it featured - or perhaps it was not so strange - a 20' wall of floor to ceiling, full length mirrors. He gazed at his reflection. “You need a shave, pretty boy,” he said to himself, rubbing his day old stubble. He grinned at himself. Sam Victor was an uncommonly handsome young man. His easy masculinity was accented by his graceful, lean swimmer’s physique. Stripped naked, he was all sinew, abs, tendons, and light, lean muscle. On the street he was used to turning heads, and when he visited his sister in LA a year ago everyone he encountered thought he was a young television star whose name they just couldn’t place. He enjoyed watching them stammer and pretend they recognized him. A trained athlete and all flexibility and power himself, Sam knew full well where his urges led him. He didn’t care, really. Neither did anyone else. A few years back, just 16 and an Annapolis cadet, Sam had learned that what he liked to do just about better than anything on earth was destined both to make him devoted new friends, and at the same time, just might advance his career in the Navy. Sam liked to suck cock. No, he loved to suck cock. He loved the feeling of a man’s erect penis plunging and exploding in his mouth. And he was spectacularly good at sucking cock, too. I’m just a cocksucking pig, he thought with a self-satisfied smile. And he had no compunction about using his dazzling good looks and slightly self-effacing charm to go about getting what he wanted. What he needed, that is. At first furtive and choosy about his partners in the dorm rooms back in his campus days, the word quietly spread that the winning young Junior Varsity swim team captain was unusually talented. Far from creating poisonous issues or problems, his fellow cadets were are first curious, then appreciative, then driven to frenzy when experiencing Sam’s delicately pouting young lips sliding down the poles of their burgeoning manhood for the first time. After swim practice, he could regularly plan on an hour or more of a selection of the Academy’s largest and finest young chlorine-soaked penises plunging powerfully down his throat. Sam’s square young jaw became as strong as his swimmer’s stroke. He could suck steadily and powerfully for hours, and had been known on a number of occasions to steadily service a roomful of 30 of the dorm’s biggest, eagerest cocks for hours into the night. Oddly, it never interfered with his studies. In fact, it helped him to focus. He dreamed at his own reflection. There before him just minutes ago he had been confronted with 20 of the largest cocks he had ever seen in his life, all lined up in a row. And then, there was Casey’s dick. Now there, there, there was a penis one could really get down with. This was a man’s penis. Sam’s mouth watered. In his uniform officer slacks his beautiful blond tool was still rigid with keen and specific intention. He closed his eyes. He envisioned himself working the line-up of those 20 musclemen, moving slowly down the line as he sampled the goods, taking each new man’s heavy penis into his mouth and sucking him languorously to full throated climax – and then moving on to the next. He’d save Casey for last. ***** The officers and Admiral Walrus were gathered at a large conference table in Zaftig’s spacious outer office. The door was closed. “You’re saying, gentlemen,” Zaftig said evenly, “that the United States Government has no investment interest in Project Herculaneum? A revolutionary anti-terrorist program? You astonish me.” Admiral Walrus had regained his composure. He smiled slightly, as if at a private joke. “We don’t see the effectiveness of this project. It’s expensive, time-consuming, a waste of personnel and resources, and, I might add, not just a little weird. To say nothing of the scientific bullshit of it all. Genetic encoding as secret weapon development is the stuff of speculation.” His smile grew a little conciliatory, but his eyes remained hard. “The Pentagon has felt enough public flak about taxpayer cost to know when to back off on initiatives that are both speculative and dubious at best.” “So you’re recommending shutting us down.” “That is my plan.” “Do you concur, Dr. Shaft?” “Well –“ Shaft paused. “Oh, don’t worry, Milton, we’re not closing the doors. Not just yet. You can still come for your monthly personal inspection. The men are always glad to see you.” “We don’t see how we can go anymore with this,” said General Needling. Admiral Walrus shot a look at 1-star Needling. Needling remained still and serene, but said no more. Behind him, Needling’s aide turned beet red and looked down into his lap. “Are these men your personal lab rats?” demanded Walrus. “These men are warriors. They’d do any army proud. They’re skilled in extreme fighting. They can withstand any climate. They follow orders without question.” And they cum three quarts a week, thought Dr. Shaft. Wonder what they'd make of that? “I suspect they’re dumb as rocks.” Walrus said, finishing up. He got to his feet. “We’re done here.” “Not so fast, Admiral." "What else can be said, Zaftig? You've wasted my time. Our time." "I have something to say. You can sit a moment while your cars are called. Can't you?" Zaftig was still serenely confident, as if talking to particularly slow children. "Dr. Shaft?" he added. "I know you don't want to leave. You see the value of the project. Don't you?" Dr. Shaft nodded dumbly. The chiefs sat. Walrus waited impatiently. "Well?" "I didn’t think you’d be willing to see the fighting value of The Twenty," began Zaftig. "As I have said, this project is privately funded. We can keep our doors open for some time to come. In Pentagon terms, of course, our budget is miniscule. Operating costs are about $20 million a year.” “One million per man,” said General Wampum. “Yes, General Wampum, one million per man. At current funding levels, we can stay operative for the next ten years. Our staff is relatively small: the tech security guys you saw along the way, the office staff, admins, medical, reception.” “What about perimeter security?” Zaftig smiled. “Gentlemen, you saw the specimens. The Twenty act as their own security team. No more is needed. Heaven help the Watergate burglar – or burglars - who try to crash our gates. The Twenty would ball them up into scrap paper and shoot baskets.” He turned to Dr. Shaft. “Isn’t that right, doctor?” Shaft nodded weakly. He remembered a punch he had received from Abdul when his fingers strayed too low and without invitation. He was in bed for a week, his jaw wired closed for three months. “So what is it you want?” Walrus demanded to know. “Give me five more minutes, gentlemen, and then I think we’re all ready to retire for the evening. I’ll let you sleep on it. In fact, take a week. Take two.” He leaned in. “Here’s the beauty part of the Twenty.” And the officers listened. ********** Sergeant Rod Moster lay back on his bed in his private quarters, his powerful hands cupped behind his head. He reviewed what had just happened a half-hour before. From what he could see, the first unveiling of Project Herculaneum had been a disaster. The men from the Pentagon were awestruck, yes, but confused, and the brass was dismayed. No doubt basic homophobia triggered. Responses they couldn’t calibrate or predict or understand. Most of them had cum in their trousers, too, at the easy show of strength he’d demonstrated, which couldn’t bode well for the future of the Project. Military men of this rank didn’t acknowledge weakness, and the recognition of probable gayness was probably particularly troubling. He was sure they were all confronting Zaftig with their displeasure in his private office just about now. Zaftig, Moster knew, would be serene and untroubled. He believed in the Project. And he’d probably disclose to them what it was all for. Exactly where it was headed. The moron. He’d fuck the whole thing up. Moster was sure of that. Which was just exactly what he wanted. He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. This was his moment. He had his own plans. Dr. Shaft was his own personal tool. He’d get what he wanted, what was best for the men, and for himself in particular. It was all going just fine. He felt pretty good. He glanced at his watch. 10:30. Hmmm. Speaking of tool……he hadn’t jacked off for the day yet. A few hours behind schedule. Better get to it. He stood up, slipped out of his t-shirt, unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants to his ankles. His quads bloomed with fierce power. God, he was ripped. He stepped in front of his three-paneled mirror and gazed at himself appreciatively, his hands at his side. My God, I am fucking awesome, he thought, entirely satisfied with what he was seeing. He especially liked the view with his pants down around his ankles. When a bodybuilder pulls his pants down, it’s not just because he wants to show his legs. He wants to show his cock, too. And his was a fearsome machine, barely sheathed in the spandex poser, the sidestraps straining, the string in the back completely exposing granite buttcheeks of extraordinary shape and power. His black physique gleamed with superhuman strength and power. He popped his right pec, then the left, then the right again, in a little dance of muscle joy. He flexed his biceps, two black volleyballs of burgeoning power topped with baseball-hard peaks. He ran the fingers of his left hand down the cables of heavy, thick veins that crisscrossed his right forearm. Not bad. Pretty fucking good, in fact. In fact, the best in the world. No one had muscles like he did. Perfect. He was perfect. He tucked his fists into his abdominal obliques and slowly expanded into a full front lat spread, watching himself appreciatively as he fanned out into full Cinemascope size. Good work. Then he gazed down at his heavy quadriceps, and began to weave the right one back and forth. The mass swayed powerfully, heavily, lazily, right and left, until, Bam! He hardened it into solid ripped muscle. The veins bulged. Each muscle fiber stood out, powerfully feathered. The muscles gleamed. “Nice wheels,” he murmured to himself. He had to admit it. He chuckled softly. His poser, already groaning with the heavy weight of his dick and balls, began to pole outward. His muscles always made him hard – even now, he knew that he was no better than his men, always ready to shoot at the sight of his own muscles. He was ready to grab that pole of his and pump away. He liked to pump his dick while watching himself flex and bloom with huge muscle. He started to slip out of the trunks. His cock popped forth. “Boom,” he said. Time to play. There was a soft knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting any of the men tonight. He paused, the posers taut around his quads, his still flaccid 14-inch penis bobbing heavily outward now, ready for the strong manipulation of his pleasing fingers, ready to expand to its full angry 20 inches. “Who’s there?” he commanded. “It’s us, Sergeant Moster,” called out a timid voice from outside. “Cadets Banks and Taylor, sir.” What the fuck. “What do you want, Cadets?” Moster demanded through the door. “Sir, permission to speak with you a moment,” came a muffled second voice. Moster angrily jerked his posers back up and stuffed his protesting cock back into the pouch. He squatted deeply for a moment, making sure his balls were adequately covered. Then he smiled a little, and slightly pulled down the tops of trunks. The curve of the Spandex hem dipped so that the top 6 inches of his vein-pulsing erect shaft was exposed. Then he reflected. Hmmm. This could be fun after all. That cadet Banks needed some butt discipline, as he recalled. He glanced at his burgeoning manhood in the mirror for a moment. He grabbed a large bath towel and draped it around his iron-forged 29” waist. He took a last glance. Somewhat hidden. But poling outward. Good. Satisfied, Moster crossed the room and opened the door. He stared sternly at two younger cadets. On the threshold of the corridor outside, handsome young Muscle Cadets Brian Banks and Danny Taylor stood respectfully at ease. They were wearing the tight, pale green Valhalla labs t-shirt, the slightly snug regulation khakis and army boots. The two lean young musclemen were just 17, and though their training was going well, they had not yet entered into the ranks of The Twenty. Both trembled slightly at the sudden sight of a mountain of huge black ripped and ready muscle in front of them. But this is what they came for. Each cadet weighed about 198 pounds. Strapping, black-haired Brian Banks, with his greaser’s sideburns trimmed to the bare standard of military propriety, was naturally hairy and overly tattooed. He also smoked. These were things of which Moster definitely did not approve – any covering of muscle was a sin to him, and smoking anathema – and Banks had only been permitted into the program based upon his superb symmetry, round muscle bellies, natural leanness, and firm little butt. In his favor, he had become concerned about his tats, once a source of much pride, and as a result he was usually heavily covered in sweatsuit baggies all through the punishing workouts he was propelling himself through. He kept his body shaved as closely and as often as he could, but it wasn’t enough to stop the black stubbles of body hair from sprouting anew all over his thick chest and washboard abs by the end of every evening. If he missed a day shaving, by night of the second day he was covered once again with short, black, soft fur. Even so, the hair wasn’t enough to cover the rippling, hard-trained muscles. He smoked whenever he could, usually alone. Moster knew this. He knew everything about these men. He made sure of that. Banks was unusually good looking, and looking unusually good. While no huge bodybuilder, he was big, ripped, muscular, masculine, vascular, and packing some power in his khakis. He had been making nice progress. He also clearly hadn’t shaved his body for a few days. Moster could see a thick crop of black curly chest hair poking over the top of his crew neck collar. But not enough hair to obscure his deep pec cleavage. Prettty good. Taylor, no less disciplined, and looking no less than his buddy Banks, was all the same a different story. Lifting from the age of 14 and yet a rich boy by birth, the surfer-blond bland California pretty boy Taylor had rebelled against his Santa Barbara-entrenched mom and dad, who were shocked by their son’s growing muscles, having foreseen a very different life for him. By the time he was inducted into The Program, he had been living woefully in his car for almost six months on a street behind Raw Weight Gym in the heart of San Jose, 30 miles south. He lived only for training. Sometimes he hustled when he had to. Zaftig had come looking for him on a tip from the gym manager Miles Donovan, always on the payroll looking out for new talent. Superheavyweight Taylor, he told Zaftig, sports serious quads for one so young, and has impressively hard, round gluteus muscles, which he pumps endlessly at the end of his punishing leg workouts. Donovan ended his report with an observation that the dreamy-eyed muscleboy appeared to be trying to find something, feel something new, as he went through his deep squat routines. Zaftig had him off the streets and in the program within 24 hours. In no time the two young cadets had befriended one another. They trained together, showered together, and often were seen having lunch together privately in the cafeteria, respectfully apart from the other cadets. It was generally known that there were many after-hours visits as well. And though it was generally not known, on a few occasions, they had even been permitted to join their heroes, Alvarez and Lang, in their late night pose-and-approve sessions. “What is it, cadets?” Moster demanded. He towered over them. They glanced at one another nervously. Banks, far brighter than the dim, uncertain Taylor, spoke. “Sir, we’re friends with Casey Rockland, sir, and we were….uh….” “Yes?” “Sir, we heard in the barracks you might have been a little upset by this evening’s presentation, sir, and we wanted to come by to pay our respects. And express our belief and dedication in the project. Sir. For. In.” He paused, confused. “Yeah. That’s it,” added Tayler. “Do I look upset?” He whipped the towel away. The cadets each glanced down involuntarily and took in Sergeant Moster’s hugely protruding erection, poling out stiff and heavy and now less than a quarter covered by the straining poser Spandex. They stared. Taylor gulped. “God-damn!” he breathed, taking an involuntary step forward. “It’s even bigger than you said!” Banks nudged him hard. Taylor stepped back. “No, sir, you do not look upset, sir.” Banks’ eyes flickered down again timidly at Moster’s manmeat for an instant, and he spoke again, lifting his eyes and staring steadily with respectful determination into his CO’s eyes. “In fact, I would say you appear to be very relaxed, sir.” “Relaxed?” Moster let out a huge laugh. “You call this relaxed?” he asked mockingly, one hand sweeping wide presentationally before his heavy stiff penis. He shifted his weight onto one knee, leaned on the doorframe, and placed a fist on his hip, tilting his body powerfully. He rotated his lower body in a small semi-circle, and the throbbing 20-inch cock waggled pendulously from side to side inside his sagging posers. “Well, no sir, not really….” Banks stared hungrily at the pumping veins of Moster’s exposed cock shaft, dipping powerfully into the translucent Spandex. “What would you two boys say this looks like?” “Sir, it looks as if you have an uncommonly large hard-on, sir.” “It’s quite a woody, sir.” Taylor finally managed to get out. “Yes, it is. I was just about to get to work on it when you boys both come back banging on my door after hours and prevented me from doing so.” “Sir, we’re sorry, sir. Shall we go, sir?” Moster leaned on the doorframe, considering a moment. He raised a finger and twirled it. “Turn around,” he commanded. The cadets glanced at one another, and both turned clockwise. Moster looked them over appraisingly. Hmmmm. Two fine young butts. As if both boys could read Moster’s thoughts, both Taylor and Banks arched their backs slightly and pushed their inviting round blue-jeanned rears out an inch or two, as if pleading. Please. Fuck our butts. Or so it seemed. It was an appealing sight. And tonight, Banks also knew that Sergeant Moster’s massive, calloused palm would be itching. Ready to apply some special, deserved punishment to their aching bottoms. Moster reached out and grabbed Banks by the shoulders, who lost his balance and stumbled backward into the room. “Get in here, both of you,” he commanded. He hauled Taylor into the room as well and slammed the door. He turned to them, noting they were now trembling with fear and excitement. “Now suppose you tell me why you’re really here.” ********* I’m going to suck those musclemen’s cocks like there’s no tomorrow, Sam thought dreamily. I’ll give them all something they’ll never forget… Then he remembered the left hook comment. Suddenly his jaw ached from an imagined shattering punch of retribution from a stern Casey. “And there might be no tomorrow,” he acknowledged to himself, shuddering with a little giddy fear. He’d weather two black eyes and a broken jaw – and his jaw wired shut and no cocksucking for months - for a chance to get his lips wrapped around that monster, even if only for a moment. Well, for maybe more than just a moment. Maybe longer. An hour? And Casey had stared back at him. Suddenly Sam understood it. My God, thought Sam. No one has had him yet. This boy’s cherry. He couldn’t believe it, but it must be true. And what’s more, he believed that Casey had figured out in his dim brain just what Sam knew. That look had been too telltale. Casey massive organ had never yet been sucked, nor found a home in a delightfully yielding butt. And a good man’s mouth and warm, enveloping butthole were just what this musclepup needed. Sam, of course, was just the ticket. If he was no longer choosy about whose cock he sucked, and where, or when – he had sucked off a whole motorcycle gang in a dank bar just last month, and walked out calmly when they started to fight over who was next – he was very particular about the cock that entered his butthole. He was no cherry himself, to be sure, but in his 22 years he’d only allowed five men to fuck him. No, six. Seven? Nine? Fourteen? Okay, so he couldn’t remember. Years back he’d lost count of how many cocks he’d sucked. 700? 1,523? Probably more. Sam just couldn’t get enough of a good thing. But if he’d give it up for life for that one stupendously big cock. Casey Rockland. Man. What a god this kid was. And – 20? He walked over to the urinal, unzipped, and pulled out his own dick. He pissed thick ropes, inspecting his own golden machine. Not huge. Just big. Only about 8 inches at full attention. True, bigger than most. But – beautiful? Beautiful was not even the word. Sam’s dick was perfect. It was a work of art. And he was choosy here, too, about who got to suck his gorgeous tool. So far he’d only allowed six men the privilege. Fourteen? Okay, maybe more. He shook the last dribbles of piss from his magnificent cock and tucked it back into his pants. He zipped up. It bloomed nicely in the fly and folded alluringly in the folds of his slacks. Hmmm. Eight inches? Not tonight. More like nine and a half. He turned and walked to the door, and in his pants, his bulge swaying confidently in his trousers in happy anticipation. He was a man on a mission. What’s more, he was even under orders. Sweet. It was all so sweet. He pushed the door open and returned to the corridor. Casey was standing outside, just 10 feet away. Clearly, he was waiting for the Ensign. He shuffled his feet, looked uncertain. The two men stared at each other. A moment passed. “Um. Hi,” Casey said shyly. "Hello," said Sam, completely confident. This was going to be fun. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2

Hello everyone! So I’m very into superheroes, and into muscle/power theft. The following story is the prelude to a character that I’ve imagined. The story involves muscle theft, heroes and villains, mild violence, and sex. If you want an approximation of “Bael” I’d say Simeon Panda is a close fit for what I’m imagining. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I’m going to follow up with Bael’s adventures destroying heroes and getting defeated now and again. If you’d like to be featured as a hero and/or have an idea for an original hero, please PM me. I’m happy to be flexible with ideas (and also welcome the chance to test Bael’s limits). Anyway, please enjoy. -- The first reports were that the men who had been excavating on the project had met a grizzly end. Four scientists had unearthed a slab of rock with strange carvings just outside of Duckwater. There were no reports of Native American activity—which made the find altogether strange, meaning more that someone had placed the artifact there on purpose. They were found close to a week after the find—their radios had gone silent, and the university that had sent them via grant had a state patrol head out to find them. Their bodies had been “licked clean”, or so it would have appeared. Just skin and bones, faded grey, withered to almost nothing. He’d never seen a thing like it. Simon had been watching the news and taking careful note of what they were reporting. The eighteen year old was a wunderkind—the most athletic of his classmates by far, and generally handsome. Tall, over six feet, two hundred and ten pounds, a monster for anyone his age. He’d gone through a quick puberty, or so he told everyone. Hitting the gym, good nutrition, all the secrets that hid the truth. When he was sixteen, he’d been out joy riding in the desert too, and found a crafted necklace waiting in the sand for him, just a short walk from where his car had gotten a flat tire. The black obsidian necklace had gleamed in the sunlight, almost pulsating—as though it wanted to be picked up. Simon had put the thing around his neck before even knowing what was happening. He remembered how he’d been lifted into the air, the pain that filled his body. A whole cloud of dust seemed to circle around him, and then the world stopped. He’d had a vision—a trip that he thought may have been brought on by some of the pot he’d smoked—of a muscular figure standing in front of him, a tall man with rippling abs and a wide back. He spoke to him, the words now almost forgotten, that Simon had been chosen as the Guardian, and that he needed to protect those from evil that lurked. He’d have many test of his strength, but he would be able to use his powers for good. The necklace would instill in him immense strength and vitality. He had awoken next to his car, drenched in sweat. Already he was twenty pounds heavier, and could feel the strength in his arms, his legs. The necklace had shattered into pieces in front of him—his power would flow through him, granting him all that he had ever wanted. Of course, the young man he was, he couldn’t just abandon his studies. He was just finishing high school, all the world watching as he began his transformation into a mutant of power and size. His peers gawked as the muscular figure that walked through the halls, and whispered about how strange it was he grew so quickly. There was talk of steroids but all those that knew Simon knew he didn’t do anything but eat healthy and work out often. He was just an anomaly, one that would certainly be granted a full scholarship on his athletic prowess wherever he felt like going. That evening was different. He could feel the strange tingle rush through his body, the thought that there was something that shouldn’t be there. Another artifact, perhaps one like his, had been found. Something with power, something that could threaten the residents of his small town. He knew, somehow, that this would bring him into the fray. He flipped the switch on his television set in his room and sat for a minute, thinking. He needed to go for a drive—maybe to the twenty-four hour gym. He could clear his mind. There was a line of police tape waiting for him there—two more men had fallen to whatever strangeness was happening. “Can’t cross, I’m afraid.” The office at the tape waved to Simon, who’d gotten out of his car to gawk. Another officer had set up a lap top with his compatriot, and they were streaming a video. They both gasped at the sight they saw. Simon peered over their shoulders. The small town law enforcement didn’t mind—Simon was, after all, something of a local celebrity when it came to high school sports. The security footage was the first determination that something was awry. The two men had been working out—amateur bodybuilders in stature, working out late. Another man entered into the building, wearing nothing but what looked like a loincloth. His black skin was pierced with sweat. His shoulders were impossibly wide and his waist incredibly small; he put the men working out to shame. They looked and laughed at his attire, to which the figure simply stopped and stared. He moved closer to them, and the men began to say something. It didn’t last long – the figure pointed at one and had him in the air, as though lifted by an unnatural force. The other soon was grabbed by the neck with his fist. He looked on in horror as his figure shrank, his biceps deflating, his chest receding. All the while the figure’s eyes grew red, his muscles more taught. When he finished with one, he moved to the other. He tossed both of their bodies aside before exiting the gym. “The fuck was that,” One said to another. Simon was wide eyed, his stomach now turning over. He felt strange—whatever this creature was, he was nearby. He would strike again, and he needed to be stopped. “We have to find him,” Simon said to no one, the police now wondering what he was talking about. “And who are you?” The short one asked, an eye brow raised. But Simon had already raced to his car and started the engine. He didn’t know where he was going—only that he could feel that he was being drawn by whatever was going to strike. -- He cut the engine along highway 39, not far from the water tower. He wasn’t sure what made him come here, other than the tensing of his muscles. He was no hero—never claimed to be one, anyway—but he’d seen the men and women on television. The ones in spandex, saving their cities and town from certain destruction. He’d been given a gift, and it was time for him to use it. He would bring the villain to justice—stop whatever this thing was. Justice. That’s what he would call himself. It was a suitable enough name. One that was honorable and campy enough for a young man. He got out of his car and walked toward the water town, his chest suddenly flexing. He grit his teeth—it was as though his whole body could feel the urgency of this encounter, that he needed to call upon whatever well of strength that he had. His tee shirt began to rip as his muscles expanded. His jeans started to tear until he was in his boxer briefs. His hulking, muscular form exposed to the warm night air. He would have to work on getting a costume before taking on more villains. “You’ve come for me?” A voice rang out across the landscape, and Justice could see the hulk emerge from behind one of the water tower columns. He narrowed his eyes and grinned at the young hero. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are,” Justice spat out, “But I know that I’m supposed to be the one to put you down.” The man raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms across his chest. “Oh really? Why don’t you just call me Bael. We can start with that. Until you’re just a part of me, like everyone else.” Simon cocked his head at this remark. What did he mean? “You going to go quietly, or am I going to have to punch your face in?” He flexed again, feeling more powerful than even when he’d put on the necklace. It all made sense—meeting this man, starting his life as a hero. This would be his big break; this would be the start of what he was born to do. He knew it. “Go ahead.” Bael put up his hands, and then placed them on his hips. “Give it your best shot. The first one is free.” Justice sneered. He hated people that were this cocky; he hated anyone that thought they were god’s gift. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “With pleasure.” He took off in a run, ready to get a swing at whatever this thing was, his shoulder leaned in, his fist cocked back. He put the full force of his might into the punch, and connected to Bael’s stomach. The man crumpled some, leaning back, shoved backwards in the sand. The dust rose, and Bael coughed. Justice didn’t wait for a response, and threw another punch into his chest, and then one into his face. The man stumbled backward again. He didn’t let up on the punches, another finding his stomach and then his chin. He cocked back one more time, before Bael caught his fist in his right hand. There it stayed. “You ever think that feeling you got, telling you to come out, to find whoever did those horrible things, may have been a warning?” Bael whispered to Justice. He tried to swing his other fist, but this was caught too. He suddenly felt powerless—this strange, overwhelming warmth that trapped him in Bael’s fists. He closed his eyes and tried to pull away. “Nnnnnng….” He grunted, sweat now dripping from his body. Bael stepped forward and twisted the boy’s wrists. “You’re practically delicious. I haven’t had a meal in so long… it’s a good thing I found you, you’re a perfect appetizer to start with.” Bael grinned. In a fluid motion he slid behind Justice and clamped his hands onto the hero’s chest. Justice’s eyes snapped open and he let out a gasp. He couldn’t move. He could hardly do anything but feel the villain’s massive form pressing against him. He coughed, and found it hard to breathe. “W-what… what are you doing to me?” He managed to get out. He tried to concentrate, to call on whatever power he’d been given, but each time he could feel Bael’s grip tighten. “I was locked away long ago—for taking the strength from more than mortal men. But I was freed by mistake. And now that I’m free, I’m going to make myself strong again by taking down people like you.” He sneered, his words were like ice. Justice could do nothing in his grip. He flex his pecs tense underneath Bael’s hands and cried out. He moaned, weaker still. At last the villain let go of Justice, letting him fall onto his knees in the dirt. The villain stood over him, and cast a shadow. Justice took deep breaths, and rested on his hands. He could barely hold himself up. He needed to escape, he needed to… “Oh you’re not going anywhere,” Bael had grabbed the hero by his right ankle and put a stop to any chance he’d had. Justice fell flat onto the ground. “I don’t let anyone escape—you’re going to become a part of me. And I’m going to take everything from you. That’s how this works.” The loincloth was removed to reveal Bael’s massive member. He pressed close against the fidgeting hero, his massive glutes already slicked with sweat. He let out a moan as he felt the demon—was that what he was—press against his tight hole. He could do nothing but close his eyes as the man began to penetrate him. He could feel the thick, long cock burrow into him, pressing deeper and deeper. The gigantic tool pressing apart his glutes with ease, welcomed in by the hero’s ass. He gasped—pleasure coming then, as though he shouldn’t resist what was happening. His own cock began to spring upward. The warmth was flowing through his body, his muscles twitching with excitement. “F-fuck…” he could do nothing against the heavy thrust of Bael. He moaned with every inch he took. He was puddy in his hands as the villain grabbed at his shoulders and forced himself deeper and deeper. He could feel his strength melting from him, his mind growing hazy. “Become one with me, hero…” Bael whispered in his ear. “Join me and give me the strength I need to take down more heroes…” “Oh god…” Justice moaned. Bael’s cock was getting thicker, digging deeper. He only wanted more, he wanted to submit to him. He wanted to become him, he wanted to join with his muscle and strength. And it was then he could feel his tree trunk legs shrinking, his chest deflating. He could fell his biceps fail him. “Part of you…” “The final blow…” Bael leaned in to thrust deep. He placed his hands onto Simon’s cock and closed his eyes. The inexperienced eighteen-year-old couldn’t help himself. He began to blow his hot, creamy load into Bael’s hands. He cried out as he came, over and over again. He couldn’t stop—what was happening to him? “That’s it… that’s it!” Simon’s eyes grew wide as the world started to grow dark. This was to be the origin of Justice, the super muscled superhero. But now he had failed, his body skin and bones. His dick sprayed out a few final drops—and he was finished. Bael slid his long, python cock out of the finished meal and stood. His body slick with sweat, he breathed in the last of the essence of the hero in front of him. This was just the beginning. This, my friends, was the rise of Bael, and the fall of all who would stand in his way. --

Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After NG "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 Chapter 18: Inside Zaftig’s Lab: The Musclemen Revealed February 10th, 2018 2020 Hours “Are we all here?” asked Zaftig. “Get on with it, man,” said Admiral Walrus testily. “We haven’t got all night.” “Of course. Dr. Irving, are the men ready? They are? Good. Then bring the subjects in.” Dr. Irving moved quickly to another set of double doors that were marked “To the Showers”. He opened the door, and a red light next to it began to signal. “Come in, gentlemen,” he called. A few moments passed. A few in the assembled ranks of waiting officers and adjutants shifted nervously from foot to foot. The sound of distant footsteps, growing closer. The Twenty entered the room in single file. Their audience gasped involuntarily. The Twenty were an awesome sight. All were dressed in tight white t-shirts with “Valhalla Labs” printed across the chest. All wore insanely tight white jeans, white socks and tightly laced black leather Army boots. The men marched across the room to the left in perfect cadence, snap-turned and faced the Officers at full attention. The sight was ungodly to behold. The men were of different nationalities and ages, and they varied in height. One or two were of average height, and one was unusually short. Three were as tall as Casey. The black man at the head of the line was the tallest and biggest of all, nearly 7’-0”. Four others were black, two Asian, the rest Latin or white. Each man was unusually handsome and clear eyed. All boasted extreme mass and astonishing muscularity. Their shoulders were broad and wide, their traps sloped down from thick necks, and their powerful chests rippled with power in their tight t-shirts. They all held their heavily sinewed arms at their sides, again with thick thumbs slightly crooked inward, as if pointing at the looming, floor-pointing bulges pouting behind the flies of their skin-tight white jeans. “Project Herculaneum reporting for inspection, Dr. Zaftig,” barked the tall black man. “Thank you, Sergeant Moster,” said Zaftig. “I think we’re all here. Private Rockland, will you step forward, please?” Sam looked down the line-up. There stood Casey in the flesh, the fifth man down. He looked over at Zaftig, and then shot a quick, questioning glance at Sergeant Moster. He seemed surprised and a touch uncertain to have been called out, looking slightly right and left at his fellow musclemen. No one else moved. He stepped forward. “Sir,” he said, quietly. “Come here, Private.” Casey started to cross the room when he caught sight of Sam, who was watching him evenly. His step never slowed, but eyes lingered a moment on Sam’s face. Sam was all attention. “Strip down for us, Casey.” “Yes, sir.” Unhesitatingly Casey stripped off his tight white Valhalla Labs t-shirt, which popped slightly and deflated with a rush of air when released from his mammoth shoulders. He turned away momentarily and bent over to unlace his boots. All were drawn to the mountainous glutes, the double pockets strained over rocks of muscle, the seam of his jeans sharply marking the likely deep butt crack beneath. Casey stood, turned back, and undid the top button of his jeans. He unzipped the looming zipper. With difficulty he pulled his pants down over his thick quads, looking up a little embarrassed at his clumsiness. “Casey has troubles undressing sometimes,” explained Zaftig with a paternal smile. “He needs clothes that vanish at the push of a button,” muttered General Needling. “Boots next, Private,” said Moster. “Yes, sir,” said Casey. Sam thrilled at the sound of his deep, resonant, mysteriously shy voice. Casey stepped out of the boots, pulled the jeans down the rest of the way, and kicked everything away. He was wearing the white Spandex poser, which fully revealed the top 6 inches of the shaft of his massive organ. His huge penis spilled forward a few inches before disappearing into the smooth synthetic mesh pouch. Now Sam could see that the fabric was translucent, and the shadows of heavy cock veins pressed outward. He wondered for a moment why Casey bothered to wear it at all, but conceded it was probably a pale gesture towards some feeble sense of modesty. Or perhaps more likely, his big baseball balls were just so damn heavy he could use the extra support. Wow, he thought to himself. “Show our guests some poses, Casey,” said Zaftig. Casey nodded, took a step away, and complied. Standing before the Officers, Casey opened his huge arms wide. He balled his hands into fists and angled them toward the group and held the pose a moment. Then he slowly stepped right, and spreading his mammoth legs wide apart, he slowly curled his arms up into a freaky double biceps pose. “Thank you. Hold that pose, please, Casey.” “Yes sir.” Casey stood motionless, his arms steady and upright, his biceps flexing mightily. He didn’t quiver. His eyes flicked back in Sam’s direction for an instant, and then he returned his gaze front. Jesus H. Christ, thought Sam. He’s flexing for me. He grinned lazily across the lab floor at Casey. Casey didn’t respond, but after a moment he pivoted ever so slightly towards Sam. He raised his square jaw just a mite. His massive biceps rippled a little, and grew even a little more, slowly gaining even more size, glowing more intensely, bulging all the more fiercely. Sam smiled. Casey turned his eyes away and resumed his gaze straight ahead, as a single creek bed of sweat appeared in the split head of the flexing left biceps, making its molasses-slow, thick journey down the front of the rocky peak. “Project Herculaneum has been entirely financed by a few private anonymous investors,” Zaftig was saying now. Sam roused himself back to attention. “No public moneys have been siphoned to create the magnificent specimen you see before you now. Casey – and indeed, all these other 19 men we have laboriously trained and developed here at Valhalla Labs – hasn’t cost the United States government so much as a thin nickel.” “I’m interested in his other dimensions,” came a comment, seemingly from nowhere. Sam looked around, wondering who would dare at this moment to refer to the obvious. The other aides froze with tension, but it wasn’t clear who spoke. “Who said that?” screamed Walrus. Two or three of the musclemen smiled a little, and one, an unusually short pretty boy, snorted. Sergeant Moster glared at them, and their smiles faded instantly. Zaftig beamed. Dr. Irving pushed his heavy glasses up his nose, and fumbled with his clipboard. Walrus turned back to Zaftig and then spluttered. “Damn it, no man should be this big! And why the hell are you showing him to us with no goddamn clothes on?” His aides twittered nervously. Emboldened by the ownerless comment, the room lit up with flashes from a few iPhone cameras. “Goddamn it!” roared Walrus, turning around. “This is supposed to be a secure meeting! Turn those damn phones off!” The phones promptly went dark. I should have made them check their phones at the door, Zaftig thought with a sardonic inner smile. He turned to his audience and smiled, all innocence. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice bubbling with feigned surprise and ill-concealed glee. It was all going just as he had hoped – that is, except for the question of Casey’s I.Q., a subject he fully wished to stonewall for the evening. “I apologize. I didn’t consider the fact that you might be offended. I wanted to personally display Casey for you in his full magnificence.” His eyes glinted towards Dr. Shaft, who was pulling nervously at his tie. “What do you think, Dr. Shaft?” he asked. “Impressive. Most impressive,” Shaft mumbled. Zaftig took a few steps around Casey, who towered over him. “Casey, front lat spread,” he ordered quietly, and Casey’s pose shifted, his fists tucked in his sides, his pecs raising up, and his impossible lats flaring wide. He still gazed straight ahead. “Side chest.” Casey pivoted sharply left on his heel and brought his left arm up behind him. He caught the wrist of his right arm at the small of his back and cocked the heel. His triceps ballooned as his pecs expanded. His cock had quivered a little with the turn, and it slowly swayed and came to rest. “Casey’s chest measures 68 inches. Let’s see your back, Private,” Zaftig went on. Casey pivoted again, and there they were – the huge glutes, huge, hard and full. He tucked his hands into his obliques and his blew his lats to their widest expanse. Next to Sam, Tyler was fumbling a little with his fly. Sam didn’t even bother now to arrange his package. His erection thumped in his slacks, poling outward. He glanced at the other aides. Growing bulges were appearing in all their trousers. “Thank you, Casey, you can turn back now. As Casey turned around, Zaftig paced casually. “I see you all may have noticed Casey’s unusually large, well-developed organ,” Zaftig said offhandedly. “Casey, and indeed, all of the men you see here tonight have been blessed in much the same way. Do you feel blessed, Casey?” Private Rockland, surprised to be spoken to again, snapped into attention. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, his eyes straight ahead. Zaftig turned a little and winked at the group. “And you’re blessed for what reason, Casey?” Zaftig asked. “Sir, that I have a big penis, sir,” said Casey. Holy Shit, Batman, thought Sam. Next to him he could see Tyler staring at Casey as if hypnotized. Zaftig laughed. “An unusually big penis, Private Rockland. Sergeant Moster?” he boomed suddenly. From 1st place in the line up, the Prototypes leader, the huge black super heavyweight, who had entered the room first, stood at sudden attention. “Yes, Dr. Zaftig!” he barked. “Are you blessed, too, Sergeant?” “I am even more blessed than Private Casey, Sir!” “And why is that?” “I am more blessed because both my muscles and my penis are even bigger than Private Casey’s, Sir!” “How much more blessed are you than Private Casey?” “Much more blessed, Sir!” Moster shouted. “Splendid. Thank you, Sergeant Moster. Men?” “Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison. “Are you all blessed, soldiers?” “Yes, sir! We’re all blessed, sir!” This is too much, thought Sam. I’ve died and gone to heaven. He shot a look to Walrus. The old man can’t take much more of this, he thought. “Casey, please demonstrate with a full routine of mandatory poses. Start with front double biceps.” “Yes, sir!” Casey complied, silently reeling off pose after pose. “You should all be aware, gentlemen,” Zaftig went on, “that we have remanded Casey – and all of the men, in fact - from any sexual encounters of any kind.” Behind the posing Casey, the musclemen stared straight ahead, and made no move. No one even snickered. No sex? What was that? Hunh? Sam turned and stared at Casey. He hadn’t wavered, but again he turned his eyes full on Sam. His face was blank, his look impossible to read. Was it an invitation? A threat? Or nothing at all? Sam just didn’t know. He glanced down at the impressive cock filling out the tight spandex posers, and brought his eyes back up. Casey, now in a most muscular crab pose, shot a quick look at him, and glanced down at his own package shyly. His gaze returned, quizzical, wondering. “Sexual relationships are a distraction. Because the men all have needs, as do all humans, we have organized regularly scheduled periods of masturbation. Dr. Irving and Sergeant Moster lead these sessions, under the most extremely controlled laboratory settings. The necessary psychological stimulant material for each man varies, of course. The confidential information has been determined by Dr. Irving in collaboration with Sergeant Moster, and is applied to each subject through headphones and situational simulating helmets calibrated individually. These sessions are critical, as each man has an average ejaculation proponent of the equivalent of six quarts per week.” “Okay, now I know that’s goddamn impossible,” grumbled Walrus. Sam was dazzled. The rest of the group was too stunned to speak. Sweat was now pouring down Dr. Shaft’s face. Ensign Tyler turned beet red. Two or three aides were taking frantic notes. The others just stood and stared and tried to ignore their crotches. “The men you see before you all have Casey’s extreme gifts. In different proportions, different heights, weights, and ages perhaps, and at different bodyweights. But all have the same superbly developed physiques and physical skills. Men!” he said suddenly, turning to the group. “Strip down, please.” The men seemed to hesitate. All looked to Sergeant Moster. “You heard the man,” he growled. “Kick ‘em off!” He began to unbuckle his belt. At his command, all of the men remaining the line-up began to strip. The tight t-shirts popped as if in unison as they were released from the massive upper body of each man. The boots were unlaced and pushed away. 19 belts hit the floor, and 19 pairs of skin tight white jeans followed. Beneath, all wore the same barely restraining white Spandex posers. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Sam felt a dribble of precum shooting in his pants. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to the audience and became one with his men. The Twenty placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. In front, Casey did the same. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Walrus. He fumbled with his watch a moment. The lineup of 20 men stood before the small group, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. “Sergeant Moster, step forward please,” said Zaftig. “Next to Casey. The rest of you, hold the biceps pose.” The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Casey didn’t glance at Moster. He stood gazing straight ahead, his arms up and steadily holding biceps pose. “You’ll note that Moster is taller than Casey. He is, in fact, far and away the biggest man here – so he has become this squadron’s de facto leader. Moster is the old man of the group – how old are you, Moster?” “44, sir!” barked Moster. He stood beside Casey, flexing. His arms looked to top 29 inches in girth. Sam reacted with some surprise. Moster appeared to be no more than 27. “I have been working with Moster for more than a decade,” said Zaftig. “He weighs 390 pounds and is 7’ tall. When he first came to me a decade ago, in 2015, he was already an Olympian. It took us years to get the poison of those primitive muscle-enhancing drugs out of his system. But the results have enabled him to realize a depth of definition and a degree of strength unachieved as of yet in any of the other men. Moster,” he asked, turning to the sergeant, “let’s all see a little demonstration of your strength.” “Yes, sir!” Without hesitation, Moster brought his arms down and walked purposefully across the room to the doors marked ‘Showers’. He grabbed a single door and quite effortlessly ripped it from his hinges. Then he turned, door tucked under his right arm, and approached the group. Everyone backed away just a little. “This is circus stunt, Zaftig,” sneered a retreating Dr. Shaft. “Any circus strongman could do this. And how do we know the door was not prepared in advance?” Moster said nothing, but walked straight to Dr. Shaft. “Good evening, Dr. Shaft,” he said, winking. “Nice to see you again.” “Er – good evening, Rod – um, Sergeant. I didn’t mean anything personal…” “I’m sure of it,” said Moster. He flexed his left biceps for Shaft and smiled. Shaft stared at it and, not quite knowing what he was doing, licked his lips nervously. Moster rotated his fist back and forth and popped the biceps head a little. Then he brought his arm down, and offered the door. “Would you like to hold this, please?” He offered the door to Shaft. Shaft tried to take it, but the weight of it was too much for him. He dropped it to the floor, barely able to hold one corner. “How heavy would you estimate this door to be?” he asked politely. The others watched, slightly stunned. The musclemen remained serene. “I…I don’t know…. 80 pounds?” “This door, with hardware, weighs 108 pounds. How thick would you say the wood to be?” Moster’s questions were politely posed. “Two inches?” “The door is actually 2-7/8s inches thick.” Moster took it back from him as if taking a feather. He held it up before him with both hands. Zaftig suppressed a smile. He knew what Moster had planned. Sergeant Rod Moster began ripping the door in two, just as if he was tearing paper. The wood roared in protest. Rrr-ii—ii-pppp! In 10 seconds he was done, each thick hand holding a splintered shard of door. In what seemed a single move, he suddenly hurled each section of the door away from him – in opposite directions. Each door half flew 20 feet across the room and slammed into the floor with echoing clatters. It was too much for Zaftig’s audience. Ensign Tyler moaned, and Sam knew the jerk had just shot a load in his pants. He wasn’t alone. A few quiet cries rose from the group. Sam held back. He always did have great control. He grinned and winked at Tyler, who at least had the class to grin back and shrug. “Shit happens,” he murmured to Sam. Sam chuckled. “Not to me,” he said. The rest of the crowd was in something like mass hysteria. “Damn it, Zaftig,” shouted Walrus. “You’ve gone too far!” “Why?” asked Zaftig calmly. “After all, it was our door.” Behind him, the 19 other men did not move, frozen, legs spread wide, holding their mighty biceps pose. Sam knew they couldn’t have helped but realize that about 10 men watching them had just cum in their pants. The men in the audience looked miserably down at the cream spreading across their uniformed trousers. Tyler glanced helplessly at Sam. And still, Sam had not cum. He had more control. He grinned at Tyler. Tyler shrugged and smiled. Oh, well, he mouthed. Admiral Walrus was not one of them, either. In fact, he had had it. “Zaftig, I want to talk with you!” he screamed. “Now!! In your office. Gentlemen, you will accompany me.” He turned to the enlisted men. “Men, wait for us outside. And,” – he couldn’t help himself - “it would seem that a couple of you babies need to go clean yourselves up. Ensign Victor! You stay here.” “Relax, Men,” said Zaftig. All brought their arms to their sides. “Men, get dressed. Sergeant Moster, take the men back to their rooms. We’re done for this evening.” The shooters in the audience were humiliated but relieved at the same time, more than half of them looking around a little sheepishly. “The rest room is down the hall,” said Dr. Irving. Eight men, Dr. Shaft among them, headed to the door. "Shaft, you're going nowhere," barked Walrus. Dr. Shaft stopped in the door and waited, shifting from foot to foot, the cream from his shriveled little cock melting into his skinny thighs. “You heard the man,” ordered Moster. “Pick it up! Let’s get moving!” The musclemen relaxed, Bent and gathered their clothes. Adjusted huge cocks in posers. Casey turned slowly and walked back to his own pile of discarded clothing. As he went, he absent-mindedly scratched the back of his head. Sam watched him go. His glutes rolled his boulders as he paddled, bow-legged, across the floor. Sam watched his mammoth, perfect butt as he went. It’s all a little confusing, isn’t it, Casey boy? Sam thought to himself. Don’t you know what just happened? Is it all a little more than you can understand, son? Casey picked up his clothes and shambled back into line with the others. He glanced again at Sam, and for the first time Sam noted that Casey was just a little bit cross-eyed. “Why, you poor dumb baby,” Sam said softly to himself. “You’re just a kid, aren’t you?” The musclemen filed out of the lab through the splintered empty doorway. Walrus grabbed Sam’s sleeve and took him aside. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I sure as hell intend to find out,” he snarled, looking back at Zaftig, who was conferring with Dr. Irving. He turned to the Ensign. “Sam, you’re smart. I want you to slip away from the group and track down some of these guys. Start with that blond big boy. Find out his story. What the hell is he, a test tube baby? Zaftig’s lab rat? No grown man should be walking around this goddamn bunker wearing only a little white handkerchief with his fucking balls hanging out, flexing and posing for himself in the mirror.” “Yes, sir. I don’t see any mirrors, sir.” “Damn it, man, don’t take me so literally. That’s what this big bodybuilder guys do, just walk around all day long flexing their muscles for themselves in the mirror. It’s goddamn gay, that’s what it is. The military doesn’t need that –“ “Actually, sir –“ “Don’t interrupt me. Okay, it doesn’t matter if he’s gay or not, if you’re going to get all P.C. on me, but I want to know who the hell these men are and what Zaftig has them doing. These aren’t soldiers from any regular Army I know about. They’d be hopeless in the Navy.” “I believe Zaftig is also in talks with the SEALS.” “Is he now? Is he now? Fine, let it be their problem. But in the mean time I want to know what this so-called protocol is. It isn’t natural! It isn’t even human.” “They looked pretty human to me, sir.” “Project Herculaneum. My ass. Group discipline shot to hell. Go ahead, get moving. I want you to follow these men and find out something about them. Even if it isn’t taxpayer money, this facility ought to be shut down. Goddamn it!” Sam wondered for a moment why the old man was so enraged. Old man sure has a bug up his butt. Hmmm. What’s that about? He let it go for the moment, filing it away as back-story, to be continued. Zaftig approach. “Admiral Walrus. Shall we go to my office? I believe you want to discuss what you’ve just seen.” Behind him Dr. Irving was unlocking a drawer and pulling out files, checking them hurriedly. I wonder what he’s looking for, thought Sam. “You’re goddamn right I want to discuss it. Men, follow me.” Half his retinue had already left the room for the nearest men's room, to take care of cleaning up - and perhaps more business. “Goddamn it!” he swore again. He started to head back to the auditorium. "Shaft, you're coming with me!" "Yes, sir," said Dr. Shaft weakly. “Admiral Walrus?” said Zaftig with preternatural sweetness. “This way.” He started toward a far door. “My office is just through here.” He walked to the door without looking back. The others hesitated and glanced at Walrus, who stared for a moment, and then stomped after Zaftig. Drs. Shaft and Irving followed hurriedly behind. As Walrus went he turned back to Sam. “Get moving, Ensign.” “Yes, sir. With pleasure, sir.” "I mean now!" "I'm on my way, sir." And he went through the door down the long, white corridor, where only moments before, the twenty muscle giants had disappeared.

Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 17: The Presentation February 10th, 2018 2000 Hours “Rose, dim the lights, and please – please leave us alone. Lock the auditorium doors behind you when you leave so we won’t be disturbed. Does everything have everything they need? Wi-Fi connection good? And Rose….tell Dr. Irving to bring the men upstairs to the lab. We’ll be ready for them in about 30 minutes.” A crisp response in the affirmative. The auditorium lights dimmed. There was a tapping of sensible heels, and the double doors at the back of the Valhalla Laboratories Assembly Hall opened and shut quietly. The lock clicked. Dr. Ira Zaftig cleared his throat, took a drink of water, and looked out serenely at his audience. He clicked his remote. The screen lit up, the light spilling out into the chrome and concrete bunker auditorium. “Are we ready, Gentlemen? Good evening. Welcome to Valhalla Labs.” The Valhalla logo glowed on the 20’ screen. Zaftig’s calm voice echoed darkly into the far regions of the room. “Gentlemen, I know you’ve had a long day. Flying in from Washington, checking into your quarters, touring the facility grounds, and now, after that splendid dinner, I know you’re curious to see the results of our mutual contract with the United States military and the Joint Chiefs. The unveiling, in fact, of our great 15-year initiative.” The five Officers in the front row murmured quietly. Out of courtesy, one or two nodded. Admiral Walrus, the Joint Chief Chair and Committee head, was seated dead center. He said nothing. He waited. Well behind the officers in the half-light sat a row of junior officers and young aides in attendance to the brass. “We here at Valhalla Labs know that we have achieved stunning success. We’re proud to be able to share it with you tonight.” Zaftig spoke easily, confidently. He clicked the remote again, and the first slide came into view. In their swivel chairs, the five Pentagon Officers sat back and turned their attention to the image on the screen. And then they stared. “Jesus, Zaftig, what the hell is this?” demanded Admiral Walrus. “Gentlemen, I give you Prototype 1-A of Project Herculaneum, Specimen Casey: Mr. Casey Rockland.” The image of an impossibly huge, muscled behemoth of a young man was on the screen, presented in four views: front, left, right, and rear. He was squared-jawed, thick-necked, blue-eyed, and handsome, with a deeply cleft chin and full, luscious lips. His arms hung at his side, and his legs were spread confidently well apart. His gaze was centered straight ahead, his jaw set firm with business-like grimness, his head erect. His waist was impossibly slender, given the mass above and below, perhaps 29 inches. His cobblestone abs rippled insanely. His posture was that of a classic anatomy chart. Every vein, every muscle appeared to pulse right off the screen. The young man was clean-shaven. He had a short blond military crew cut, but his eyebrows were thick, dark black, and lustrous. The left brow was slightly elevated with cocky arrogance. His face set him at about 19 years, but the muscle density of his enormous physique made it difficult to precisely age him. Seated in the dark behind the officers, Ensign Sam Victor, Admiral Walrus’ coolly handsome young personal aide de camp, looked evenly up at the screen and took in the image of the young muscleman with cool calm. The muscle boy’s skin – for he was, with his angelic face, little more than a boy, at least in years - was shrink-wrapped over the most astonishing display of musculature Sam had ever seen. Every muscle group, every vein, every cut, every separation stood prominently sculpted, in separate relief from the adjacent muscle group. He wore only the briefest of posing trunks, which sagged deeply to expose the gently curving, then plummeting, upper 6 inches of his tawny-colored, vein-lined penis. His oversized ball sac bulged ferociously in the heavy pouch. The Joints Chiefs were stunned. In the front-view image on the far left, subject Casey Rockland displayed hugely rounded, shining, mountainous pectoral muscles, gleaming with powerful deep furrows of striations, punctuated with thick dark brown, 3-inch sand dollar-sized nipples, poutily pointing downward. His broad shoulders, thick powerful traps and heavy delts looked as if the boy could easily carry a 600 pound bull around a corral. His lats spread almost horizontally behind him like the outspread wings of an eagle. The mighty 3-headed biceps were triple slabs of muscle on each arm, huge beyond all reasoning, the forearms laced with networks of half and quarter-inch iron thick veins. The boy held his enormous hands at his sides, his heavy fingers and thick thumbs crooked slyly inward towards his bulging crotch. Smokestack quads rippled and burst with muscle, and he was supported by a set of calves that ballooned behind him. His feet were enormous, with large thick toes and perfectly groomed nails. His tanned skin glowed with health. Sam assumed the subject’s teeth were probably perfect, too, but for the moment his gaze was leveled just below Casey’ rippling midsection. Well, well, he thought. Let’s just look you over, now. Just who are you, buddy? Superman? Captain America? Tiny Yokum? Johnny Holmes? Naw. This was no cartoon character. No porn star. But no superfreak that Sam had ever encountered before – and he had known many – could boast the cock this boy had. Between his legs in the front view hung a monster penis, less than half covered by the straining, flimsy Spandex posing trunks. The top half of Casey’s shaft was plainly visible. The trunks loomed heavily with the outlined round bulge and piss slit of his cock head. The generals were now murmuring loudly in shocked disapproval. Admiral Walrus just sat and stared. Behind them in the darkness, most of the aides and junior officers avoided one another’s glances. A few men gazed meekly down into their laps, looking up only furtively with appreciative eyes. A few stared outright. “This specimen, gentlemen,” intoned Zaftig’s voice out of the dark, “or, if you prefer, Private 1st Class Casey Rockland, is at present only one the world’s most perfectly-developed men. There are, of course, 19 other specimens.” Sam let out a low whistle. Ensign Tyler, to his immediate left, caught it. “There are 20 of these dudes?” Sam murmured to Tyler. “There’s a challenge for you, Sam. Never known you to turn your back on a challenge.” Tyler responded. “Shut the fuck up, Tyler, or no play time later.” Tyler smiled sardonically but said no more. Sam leaned back to enjoy the view. His brought his big hands behind his head, and leaned back in his seat to contemplate. He focused on the image of Casey’s crotch and allowed himself to dream, if just a little. Casey’s testicles bulged heavy and full in the sac of white Spandex, and the top quarter of the shaft of the penis spilled out and curved visibly downward before being enmeshed in the barely restraining pouch. The cock appeared flaccid, but no matter: the thickness was like tube of a flashlight, and the cock head bulged and pointed down with insistent heaviness. Under the thin sheath of Spandex, Sam could make out the long, curling, resting shaft, the rim of the bulbous cock head, the bulging cock head itself, the inviting piss slit, and the 2-softball scrotum. Curled tufts of iron black pubic hair spilled out from beneath the poser’s tightly hemmed edges. The poser straps strained mid-hips, threatening to burst from the weight. In the left and right side views, thick horseshoe triceps rippled along the battlefield-ready arms, their huge round sweep arcing backward. His pecs bloomed mightily, those taut brown nipples still tantalizingly pointing down. Lower, brick-like washboard abdominal muscles tapered into that impossibly slender yet powerful, vascular waistline. His obliques curved up and outward with menacing power. The roundness of the hard butt and the sweep of Casey’s hamstrings jutted past the back of the line of his head. In the rear view, his deltoids upended mightily blending into mountainous traps, soaring into a thick network of back muscle. His legs were spread wide. Two tight globes of thick, oblong gluteus muscle curved below a rock-solid butt shelf of power. His rocky butt glistened with sweat and oil: a blissfully full, solid, fatless furnace of power. Each splendidly ripped butt cheek appeared to be glancing slightly to the side, barely opening the center spread. Mr. Rockland’s poser was as inadequate going as it was coming, and unable to hide the deep red cherry butthole, which glowed invitingly around the right edge of the tight thin strap that traveled and sank into deep, darkened buttcrack. Below, the exponentially huge, shaped and separated hamstrings exploded, supported by freaky split calf muscles. Get a grip, Victor, Sam thought to himself. It’s just a picture. In his loose white Navy uniform slacks, Sam felt his own cock twitch longingly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and reaching down surreptitiously beneath his regulation belt, his slipped his hand into his rapidly knotting underwear. He rearranged his package. Next to him, Tyler was doing the same thing. They caught each other’s eyes, and in spite of themselves had to suppress immediate blasts of explosive mirth. “Quiet, back there!” barked Walrus. Then: “We came here tonight to see a fucking muscleman?” he said dangerously to Zaftig. Tyler was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, and Sam busied himself with his laptop, seemingly taking serious notes. Lucky he thought to bring it, he mused. It was covering a fierce erection, now pushing protestingly out of his tight uniform trousers. “I think you’ll find all the men interesting, Admiral Walrus. This specimen, Casey Rockland is 19 years old. He is 6’- 7” tall,” said Zaftig, now in full control. “He weighs 335 pounds. Casey was enrolled in the project formally only a few months ago, when he was just 18. Already he has made extraordinary gains.” Sam noted that the men on either side of him seemed to be breathing more heavily. His cock stirred heavily in his pants, and Tyler was still fooling around with something in his lap. He glanced down the line. Even in the half-light of auditorium he could see that all of the men were beginning to sprout fierce trouser trouts. Even the straight men. “Hmmm,” he thought to himself. “I wonder…” Zaftig continued. “Casey has 1.5% bodyfat. He’s in splendid health, his heart very slightly enlarged perhaps, but his blood pressure holds at an even 130/80. Casey’s lungs are clear. To our knowledge, he has never in his life smoked a cigarette. He can run almost 30 miles per hour for 2 to 3 hours at a stretch. He bench-presses 800 pounds, and can easily perform single arm curls at 160 pounds. He squats easily with 500 pounds, and has been known to do deadlifts of 600 pounds in a set of 25 repetitions.” Zaftig coughed modestly. “Casey is also an accomplished gymnast, and can hold an iron cross on the rings without moving for 5 minutes. His extreme flexibility enables him to land from a flying dismount into a full 180 degree split.” Baby, breathed Sam to himself. Come to daddy. He licked his lips just a little. Tyler was taking short, shallow breaths, as if he was hyperventilating. “Calm down,” Sam chuckled to Tyler, who was trying in vain to appear neutral. Tyler elbowed him sharply. “You calm down…” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Sam smiled and ignored him. “Go, man, go!” came a breathless voice from down at the end of the row. Clearly Sam and Tyler weren’t the only men excited by what they were seeing. Zaftig clicked his remote. A new slide appeared with Casey holding a front double biceps pose. “Casey has 26 inch biceps,” Zaftig continued. “His waistline measures 30” after a heavy meal. His quadriceps are 32 inches, and his chest, when expanded, measures a rather staggering 69 inches. His calves and his forearms are, respectively, 20 inches and 25 inches.” Yes, I was going to ask about Casey’s dimensions, Sam thought wickedly. He glanced right and left and observed his colleagues were probably wondering, with various degrees of personal interest, the same thing. “He eats 8 times a day, about 15,000 calories daily, a special diet of lean meat protein, clean animal fat, and low carbs. He drinks between 5 to 8 gallons of water during the course of a normal day. He trains 4 days a week, and the other three days he is required to remain at full body rest and in meditation, so that his body may fully recover and continue the growth process. His workouts are not shade less than brutal. Still, we are very careful not to overtrain any of the men, but because of Casey’s particular passion for heavy bodybuilding, in his case, we have to be unusually strict and watchful. He’d be in the gym day and night if we allowed it. Fortunately, over the years, we’ve learned better.” “I’ll bet you have,” thought Sam. “Casey’s also a black belt in karate and could be a champion extreme fighter – that is, if I ever let him out of the lab.” Zaftig smiled devilishly. “He has a mean left hook,” he added. “He can knock a 250 pound man unconscious with a single punch. His vision far better than 20/5 – what you can see at 5 feet, he can see at 20. Casey doesn’t drink or do drugs. And he has never in the three years we have worked with him here at Valhalla had so much as a gram of processed sugar. In short, gentlemen, Casey Rockland is a perfectly-developed male specimen.” One of the 1-star generals on the Committee blurted out. “Doesn’t do drugs,” General Needling echoed, as if appalled. “That’s a steroided physique if I ever I saw one!” he shouted. Walrus frowned. Another officer, General Wampum, added his harsh agreement. “He’s Ahhh-nold,” came a deep voice from somewhere in the junior officer row. “I’ll beeee beck.” Some chuckles, immediately silenced when Walrus, without turning around, sharply lifted an index finger to one ear. The men were clearly covering their growing excitement with feeble jokes. Zaftig continued. “On the contrary, gentlemen, there are no contraband controlled substances anywhere in Casey’s bloodstream. He’d test negative for any drug. No growth hormone, no insulin, no pain blockers. Nothing synthetic. I assure you there have never been any sort of street drug protocols at any time in Casey’s extraordinary development. Casey receives nightly injections of P-21, Valhalla Labs patented muscle-building enzyme, painstakingly developed by our technicians a decade ago, and unavailable to the general public. All of Project Herculaneum’s subjects receive nightly injections. There are no negative side-effects of any kind to P-21.” He paused for effect. “And it is not a steroid.” Zaftig let that sink in. Admiral Walrus snorted. He didn’t believe a word of this crap. He’d had enough, and the meeting wasn’t 3 minutes old. “What the hell are you talking about, Zaftig?” demanded Walrus. “Is this how you’ve been spending your Pentagon contract? Is this what you’ve brought us across the country from D.C. to see? A muscleman?! Some gym freak? Goddamn it, man!” “Admiral Walrus, sir, “ said Zaftig, his voice lowered to easy familiarity, “let’s just look at the facts. Casey Rockland is no ‘gym freak.’ He’s not simply “a muscleman.” Casey is the result of years of pain-staking research, protocols, hard-core training, and delicate systemic honing. He and the other 19 men we are presenting to you tonight are uniquely developed physically perfect beings. They are trained to exert control in all situations, and to follow orders to the letter. To the letter, I might repeat.” I can think of a few orders I could issue, thought Sam, shifting in his seat. Once again, his twitching cock was beginning to bind in his shorts. He mused if such wishful thinking might indeed have a payoff. The Generals murmured in low tones to Walrus, who nodded fiercely. “He looks – what did you call it?” Needling whispered again to Walrus. “He looks Photoshopped! How do we know this is real? No man looks like this!” Zaftig turned and faced the group. “Gentlemen, I assure you, there’s no trickery here,” he confided with a touch of theatricality. “Zaftig, this is a waste of our time.” Walrus started to get up as if to leave. The other officers stirred, hesitating. Zaftig resumed pacing. “Gentlemen, I confess, I’m disappointed. In fact, I’m speechless. You think this is all pure speculation?” He gestured at the figure on the screen. “Theory? Scientifically uncertain? Wish fulfillment, perhaps? Photoshop?” He paused for effect, and turned to a tall, lanky, owl-like man hovering at the end of the first row. “Dr. Shaft? Perhaps you might confirm to the Admiral…..?” He waited smugly. The Joint Chiefs personal physician, Dr. Shaft, was invariably called in as a paid expert on any matter remotely medical, for which service he balanced his time between coasts, living half his life with his annoying socialite wife of 35 years in an impressive Chevy Chase McMansion near the Washington, D.C. beltway, the other in a smaller, more secluded ocean-front home off the Pacific Palisades. Shaft had remained silent and withdrawn up to now. He turned meekly to Admiral Walrus, cleared his throat and spoke nervously. “Admiral Walrus….requesting your indulgence, sir, but Dr. Zaftig is quite correct. Casey – and the other 19 muscle specimens – does indeed exist. And his specifications and dimensions are just as Dr. Zaftig is presenting them to be tonight.” Walrus grunted. “After all, Admiral Walrus,” said Zaftig smoothly, “Dr. Shaft is your own representative in Project Herculaneum.” “And they’re all living here in this compound?” he demanded. “Now? Tonight?” “Yes, sir. They’re all in residence here at Valhalla Labs. You can see them for yourself in a few minutes, if you wish. In fact, we have planned on it.” A moment passed. Walrus resumed. “Get on with it, then,” he muttered. “It’s a waste of my time, but get on with it.” He snorted. “Admiral Walrus, sir,” said Dr. Shaft, placating him with superior charm. “Dr. Zaftig and the team at Valhalla are indeed introducing a species of super-beings. I have had the opportunity to personally review them myself in the not-too-distant past.” For years, Dr. Shaft had upon occasion enjoyed the discreet company of out of town young male visitors from Venice, California in his West Coast home, whose ‘careers’ on the bodybuilding competition stage he had generously funded. When Zaftig’s informant, one retired pro bodybuilder by the name of Miles Donovan, revealed Shaft’s little secret, Zaftig knew he had an ally, if an unwilling one, amongst the Joint Chiefs. He’d played his cards right, and covertly brought Shaft in months before for an unofficial unveiling. Shaft had been stunned into fawning speechlessness, and gratefully accepted a deal in exchange for support. Zaftig found the man useful but repugnant. And now - review the men? Is that what he calls it? “Let’s not exaggerate, Dr. Shaft. I haven’t created a species. After all, I’m not Victor Frankenstein,” Zaftig said humorously. “Aren’t you?” asked Dr. Shaft. “Who are they? Where did they come from?” asked General Wampum, glaring at Shaft. “They all came to me on their own at different times during the last 18 years,” replied Dr. Zaftig. “On their own, they were already splendid specimens, ranging in age from 18 to 40. Though I searched them all out personally, no one was recruited. Moreover, their dedication to this project is unquestioned.” Zaftig’s audience began to murmur. “This is crazy,” said Wampum. “Crazy?” Zaftig responded, his voice raising. “Crazy, you say? I assure you, General Wampum, these men are real and at the height of their development.” The officers all seemed to speak at once. “Perhaps, to satisfy your doubts, I might pause and take some of your questions now.” “They’re volunteers?” “Are they soldiers or civilians?” “What are their backgrounds?” “How about their general health? Are they medical freaks?” “Are they even Americans?” Walrus demanded to know. “Are they even human?” asked Wampum. “Dr. Zaftig, I have a question.” Sam raised his hand. Walrus half turned, but nodded, permitting the question. Ensign Victor may look like just a pretty boy, but he has brains and guts, Walrus thought. His gesture silenced the group, and he allowed the Ensign the floor with a slight nod of his head. “You haven’t mentioned I.Q. How sharp is Casey’s intellect?” For the first time so far that evening, Zaftig seemed to hesitate. He recovered instantly, but Sam caught momentary crack in the façade. “Casey has the normal requirements of intelligence for a gifted soldier,” he answered. Aha. “This man’s a soldier? He’s enlisted in the US Army?” demanded Admiral Walrus. General Wampum preened a little. “Casey Rockland holds the rank of Private 1st Class in the US Army,” repeated Zaftig, but offered no more information. “Dammit, Wampum, why didn’t you know this?” Walrus demanded. General Wampum stopped preening and slumped in his seat. General Needling came to his defense. “We didn’t know any more about this than you did, Walrus,” he growled. Zaftig turned back to the image of flexing Casey, resuming his presentation as if nothing had happened. He brought his pointer up, lightly touching the tip to the biceps of the left arm. “Note the triple biceps head,” he continued. “The unusually separated deltoids, and the dynamically thick trapezius muscles.” His pointer lightly tapped each muscle group as he spoke. “You see the unusually dense vascularity. Also, pay special attention to Casey’s thin skin. Men with this low bodyfat are often cold, their own bodies incapable of supplying sufficient heat, and their skin can be fragile. Casey is never cold. His metabolism prevents it. And his skin is as tough as rawhide.” I’ll just bet, thought Sam. Zaftig clicked through a series of images showing Casey stripped down in different posing straps, in a various array of training room shots and routines. He lingered on a final image of Casey in a deep leg squat, a barbell of several hundred pounds weight resting easily on his shoulders. His hams were so thick they almost touched the floor. Behind him his butt curved powerfully upward. Far from grimacing at the colossal weight, Casey’s handsome face appeared serene. The auditorium pinged with tense silence. The officers stared hard at Dr. Zaftig. Zaftig gazed calmly back, his mouth now a thin line of determination. Behind him at the head of the table, the screen was frozen with Casey in deep squat suspension, the only light in the dimmed room. Zaftig resumed airily. “Casey Rockland and the other 19 perfectly-developed specimens not only are living and training full time in this very facility, they’re thriving. Within this very complex, these 20 perfect men completed their second shift in another day’s hard training protocol 30 minutes ago. They’ve showered and changed two levels below us while we’ve been talking. In fact, they’re not more than 100 feet away from where you’re sitting now.” Sam’s ears perked up. Zaftig placed his palms on the dais table and leaned in towards the uniformed officers. “I am ready to present them to you now, if you wish.” He let the statement sink in for impact, and pushed away from the table. Behind the Generals and Admiral Walrus, the Junior Officers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. All except Sam. This is getting interesting, he thought. “Perhaps I should do just that,” Dr. Zaftig said, “We might amend the agenda tonight. I think we need to break a little early. You all probably want to see the results for yourselves. Only then can you make an informed determination for your report.” He crossed toward the stage apron and turned to the group. “If you will all will be so good as to accompany me into the lab?” Confusion. The officers look dumbly at one another. Even Walrus said nothing. No one moved. Zaftig clicked his remote again, and the screen rose. “Dr. Irving?” he called out, climbing the stairs to the stage. “We’re coming into the lab now. Get the men ready.” He flicked some switches on a panel and the stage lights came up. At the back of the stage, a white-coated lab technician appeared, opening double doors. Beyond, the white glare of Valhalla Laboratories was revealed. “Admiral Walrus, Dr. Shaft, General Needling, Gentlemen: if you’ll all follow me.” Zaftig turned without a backward glance and crossed the stage to the opened lab doors. He turned and beckoned the group to follow him. A moment later the group rose, and with some uncomfortable putting away of laptops which had been hiding bulges, and with embarrassing shifting of slacks and trousers, which told the telltale signs of arousal, they crossed the stage and entered the lab. And with the notable exceptions of Walrus and Wampum, Zaftig noted with some satisfaction, that every man in uniform was sporting a straight-ahead trouser trout bulge. ******* Click below for the next chapter! "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed

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This is a one-shot, written in a slightly different style than I am used to. Theoretically you should be able to skip around if you are not one for much exposition. Comments and suggestions are always appreciated. The inside of my cubicle is cluttered as usual, full of unfinished work that is all marked “urgent”. It is always urgent. The fluorescent lights above worsen my headache. I pull out another paper from the pile. It is endless. Day in, day out, computer, paper, and me, sitting alone in this tiny island. I can feel the folds of my belly run over my belt, resting in my lap. My sleeves and the legs of my khakis are loose, my thin arms and legs barely filling up the hollow spaces. My back hunches over my desk, my thinning hair wafted by the fan I keep on my desk. It is difficult to think that I am already forty, that so much time has passed by in this small, cluttered space with so little to show. Finally the clock strikes six, and I am free to leave. My desk is no less cluttered than it was earlier today. Papers come in as fast as they go out. But at least I am busy. There is something to do, which is better than nothing. Bubble gum for the mind, and a paycheck to follow. -- It is winter, and by the time I get home it is already dark. My apartment is dimly lit, as usual. That is the way Pavel likes it, and I don’t mind either way. He is already home. His drive shorter than mine, but he is irate nonetheless. He is usually that way, “stereotypically Russian” I used to joke with him. We have known each other for five years, and about a year ago we moved into an apartment together. I walk into the common room to find him watching TV and eating leftovers from yesterday. His double chin mirrors mine, and he has a stain from the food he is eating on his wife beater. He grunts at me. It is his usual way of acknowledging that I have arrived. His body slouches down in the arm rest. His body is just like mine, if not a little bit thicker. But his hair is still all there, his one proud feature. His meal rests on the TV tray, crumbs spilling as he lazily shuttles food into his mouth. He is not beautiful, but he is mine. -- I watch Pavel work his way to the bathroom from the bed we have just shared, the light harsh on his unflattering body. Sex with him is good, familiar. We do not have to try very hard. If neither one of us finishes, that is not abnormal. It is just good to be with someone. Finally he turns off the lights and his body is thrown into darkness. I like it better that way, imagining he is someone else. As I lay in bed, I think about my life and how I have gotten here. There is no one pivotal moment to look for, just a lifetime of settling for less and expecting nothing more. And now I am here. I vow that tomorrow will be the day that everything will change. And unlike every other time, it will be. -- John is a bit arrogant and not very good at paying attention. Well, I guess he can afford it. He looks like he has always been buff, blond, beautiful. Captain of the football team, homecoming king, something like that. Hard to relate to, in my current position. He wears a tank top, those kind that open to show his obliques and lats. Even just his arm resting on the machine is something to behold. Perhaps my perception of him is too harsh, colored by the intense pain that is coursing through my shoulders. He is looking at a woman running on the treadmill across the room. To be fair, she is beautiful. I would stare too, I think, if I were so inclined. “Come on Greg, one more! You’ve got this!” It did not feel that way. Even if he is not very good at paying attention, he at least goes through the motions. This is the first time I have been in a gym in twenty years, and John took his role as my new personal trainer very enthusiastically. Right into the deep end, no grace period. I struggle between breaths as I push out the last rep. I can feel the hollow space in my sleeves call attention to how small and weak my arms are, and the weight of my stomach reminds me of my age and how far I have to go. Sweat beads on my forehead and runs down my chin. My clothes are soaked, but we have barely even started. -- The first thing I notice is that it is not as difficult to get up and going in the morning. Despite how dreary I anticipate my days to be, my body no longer feels like a heavy stone that I have to drag around. Things are easier, lighter. My pants fit better, looser in the waist. Pavel does not appreciate my new candor, in or out of bed. My new energy is in stark contrast to his morose personality. It will grow on him, I hope. -- 180. That’s what the scale says. Only 10 pounds lost over the course of 3 months. But I know that I have lost more than that, and it has been exchanged for something better. I flexed my arm in the mirror. The slightest curvature of the bicep, a little furrow beneath to announce that it is separate from the rest of my arm. Progress. -- Protein shakes are the bane of my existence. John has changed my diet, little by little, and now I am a poster child for healthy eating. This is to Pavel’s protest. All protein, barely any fat or carbs, none of the fast food that we used to eat together. We start eating separate meals. It is hard, every day. I want to break very badly, especially with the temptation sitting right in front of me. I can feel the space filling in around my sleeves, in the legs of my pants. They are not hollow anymore. Suddenly the shake is not so bad. I swallow it, eagerly. -- I challenge someone to an arm wrestle at work, during our lunch hour. I don’t know what I am thinking, but he agrees. A small congregation gathers around us in the office. This is the most exciting thing that has happened here since the Jefferson account. Will is confident he can beat me, he is certainly much younger. I win. It is hardly even a contest. Just nine months ago I would have lost, and pathetically. My cock swells slightly from the rush. -- A woman a little younger than me turns her head at me as I walk to lunch. It feels pretty good. -- Sixteen and thirty-four. Arms and waist, respectively. My abs are palpable beneath my trimming stomach, my arms something to be proud of. I flex my calves and see the separate heads in the mirror. My shirts fit me well, and without even trying I am showing off. Even John is impressed at my progress over the last year. I go to the gym eagerly now, even when I don’t have a scheduled training session. It starts to feel good, almost, the burning in my body as I become something greater. I drop John soon after. He is not necessary anymore. -- I apply for a promotion at my job. With all of the supplements and supplies that I need, a pay raise is necessary. I get it. My boss notes my confidence when he is debriefing me after my interview. I think he notices my arms too, but he is too shy to say anything about it. -- It is around seventeen inches that I leave Pavel. I know because I am measuring my guns (I have taken to calling them that because, well, they are deserving of the title) when I see the both of us in the mirror. The juxtaposition seems wrong. We have been growing apart for a long time now. He is always at home, sedentary, static. I am not capable of that life anymore. I need to get out, to live, to lift. He is not surprised. It is relatively amicable. I start looking for a new apartment the next day. -- My old clothes just do not fit anymore, after two and a half years. I love the way they feel around my solid arms, hanging over my heavy chest as they fall into my thick muscle belly. My abs, strong, erect from the curvature of my stomach now form little creases in my clothes. My sleeves stretch every time I go to flex my guns and the body of my shirt stretches almost uncomfortably against my lats. My button-ups stopped being functional a long time ago. Now even my loosest exercise shirts have to go. I’m keeping my exercise shorts. They have fared a little better, although they have started to look like short shorts as my burgeoning quads and hamstrings have begun to push them up. That is okay with me. I don’t mind showing off their strength, or the thick heads of my calf muscles for anyone who wants to look. And most of them do. My dick throbs a little as I throw the last shirt in the trash. Out with the old and in with the new. -- Melinda flirts with me shamelessly now. She barely even took notice of me before. It is hard to blame her, though. Compared to the other guys at the office I stand out. I do not hide it, either. Even with my new outfits my body is visible through the fabric. I do not even have to try. I would never have known she was so lascivious. I barely even look at her. I think it turns her on more. -- It is hard to believe that I wore sleeves once. It feels so good, to walk down the street and have everyone stare your size. Nineteen and growing. My guns are my proudest feature. And the guys take note. I have been drowning in stares and offers for sex ever since I left Pavel and moved to the gay district. It has taken me a while to get used to it, but now it comes easy. I have not felt this level of arousal or pleasure since puberty, and it is compounded by my growing body. I can make them do whatever I want, too. They just want to be with me, even if I am a little on in years and they have to submit to my demands. They are not ever disappointed. -- I love to make my pecs bounce up and down. I love it even more when other guys watch. I find myself doing it in public when people stare at me for just a little too long. They turn their heads, but I know that my heaving pectorals have just caused a long-distance erection. -- I live for the burn anymore. That feeling that you get in your muscles when they are just about to give, but you don’t let them. You make them go until they stop, because you are the one with all the power. Strength incarnate. -- I see the young gays, out on the streets. Buff, tan, not a care in the world except who they are going to fuck next. I will never be like them. I am old, my prime has passed. My hair is almost gone on top, and my skin is rough despite years protected from the sun under the fluorescent bulbs. I take a breath. Air fills my lungs, chest heaving outward and filling up the tank top that barely contains them. I flex my guns, just to remind myself of how big they are. Twenty one. And growing, too. I will never be like them. I am bigger, better. -- I go to my old gym after seeing a friend for lunch nearby. John is there, giving enthusiastic words of encouragement to some out-of-shape housewife. I wait until she is gone and he begins his workout. He is working hard, methodical about every move. But I know I push harder than him, lift more. He has moved onto bench press. On his last rep I head over. He is struggling. “Need some help?” I say. He gawks at me, probably not understanding why I have interrupted him. “No thanks, I’m good.” I grab the weight with a single hand and pull it up for him. I grin, with just a hint of arrogance. He doesn’t recognize me. “Wow, you were having trouble lifting this?” I say casually. I put two more plates on each side without waiting for him to get up, and then motion for him to get out of the way. Ten reps. “Well that was easy,” I say. “Barely even a pump.” His face contorts, probably more from confusion than from shame. But I know deep down he is mulling over how I am outcompeting him so effortlessly. I relish in it. “Remember me?” I say, lifting my cannons up towards the ceiling. I flex them, unabashedly, as his face turns red. Speechless. I would be too if someone that big had challenged me. Twenty one and a half. John could never hope to be that big. -- I spend a day at the bathhouse. It is not a wholesome place, but I am a goliath now and it is a whole new world. All eyes fall on me. It is unavoidable. I walk with a bodybuilders strut, my arms hanging out past my sides because they cannot fall straight down anymore. My nipples, though, face almost directly down. They have nowhere else to look. The rest of my chest is bursting with ripped, heaving muscle. It is a struggle to see my feet anymore. Or my waist, either. Thirty two, and packed to the brim with abdominals that would not give to a bullet. I turn to walk through the door. I find myself doing that a lot now. My back is just too wide, too thick, too engorged with muscle to fit through most doorways without a little turning. The steam feels good, relaxing. I lifted heavy today. Heavy even for me. My whole body is spent, hard as a rock, still pulsing from the workout. I notice as a sit down that my quads are especially thick. They are as cut as they have ever been, but that does nothing to hide their mass. I don't hold my knees parallel to my waist anymore because my quads refuse to give in to one another. I toss my towel on my leg. My cock is free, but no one will be defiant enough to correct me. It takes me a while to notice the other man in the sauna. I tend to not take notice anymore, of the smaller ones. Even when they are enraptured. He is older, probably forty five. His graying hair tops a face lined with crows-feet and a flabby, uninteresting body. His towel covers his unsubtle erection. He reminds me of myself, from four years ago. We make eye contact. I flex my pecs first, slowly, both together. The crevice that forms between them can probably crush two or three of his little fingers. I let one down, and then proceed to bounce them, one at a time, slowly. Control is key. His gaze wanders down towards my chest, mesmerized. His expression does not change except for a vast hunger in his eyes. I lift my cannons up into the air and let them fire. It is almost against my will. My cock rises from the intensity of his stare. I know exactly what this is doing to him. How he feels. His inadequacy in my presence is only heightening his arousal. He is mine, heart and soul. I motion him to come over with my finger. He does. His hands start at my arms and then move down my abs and legs. They are soft, old. Like mine, all those years ago. Fuck, I was pathetic. He starts to move towards my dick, long and hard, throbbing. I grab his hand, careful not to grip his gentle arm too firmly. “You’re not worthy of that,” I say, letting it sink in. He cums, clumsily, and some of it gets on me. “Clean it up,” I command. And he does, obediently. -- I am enjoying my time at the nude beach. I am god, unquestionably. The sun beats down on my massive body for all the world to see. And they do, eagerly. I flex for them, a gift. Twenty two.

Hey everyone, sorry again for the delay, but work is crazy. Anyway, enjoy! Parts 1+2+3: https://muscle-growt...stop-parts-1-3/ Parts 4+5: https://muscle-growt...-stop-parts-45/ Parts 6+7: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7460-dont-stop-parts-67/ PART 8: The next morning began as the previous few mornings had for Andrew. He woke up, noticed he had a huge raging erection, and went to the bathroom to take care of it. This morning, he was happily surprised to once again find that he had changed dramatically since the day before. He had a really full beard now. It was luscious, thick and was already about a quarter inch long in most places. He looked like he was well on his way to becoming a lumberjack in just a day or two. However, even under the layers of facial hair he could tell that his face was more angular and cut than before. Continuing down his body, he could see tufts of chest hair poking out of the top of his shirt. Quickly tearing off his shirt he found a veritable forest of chest hair leading to a dense covering of hair on his new eight pack abs. He could tell that his legs were much hairier too now. “I must be the hairiest Asian on campus now,” Andrew though proudly. By the increased hair wasn’t the only change Andrew found. It appeared to him that his workout had paid off handsomely because he was not only ripped, he was enormous. He was at least six feet tall now with huge tree trunks for legs. He could see massive calf muscles pushing out from his lower leg in a perfect diamond cut formation. Above them were huge quads and hamstrings that had gotten so big there was no longer a gap between his legs. His muscles were so big that they made his legs touch each other while standing up normally. Another effect of his massive quads was that his dick and balls were pushed a little bit out from his body making them look even larger than they already were. His cock had to be at least eight or nine inches long (confirmed to be 8.75 inches by Andrew’s handy ruler) and was as hard as steel. His balls meanwhile were each as large as a tangerine and churning with huge loads of semen. He needed to ejaculate soon or else they would swell so much it would start being painful. As much as he wanted to get off on his new physique, there were still areas of his body that he had not explored yet. His abs were like a cobblestone path carved into his stomach, and flexing them and unflexing them made Andrew realize that he could easily stop a gut punch with his abs of iron easily. His pecs looked absolutely swollen with new muscle. The massive fleshy pillows were so big now that his nipples hung straight down. He looked like he could bench press 400lbs easily now. However, despite all of his other fantastic muscles, the greatest was yet to come. His arms looked like they were at least 20 inches around now. Crazy veins snaked their way lazily across the top of his massive peaked biceps while his triceps hung pendulously from the back of his upper arms. His forearms were huge too (probably from jerking off so much). All in all, Andrew looked like a professional bodybuilder, and right then and there he vowed to enter a competition as soon as possible. However, Andrew was becoming a little nervous now. His body was really fucking amazing, but he was worried he was losing sight of what had truly mattered to him. He hadn’t gone to class at all the previous day and instead had spent his time furiously masturbating, working out, and having a marathon of sex with Nicole. The more he thought about his situation though, the more he realized that he liked what he had become, what he was becoming, and what he was about to become. His muscles were so sexy and powerful he felt like he could do whatever he wanted. So, he went back to the bedroom, erection swinging straight out from his body, gently woke Nicole up, and started having the best sex of his life. After his third orgasm in as many minutes, Andrew rolled off of Nicole and noticed that her chap stick had fallen out of her bag. “Hmm, I don’t recognize this brand,” Andrew thought as he put on some of the chap stick on his lips. He noticed a weird tingly feeling on his lips after the application, but he chalked it up to it being an intense mint flavor. He absentmindedly pocketed the chap stick before heading out to class. PART 9: Andrew found that his mouth was getting really dry during class all day. He couldn’t stop staring at all of the hot girls who would have been way far out of his league the previous week, but now were well within reach. He felt tormented by these adulterous thoughts, but the girls were hooked on his new physique. They would blow him little kisses and wink seductively at him, and in response to his rapidly drying mouth he would put on chapstick at least twice every hour. None of this was helping get rid of the erection he had maintained all day since having tantric sex with Nicole that morning. He felt the urge to sneak off the bathroom between every class to masturbate, and even struggled to limit himself to one orgasm. Finally he was done with classes for the day, so he ran to the gym as fast as he could. He could feel his thighs chaffing against each other a little bit as his legs swelled with blood, getting pumped and swollen from just a few short minutes of cardio. As soon as he was done changing in the locker room (where all of the guys were amazed by Andrew’s flaccid dick which was longer than almost all of their dicks hard), he hit the weights. Something immediately felt different to Andrew. As soon as he began his first bench press he could feel an intensity in his entire body that filled him with euphoria. His now 9.5 inch cock instantly hardened and lengthened a bit more filling the front of his gym shorts with an obscene bulge. Every lift he did filled him with euphoria and made him feel like he was about to burst through his own skin. He could feel his muscle growing with each curl, each squat, each press. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore except that it felt fucking incredible and that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. A sizeable crowd had gathered around him including several of the girls and guys who had been eying his physique all day long. They couldn’t take their eyes off of his bulge and bulging muscles, and a few were becoming noticeably aroused right there in the middle of the weight room. Eventually one of them, a cute black girl sauntered up to Andrew and sat on his lap as he was bench pressing. His dick instantly went into overdrive as he shot load after load into his gym pants. He never stopped lifting during his orgasm, and the crowd gasped as they notices his pecs and arms swell larger and larger with each rep and cum shot. Just as he was about to stop shooting his tank top ripped right off his chest as his confined pecs burst through the fabric. Andrew was an animal. He knew that he loved Nicole, but his sex drive was amped up way too high to ignore all of his waiting admirers. He picked the black girl off of his lap and carried her on his shoulders to the private shower stalls where he fucked her brains out. Andrew was becoming more and more aware of the fact that something weird was happening to his body, but so far all he had surmised was that each time he came he would get bigger, and not just his muscles. He could feel his dick expanding with each orgasm. It wasn’t much each time, but with the way he had been cumming the past few days, he was on his way to having the biggest dick of all time. He didn’t want this growth to ever stop.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 TROY Phew, Maggot, I’m glad it’s you who answered your door. I didn’t know what I was going to say to your parents. Oh, they’re at work… and Joey’s at school. So, you’re home alone. Yeah, I brought them. When I got your text, “I need weights. I need to lift,” I knew exactly how you felt. So, I grabbed everything I could But I gotta say, you don’t look so good. Well, you’re all red in the face and sweaty, and your eyes are open wide like saucers… and why are you all covered up in a blanket are you sick or something? Come in and close the door? Sure. Why? You’re dropping your blanket…. Whoa… Jeeeeeeeeesuuuus! Look at you! You’re a fucking tank! Look at your fucking arms! There as big as mine! Your shoulders…. Fuck! They’re huge! And you’ve got fucking monster pecs on you. You can see every freaky striation! And you abs… they’re a freaking brick wall! Your quads are massive! …and all cut up! You can see each and every muscle division! You’re not standing up straight are you? Whoa… you’re as tall as me now! Damn! All this from that blue shit? And it’s still happening? You’re still fucking growing? No fucking way! Yeah, I got some weights in the car. Come on out and help me bring them in. What? You’re afraid someone will see you? You don’t want anyone to see you until you’re done growing? Fuck that! I’m not bringing in all that shit by myself. Throw on a shirt and come out and help me. No one will probably even realize it’s you; you’re so much fucking bigger now! They took your Troy’s Maggot shirts and now you don’t have a shirt that fits? Fuck! I’ve got a spare shirt in the car. You can use that. Hang on, I’ll get it. There. Damn. It fits you like a glove. Holy fuck! I never thought I’d see the day. Did you, Maggot? Did you think you’d see the day when your pecs would be pushing out the front of one of my shirts, when your rock-hard, veiny biceps would be filling my fucking sleeves? It wasn’t so long ago you were just a shriveled up stick! Haha. Fuck, I can’t wait til Hunter and Jack get a load of the muscles on you! What? The weights? Oh yeah. Well, come help me Maggot. What are you doing just standing there? Where are we taking this shit? Oh, you got a spot cleared out in the basement? No one ever goes down there, hunh? Ok sounds like a good spot to set up. Wait a minute, Maggot, don’t take all those fucking plates by yourself… Damn, look at you! Look at you lifting all that goddamn weight by yourself! Holy fuck, you’re getting strong! Can I lift as much? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Maggot? Watch this! There…! Even one plate more than you took! It’ll be a cold day in hell before you out muscle me, Maggot! Brian’s Journal – Day 67 A cold day in hell before I out muscle him? Ha! All I can say is I hope the devil has a scarf because he’s going to need it before the sun sets today! I’m fucking growing. I’ve been fucking growing non-stop since yesterday, and I’m going to continue fucking growing. I can fucking feel it! I kept waking up all last night. And every time I did, I went to the mirror and I was fucking bigger. I’d go back to bed, wake up again in an hour or so, and I’d be even bigger. Fuck, it felt awesome, looking at those bulging biceps, that big chest, my wide back, and knowing next time I woke up, they’d all be fucking bigger, thicker, and wider with powerful, heaving muscle! Fuck yeah! My parents poked their heads into my room before they left for the day. I lay in my bed, all covered up. Little did my dad know I had grown two huge, veiny, muscled-out arms, just one of which could fucking break him in two. Haha. But I kept all that bulging, rippling muscle covered up under blankets and just grunted when they told me to be good. I’d be fucking good, all right! Fuck, even my grunt was deeper. It wasn’t long after I got out of bed that I began to feel a kind of burn in my heaving muscular body. I needed to lift. Fuck, did I need to lift! My parents didn’t own a weight set do I did the only thing I could, I texted Troy. I texted Troy and he came. Even more important, he brought weights! And my body was fucking burning for them! We set them up in our basement and I was loading the bar almost before we finished putting the bench together. Troy couldn’t believe how big I’d gotten. He knew I was as big as him. Haha. He was in for a fucking surprise. I could feel I was on the express train to massiveness. And the way I was growing, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was bigger than him, way bigger. Fuck, I was going to be bigger than Troy. I felt myself getting hard at the thought. Bring it on! I hopped on the bench, but all notions about how much I could lift went out the window. I’d been benching about 275 prior to today, but I didn’t waste my time with that. I went right to 6 plates, 315. That was Troy’s bench. I thought it would satisfy my body’s hunger for a lift, but it didn’t, not even close. I pounded out a set of 10 with ease. It was way too easy. I needed more of a challenge. I needed more weight, a lot more weight! I hoped off the bench and almost without thinking about it added another two plates to each side. I slid onto the bench and under the barbell. “Maggot,” said Troy. “That’s a 495 pound bench. That’s crazy. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” “Fuck that,” I said. I was in a kind of growth craze. Growing, getting bigger, that’s all that mattered. I was blindly obeying the demands of my body. “Lift this for me,” it seemed to be saying. “Lift this and we’ll get fucking massive!” “I’m going to fucking bench this,” I said to Troy. “Either fucking help me or get out of the way!” “Ok,” Troy said, shaking his head, “I’ll try and spot you, but at 495, I don’t know how much good I’m going to do.” “Spot me?” I laughed. “Just fucking stand back!” I grabbed the bar with fierce determination, and lifted. At first, it wouldn’t budge. I tried harder, as hard as I could. I could feel that this was what my body wanted, what it hungered for. I continued to give it everything I had. I felt the blood rushing to my head, my face turning red, the veins popping out of my neck. And finally I managed to get it off the support. Fuck, I felt my arms exploding with muscle and as I lifted the bar, I could feel big triceps swell out and form deep, thick horseshoes. Fuck, I could actually feel the hard muscles swelling up on my arms… like they were going to blast right out of my skin, like an incredibly intense instant pump! “What the fuck, Maggot,” gasped Troy. “What the fuck is going on?” Troy was in the spotter’s position. I looked up at him with his eyes wide open and his mouth agape. I just looked up at him and smirked. “What do you think’s going on, Troy Boy?” And then, my arms shaking under the weight, I slowly lowered it down to my chest. It was excruciating and exhilarating, all at the same time. I could feel my pecs, two solid mounds of shredded muscle strained to their limit. And Troy’s t-shirt, the way it wrapped around me so tightly, I could feel every hard, bulging muscle on my torso… and they were growing! My fucking shoulders; they were like expanding rocks, I could feel them swelling with size. I could feel my abs, six blocks of steel-like muscle pushing out from my stomach. And my arms, damn, I could feel they were passing big and were heading for huge. I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening to me, but I found it so fucking hot I was really getting stiff. But now I needed to lift the bar back up. I could feel my body demanding it. My face was so pumped with blood, that if any more blood rushed up there, I felt it would explode. And then it started happening; unbelievably, my pumped up arms began to respond to my will and I started pushing the barbell back up. “FUCK!” I yelled while my whole body started shaking. Oh my God! My muscles… the were growing… more and more… so fucking intense! I began hearing popping threads and tearing seams as my iron body started erupting with size and ripping its way out of Troy’s shirt. Jesus, I could feel my entire frame was getting wider, longer, thicker and heavier. “HOLY FUCK, MAGGOT!” shouted Troy. “ARRRRRRRGH!” I yelled as I felt the sleeves around my powerful delts explode, destroyed by shoulders were blossoming into massive, ripped and segmented boulders. And my arms, fuck, I turned my head and watched my arms blast into massiveness right in front of my eyes. I could see the sinew weaving together making those fucking horseshoes thicker, and those biceps bulkier. “Whatever you’re doing Maggot, you gotta stop. You gotta stop right now!” bellowed Troy. “Fuck that, Troy!” I yelled as I felt the shirt get tighter and tighter. “This is your fucking shirt, Troy! Watch what my fucking body is going to do your fucking shirt!” There was more tearing around my torso and a second later, my mammoth pecs just erupted out of Troy’s shirt. They were huge ripped mountains of muscle, sandwiched between my giant arms and engorged with blood as I strained with all my might to push that weight up. RIIIIP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, POP! My expanding iron-like lats, bulging traps and thickening neck, burst out of the remaining pieces of Troy’s shirt, completely reducing it to shredded rags. And then BAM it was up. It was all the way up! I had benched 495 pounds. Damn. “Oh yeah!” I shouted, as I felt a shit eating grin burst out across my face. “Fuck yeah! Let’s see you bench fucking 495, Troy boy!” Then I did another rep only this time it felt easy. “Nice,” I said, laughing. Then I quickly pounded out another five reps before I racked the weight. I leapt up off the bench check myself out in the mirror we’d set up. Holy fuck, I was gigantic! About 6’ 5” and ridiculously wide and bulging! I tore off the shredded remains of Troy’s t-shirt and hoooooly fuck, I was a monster, a fucking muscle monster! I weighed at least 400 lbs. and I was all muscle, every freaking, bulging, vein covered inch of me. My pecs were like round hard melons, my shoulders and back were as wide as doors. My upper arms were at least the size of my head, with thick angry veins leading up to bowling ball delts. My workout shorts had fit okay when Troy arrived, but now my mammoth quads and hams were squeezed so snugly into the legs I was sure the slightest flex would destroy them completely. Of course my shorts were completely safe from my monstrous diamond-hard calves. And my package… I could see the front of my shorts pushed out as far as it could go in a giant bulge, and practically breaking under the strain. “How do you like your maggot now, Troy?” I said, strutting over to him and looking down at his wide-eyed, open mouthed expression. Fuck, look how much bigger I was than him! I was bigger than Troy! I was way fucking bigger than Troy! I was truly enormous, a fucking god! Each and every one of my muscles, from my telephone pole neck to my monster calves, were hard, gigantic, veiny masses! And Troy’s… Troy’s were just big. “Look at me!” I said flexing my massive arms and leering down at him. “I’m pretty fucking big now, aren’t I?” I loved understatement. I was fucking colossal! I hit a double bi, admiring the huge, twin granite peaks as they erupted from my arms. “Think we’ll win the bet now?” But Troy just stood there, apparently unable to speak. And me, I was getting distracted by my shorts. They were so fucking tight, they were really starting to hurt. And there was a recently enlarged caged beast down there that seriously wanted out. I reached down to pull off my shorts. But it didn’t quite work that way. I started to try to peel my shorts off of my enormous muscle encased legs, but I was having serious trouble. So, I slipped my meaty hands under the waist band and, with a heart stopping RIIIIIP, just tore the shorts right off my body, underwear and all. Fuck. I stood there, completely naked, staring at myself in the mirror. And I have to say I was stunned by what I saw. Damn, I was masculine perfection. Besides my killer upper body, I had the legs of a total beast. Each of my huge thighs was every bit as big around as my waist and carved with rolling, rippling sinew. My balls were like two tangerines and my cock hung over them almost to my knees, thick and heavy as a fire hose. “This is too fucking freaky,” said Troy, and then he turned and ran. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going Troy Boy!” I hollered and raced after him. “Don’t run away like a little bitch!” Troy tore out of the house, jumped into his car, and started the engine. No way was Troy going anywhere. He helped me do this! Fuck, he practically made me in to this muscle beast! No way was he leaving now. I fucking wanted him here. That’s right he wasn’t leaving because I fucking wanted him here! But could I stop a car? Fuck yeah, I could! I ran up behind his car, squatted down, dug my legs in and grabbed it below the chassis. Troy put the car in gear and started to pull away. But I pulled back! But could I stop it? I heaved and heaved. I felt every huge, powerful muscle strain in my huge, powerful body. Fuck, it felt like I might burst something. And then I felt it. I was growing again! My arms were bulging out bigger. My monster legs were getting even thicker! And then I was doing it! I was holding back his car! He gunned the accelerator. I could hear the wheels spinning. But he wasn’t going anywhere! Suddenly it sunk in! Holy fuck, I had a hold of Troy’s car and was keeping it back, using nothing but pure muscle! And I could feel it. All that physical power made manifest in pound after pound of steel-like, vein ridden beef exploding out of every inch of my body! FUUUUCCCCK YEAHHHH! “Come back here, Troy,” I bellowed. “Stop being a little bitch!” But Troy hit the accelerator and just kept pouring gas into the engine. I heard it rev up loud and strong. “Okay, fine!” I shouted. “If that’s the way you want to play it, go ahead! See what happens!” I looked down at my huge pecs and started grinning, I felt them getting bigger. The striations were getting thicker, the huge muscle globes were pushing out further, bulging up fuller. And fuck I was rising up, as if I was on some kind of a lift. Holy fuck! I was getting bigger and taller. Just like with the weights, straining my muscles on Troy’s car was helping me get even more colossal. “FUCK! YEAH!” Troy must have guessed what was happening because he killed the engine, jumped out of the car and hid around the other side. “Now you’re hiding? You are such a fucking pussy!” I yelled! Then I got an idea, A FUCKING FANTASTIC IDEA! I grabbed the car again only this time I lifted. Groaning and grunting, I felt every massive muscle in my body bulge and throb. And slowly, I began to make it move. I looked down as my feet, as they shuffled back and forth adjusting for the weight. Holy crap, look at my feet! They were huge and they seemed to be growing even bigger, becoming more solid with heavier bones, throbbing veins, and widening toes! Oh fuck yeah, bigger, I want to get bigger! As I continued to lift as I felt my two calves become rock hard with the pump and rapidly blow up to the size of soccer balls, flaring out larger and flexing behind my giant thickening shin bones. And my knees almost appeared to be shrinking as they were being completely overwhelmed by my massive expanding thighs. Oh my God, my upper legs were evolving into huge undulating, tightly woven masses of powerful sinew, throbbing under my skin, each one trying to bulge bigger than it’s humongous, shredded brother. And as massively wide as they got, they also seemed to be stretching longer, making my already impossibly colossal body even taller. And my balls… They were the size of two large oranges hanging below my monster cock which was about 15 inches long, as thick as a beer can, and only semi-hard. As I lifted the impossible weight of the car higher, I could feel my abs clench. Fuck, they were thrusting out of my stomach, growing, widening into eight deeply carved, solid bricks of muscle that violently heaved in and out with every monster breath I took. Fuck, I checked out my arms, as they gripped the chassis. My forearms were evolving into enormous bulging and swelling masses of ripped cords and tendons just popping with power. My biceps were massive globes of vein covered sinew with peaks alone that put Troy’s entire bicep to shame. My pecs erupted to the size of boulders, huge and ribbed with thick muscle fibers and I could feel my gargantuan lats spread out behind me, like a kind of thick muscle cape. Slowly my ridiculously gigantic arms straightened as I completed a military press with Troy’s car. Oh man, the fucking size of me… I was so fucking massive. So much fucking muscle over every bulging inch of me, now I had become an unstoppable giant, made solely of massive, heaving muscles. Troy looked terrified. I bet he never saw this coming! His maggot was now a seven and a half foot tall muscle giant, more than five feet wide at the shoulders, with huge thick mountainous traps dwarfing his barrel neck. I had grown gigantic, satiated wrecking ball delts supporting enormous, veined wrapped upper arms that resembled giant muscle globes bulging out impossibly huge and hard. My forearms had evolved into a huge conglomeration of thick woven cords, big around as Troy’s torso. My chest had blossomed into two massive orbs of sinew, hard, solid and ripped. My abs had become eight concrete slabs of muscle leading down to my fire hose cock and my grapefruit balls. And my legs… Crap, my thighs had grown so big around, they made the nearby tree trunks look skinny, and I could feel each and every gigantic, powerful leg muscle bulge and ripple under my skin as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “How ‘bout now, Troy?” I boomed, while still holding his car above my head. “How do you like your maggot now?” He couldn’t say anything, not a thing. “I feel amazing,” I cried, “so fucking strong. I bet I could… Is your car fully insured?” Troy nodded rapidly. I got this giant grin on my face and suddenly I began to squeeze Troy’s car. I began to hear creaking metal followed by a loud pop from the car and then another. A bolt dropped out of it and bounced off the ground. “FUCK YEAH!” I cried as the car frame started to warp. Jesus, I was crushing the car! With my massive bare hands, I was crushing Troy’s car. Then bolts and rivets and engine parts started cascading down in a metallic rain as laughing, I continued to destroy the car with just the raw power in my megalithic arms. “Look at me, Troy boy!” I called. “Look at what your maggot can do!” I threw down Troy’s car with a tremendous crash of metal. Troy turned and ran. “Don’t run from me, Tiny Troy!” I called taking off after him. “Don’t run from your maggot!” I was amazed at how fast my long, hugely powerful legs caught up with him. I grabbed him with one massive, meaty hand, and effortlessly picked him up with my impossibly gigantic muscled-up arms and held him dangling in the air. “Don’t do this to me,” he said. “Please, not out here where everyone can see!” Just what exactly did he think I was going to do to him? “Remember Tiny Troy?” I said. “Remember when we first started and you did this to me…?” Then I noticed it. His reaction was exactly the same as mine had been. He was supporting a gigantic boner. Damn. That’s what he didn’t want out in the open where everyone could see. Tucking him under my muscle pylon of an arm, I hurried him inside and back down to the basement. I set him down and got my first good look at my ridiculously massive body in the mirror. My pecs were two gigantic globes of flesh, sticking out about two feet in front of me overshadowing a range of eight massive muscle plateaus rising out of my stomach and rippling in and out with every breath I took. My back spread out behind me wider than a barn door and about five times as thick. And my legs were two monstrous pillars, as thick around as an oil drum, with all the massive muscle groups visibly writhing and twisting with the slightest move. And every vein, every striation of every muscle group was clearly defined beneath my bronzed skin. My impossibly thick neck was now bent slightly over because I was too tall for the basement’s low ceiling and I was so wide with heaving, bulging, massive muscles, I almost filled all the available space. And as I stood staring open-mouthed at this vision, I felt my giant cock start to lengthen and grow stiff. Bigger and thicker it got, as I stared at my massively muscled, flawlessly proportioned, gigantic, heaving, marble-like muscle body in the mirror. Bigger, thicker and harder it got, as waves of mind searing pleasure began to emanate from it. I flexed and watched the muscle mountains explode out of my arms, then I felt the hardness of my giant pecs and ran my hand over the stone-like ridges of my abs. My new giant cock grew as hard as steel! Oh fuck, I’d never felt anything thing like this before. I mean, I’d been hard before, gotten off before, lots of times, but this… My entire hugely powerful body was practically shaking with the sensation. I felt like I was about to blow! And all this from just staring at myself. And then Troy was there, taking me into his mouth, sucking, licking. I never took him for a cock sucker, but then I guess there’d never been a cock quite like mine, attached to a gigantically muscled, heaving frame like mine. My hands found the top of his head and I started messaging his short, spikey haired scalp while he worked on my impossibly huge and engorged member. I was in that state where you desperately want to release, but you know as soon as you do it will be over, so you hold back. I kept staring in the mirror at my gigantic body, periodically flexing my massively muscled arms, my bowling ball pecs, and running my hands over Troy’s wide rippling back, all while feeling my member throb and pulse with impossibly intense waves of pleasure, building and building and building until I just couldn’t hold back any longer. “AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH FUCK!” I shouted as I came with the force of a freight train, knocking Troy to the floor, and overloading my own pleasure centers nearly to the point of losing consciousness. I don’t know how long I stood there, lingering in the throbbing, pulsing, post orgasmic sensation, before it faded to the point where coherent thought became possible. Troy was picking himself up, and wiping himself off with the towel we’d brought down for the workout. “Please don’t tell anyone about that,” he said looking up at me, nervously. “Tell them about what?” I said, winking at him. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m starving,” I said. “How about you?” “I could eat,” he said, and the two of us thundered up the stairs to the kitchen. Troy stayed with me most of the day, but he left before my parents got home. He figured I’d have enough to explain without him being there and he was right. Did they freak? You betcha! But in the end they accepted me. What else could they do? They took me to see a doctor who looked over my chart as he looked me over and over and over. At one point the nurse brought in a step ladder so he could look in my ears. When he was done he said in a sagely tone, “I see from the school nurse you’ve been on steroids. You should stay away from them. They’re not good for you.” Then he prescribed post cycle therapy. And that was that. When I returned to school the next week, there was something of a commotion as you might guess. But, I figured they’d get used to me in time. The best part was Ralphie. I was 2 feet taller than him now and weighed 6 or 7 times as much, all of it raging, bulging, rippling muscle. Ha! My fucking right arm was bigger than his entire body. My gigantic, veiny bicep was bigger around than his puny torso! “So Ralphie,” I boomed, grinning evilly. “Want to talk about whose bigger now?” Guess what? He didn’t. Graduation came and Troy won his bet. Of course he did, I was way bigger than Ralphie, Simon and all three jocks put together! One dollar. That’s right, this whole thing had been about one dollar. Fuck. I saw a lot of Troy that summer. We did a lot of… experimenting. In between, he taught me a thing or two about wresting. Troy really seemed impressed with my size and power. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t get some of the blue shit for himself. But since I kind of liked being the gigantic one, I never really suggested it to him. And in the autumn, we went our separate ways to separate schools at separate ends of the country. I fully expected to never see him again. Thanks to his training and my ridiculous size, I got on the collage wresting team. But they had trouble matching me with opponents. Finally they lined up a match for me. I couldn’t wait to meet this other behemoth. I showed up at the gym was looking around when suddenly I felt this huge hand on my massive shoulder. I turned around and there stood a man every bit as gigantic and bulging with massive muscles as I was. That monstrous body was a stranger to me, but not the face that sat on top of it. “How ya doin’, Maggot,” said Troy. “I hope you brought your A game.” THE END

“Please, Mr. Stevens, fuck me now,” Bruiser said out of nowhere. “If I don’t pop soon I’m going to explode.” It was clear the man was so ready to bust a major wad that he did not wish to wait even one more second. It was also clear by the purple color of his balls that Bruiser was using all of his remaining strength to not spurt buckets of cum. Bud Stevens could never pass up helping a man in need – it was partly because he was a good guy, but mostly because he was now so fucking strong that he had nothing to fear and could do almost anything. He also dearly wanted to plow the big muscleman - something awful. He figured the huge fireman could take more of a pounding than any other guy around – and Bud wanted to pound hard. He walked over to Bruiser, grabbed him at both sides of the waist, and lifted the large man into the air – as if he were as light as a small pillow. Bud teasingly brought Bruiser’s tight balls to his face and rubbed them against his bristly beard. The fireman moaned out loud and then began to plead. “No, please sir, not yet! I want to hold on longer. Hoisting me up is one thing, but please don’t tease me with your beard!” screamed Bruiser. “You’ve never been picked up before, have you, Bruiser?” Bud asked, pulling the man’s body away from his face. “No sir,” the man replied, “I’ve always been too big.” “Too big? Damn, son, you’re small. Well, you’re pretty small compared to me, boy,” Bud answered. “And you’re very light. Here, let’s lift your body with just one hand.” My huge muscleman tossed Bruiser’s body in the air and then let his ass come down on Bud’s upturned right palm. He then quickly pressed what anyone would say was a large man into the air – easily. The strength from Bud was mind-blowing to the other dude – he squirted out a big gob of pre-cum and it dripped down to the floor. It was pretty clear that Bruiser was about to lose his battle with his cock – and Bud didn’t want that to happen – not yet, anyway. He stopped pressing the big man up and down and just held him at shoulder height. Bruiser was breathing loudly out his mouth – like a woman giving birth. He really did not want to explode. “Hey Rogers,” Bud yelled. “Tell me something I should know about plowing your husband.” “He likes it hard and fast, sir,” Rogers quickly replied. “I can never thrust hard enough or fast enough for him. But be careful, he screams louder than the engine’s siren.” “Damn, that statement almost made me lose a load, myself,” Bud responded. “Is it okay with you Rogers if I give your big man his wish. It would also give me great pleasure.” “He’s all yours, sir,” Rogers said as he started pumping his own huge cock in anticipation. “I’d like him to have a pounding he’ll never forget.” “How about it, Bruiser,” Bud said, “you want me to air fuck you so hard that you’ll remember me for the rest of your life every time you sit down. It would make me happy to plow you and never let your feet touch the ground. That would thrill you, wouldn’t it, stud?” “Aw fuck, yes sir,” Bruiser replied, throwing his head back and letting out a cowboy-like yell. The guy was clearly ready to ride the big bucking bronco that was easily holding him in the air with one hand. “We just can’t kiss, sir. I save my lips only for my husband.” “I so respect that, Bruiser. Not to worry, there’s really only one thing I’m interested in attacking and I believe it’s going to be a lot tighter than your mouth. How about we make you do some screaming?” Bud responded. Bud then dropped the big fireman and caught him again at the waist. There was no way Bruiser’s feet were going to hit the ground – not for a while. Mr. Stevens wanted to plow and there was going to be absolutely nothing stopping him. Without even realizing it, I had grabbed my own hard meat and was standing ready for the show. Rogers was beside me and I could hear him grunting with anticipation, too. It seemed both of us had a ringside seat for the fun. “You might feel a little pain at first…” Bud started, but was interrupted. “Good!” shouted Bruiser as he waited for the invasion. “I like the pain, sir!” “Damn, son, by the sound of it I might get to use a lot more of my strength than I’ve used in a while,” Bud replied. “Since I got huge I’ve only plowed a big UPS man and the engine of a car I folded up with my own hands. I had to be kind of careful with both of those. I thinking it is going to be different with you, though.” “He can take it, sir!” Rogers exclaimed, “I promise.” “Then what the hell am I waiting for?” Bud said, lining Bruiser’s ass above his rock-hard bigger-than-life cock. If there had been a contest as to who was most satisfied during what happened next, it would have surely been a tie. The senior muscleman of steel did not ease his giant cock into the waiting ass of the big fireman – he literally slammed Bruiser’s body down the full length of his mega shaft with one powerful thrust. It was clear that the guy’s ass was super tight, but there was so much strength in Bud’s arms that penetrating the dude’s hole was a piece of cake. The thrill it gave to both men, however, was something neither of them could have anticipated. For a few minutes my big lover did not have to worry about his power – he didn’t have to curb his strength because of how weak other mortal men could be. He somehow knew that the muscular fireman, the guy who had been begging to be super plowed just minutes ago – would be able, and willing, to take his full giant rod in the ass with one super thrust. He had been right, of course, because the intensely loud cry that shot out of Bruiser’s mouth clearly registered a mixture of pain and sweet joyous satisfaction. I have no idea how the guy opened himself for the tree-trunk sized rod of Mr. Stevens, but the proof was in the fact that my big man’s balls smacked up against the fireman’s ass when the cock was rammed completely in. Bruiser’s face quickly turned to deep pleasure and he started howling like some kind of cowboy on the rodeo circuit. “Damn, that feels real nice, Bruiser,” Bud said, forcing his cock even deeper into the fireman. The happiness he felt seemed to make my senior muscleman swell up even bigger. I was scared at any moment I was going to hear his skin ripping because the bulges were so monstrous. The joy of fucking was pumping much more than just the big man’s cock – his body was popping bigger than ever. His pecs ballooned so much they looked like a giant resting place for his chin. By now his arms were so massive that they made the big fireman look small as he held him. I had a feeling Bruiser was about to get the ride of his life. The dude was looking at Bud’s monster guns and almost loving the sight more than the intense plowing he was getting below. “Little Bruiser likes my strength, doesn’t he?” asked Bud. “Fuck yeah!” exclaimed the fireman and then he quickly added, “Sir!” “It’s okay, son,” Stevens said with a chuckle, “there’s no need to be so formal since we’re now so intimate. Feeling stuffed, aren’t you, bub?” “Completely,” Bruiser replied – squeezing his cheeks tight, knowing it pleased the big man holding him. “Let’s show you a little more of my power, son” Bud said, looking over at me and winking. “This is for you, Connor.” The big man let go of Bruiser at the waist and moved his humongous arms up behind his head – so his monstrous biceps ballooned menacingly. The fireman’s body stayed completely upright – impaled by Bud’s powerful cock. All of Bruiser’s weight couldn’t make the rod bend at all – he just stayed there moaning loudly as he sank even lower on the huge man’s pole. Then Bud started flexing his cock – causing the smaller man to start breathing heavier – feeling the meat swell inside of him. That’s also when I started seeing Bruiser’s body moving perpendicular to the massive muscle mountain holding it in the air. Bud was forcing his cock to go down and the other man’s body could only do the bidding of the cock. Soon, the fireman was sticking straight out from Bud’s crotch – like some kind of dick-warmer wrapped around the thick pole. Bud forced his cock to go even lower and I noticed Bruiser slowly begin to slide off the huge shaft. Just when I thought he might fall, Bud snapped his cock back upward, carrying Bruisers body with it and forcing the man to slide back down the full length. This caused the fireman to holler like a high school cheerleader at a pep rally. Once Bruiser slammed back down to the base of the giant cock, Bud did the same thing again – giving much pleasure to the smaller man. “Look ma,” Bud said, teasingly, “no hands.” I could hear the two hands of Rogers – standing beside me – busily stroking his massive piece of meat while he watched the show. Seeing his big husband being manhandled by nothing but a large cock was probably too much for the guy. My big senior lover was controlling Bruiser with just his powerful rod. It was almost too much for me to handle. The sounds coming out of both firemen made it very clear that this was a muscle show they never dreamed would happen. From the deep grunts coming from the man beside me it was clear he wouldn’t make it much longer before popping – and popping hard. “Please, sir, go full throttle,” requested Bruiser, as he took a break from his loud moans. “Can’t son,” Bud responded, “If I tore into you with all my strength you’d end up just a wet spot and some bone dust. I could crush you so easily it would feel like crumbling up a dead leaf. Not to worry, though, dude. I’m going to give you a ride you’ll never forget and I can guarantee it’s going to give me a hell of a lot of pleasure, too! I’ll make sure of that. I’m afraid you’re gonna go so fast, though, that it will take a few hours for your head to stop spinning. You ready to rock and roll, little guy?” “Hell yes, sir!” Bruiser said joyously. “I like it rough.” “I’ll show you rough, boy,” Bud replied. The big man grabbed Bruiser at the hips again. He started jerking the guy up and down his large shaft, slowly at first and then picking up speed. The fireman’s moans got even louder. I watched in amazement as Bud’s massive arms started powering the guy up and down so fast that he became a blur – like a speeding car zooming past me as I stood on the side of the road. I could only see a fuzzy blob going up and down. “It must feel like a giant-sized jackhammer is fucking him,” I said to no one in particular. Bruiser’s moans quickly turned into something akin to a baby’s gurgle. I’m sure the dude was in seventh heaven from the speed at which he was being rammed. I had the feeling there were some airplanes that travelled slower than how fast the big guy was going up and down. I was shocked that Bruiser was able to hold out from shooting for so long. He had said he liked it rough and he had not been kidding. I knew my giant boyfriend could bring down buildings with his cock, but the fireman was proving to be a lot tougher than I thought. Meanwhile, Bud powered Bruiser up and down as if the big guy weighed nothing. It was like he was just shaking a protein drink or something. I could tell from sonic grunts of joy coming from my big lover that he was getting close to explosion. I sure hoped he held on to Bruiser because I got the feeling his ejaculation could send the dude sailing across the station and through the wall. I had to admit that the thought really turned me on. “Hold on to the man, Bud,” I warned, “Don’t put him in the hospital because he shot off your rod like a rocket.” “Not to worry, pretty Connor. I’m going to fill him up to the top. This dude can really take a beating,” Bud responded. I didn’t think it was possible for a guy to be plowed so hard and so fast – and I knew Bud wasn’t even using a fraction of his full strength. At the top speed Bud could use – and not hurt the guy – Bruiser became merely colored light zooming up and down. The guy was now silent – clearly so satisfied that no sound would have come close to expressing what he felt. He simply enjoyed the ride and concentrated hard so as to not cum too soon. I knew, however, that the build up inside of him would soon be too powerful for even Superman. Finally, the fireman could take no more. I could sense his ass cheeks tightening around Bud’s cock and my big senior boyfriend stopped the super pumping of his arms and slammed Bruiser’s ass fully down on his cock and waited – for the room to stop spinning in the fireman’s head and for his powerful release. “Here it comes, boys,” Bud yelled, “The guy’s going to explode like the finale of a huge fireworks show. There she blows and she’s gonna blow hard!” Bruiser threw his head back, his eyes closed tightly, and then let out the loudest yell I’ve ever heard emitted from a grown men. I had a feeling dogs were barking in response for a ten-mile radius. I actually had to cover my ears. And then it was like someone had untapped a fire hydrant – excuse the pun since he was a fireman. I haven’t ever seen a guy unload a full wad like the one that erupted from the fireman’s cock. It spewed up into the air and rained down everywhere – all over Bud’s tensed body, all over Bruiser, and all over the area around them. If we had been in a normal room the ceiling would have been covered in the man’s juice. I didn’t know one guy could produce so much semen, but then most guys weren’t rammed with super speed and super power from a senior muscle god. It was clear by the giant smile on his face that Bud Stevens was proud of the fireman’s ejaculation. “Damn, son, it’s like someone burst a dam! Well, I guess I kind of did, didn’t I?” exclaimed Bud in a low growling voice that made it clear he was about to explode, too. “Your sweet ass is tightening up like some kind of vice grip. That’s going to make this old man spew something fierce. Hold on to your hat, fella, it’s going to feel like someone untapped a tsunami inside of you!” For the second time that day I swear it seemed like Bud Stevens grew bigger right before my eyes. Suddenly, all of his massiveness seemed to swell even more monstrous than mere seconds earlier. I knew his body was preparing for a volcanic-sized eruption, but I had no idea the mounting pressure would make him grow. It was probably just my imagination – his beauty increasing tenfold as he neared his pleasure moment. I hoped to high heaven that the big man held on to Bruiser’s body because I was still scared the fireman would go shooting off like a rocket from the power of Bud’s ejaculation. The older man’s giant arms tensed majestically as he pulled the smaller man down even more snug on his giant rod. Bud’s huge chest then ballooned up with a big gasp and then every ounce of power in the man’s body seemed to go rushing to his crotch. My elder lover blasted a load of cum into the smaller man’s body with so much force that Bruiser’s eyes shot open and then rolled back into his head with such pleasure I knew could never be anticipated or explained. Both men were joined together by one incredible explosion that I swear shook the entire fire station. Bud’s monster-like bellow seemed to make all other sounds in the room stop in fear. It was clear, by the second major old man-juice injection that Bruiser had passed out – obviously satisfied beyond his wildest dreams. A huge smile streaked across his face and his hands still rested on Mr. Steven’s mammoth guns. I lost count after ten gushing thrusts from Bud’s crotch and got quite dizzy from withholding my own release – I was saving it for my man. That’s when I noticed that there wasn’t any sound or movement coming from Rogers – standing beside me. I looked over and saw that he was standing stock still like a statue and his face seemed to be turning a little blue. I immediately realized he was somehow frozen right at the point of orgasm. I could only think that the excitement was too much for him. His giant cock was sticking out like a cannon ready to be ignited. The pressure in the thing must have been close to unbearable. “Um . . . Bud, it looks like Rogers could use your help,” I said quickly. “Man, the dude is turning purple. It looks like there’s a problem with the plumbing in his giant hose,” Bud said. “I can fix that easily. He just needs something powerful to unclog that massive rod.” With the big Bruiser still impaled on his rock-hard, tree-sized cock, Bud walked over to where Rogers was doing his forced imitation of a statue in a museum. The fireman with the large cock looked like he was about to have a heart attack from the lack of release – clearly there was an enormous amount of cum waiting to be spewed. Bud knew just what to do to clear the blockage. He inhaled deeply, bent down, placed his mouth over the fireman’s mouth and exhaled with a strong burst of air. I watched as Rogers’ chest immediately expanded and then his cannon-sized cock followed – growing bigger from the blast of air and immediately shooting off like a bazooka. Bud’s breath put so much power behind the guy’s orgasm that his first blast of cum rocketed across the huge room and smacked into the metal door of a cabinet, twenty feet away. The noise was louder than Bud’s grunts or Bruiser’s earlier appreciative moans and I nearly lost my own building load when I saw that the force behind the ejaculation actually dented the metal. The second blast made the door cave in a little more. Bud’s breath was making the smaller fireman’s body turn into something like a cum rocket launcher. As Rogers’ cock dumped what seemed like a tub full of juice the guy started kissing Mr. Stevens back as if his life depended on it. It was like my elder boyfriend was the fireman’s life support. I knew just how he felt. As soon as the guy’s cock was completely empty and his stomach had stopped pumping like some kind of mega machine, the fireman looked up at Bud, pulled his lips away, mouthed a big thank you, and then crumpled into a passed-out pile on the floor. “I guess sometimes a kiss isn’t just a kiss, huh Connor?” Bud said, looking over at me. “Did you like how a little puff from my big body turned his giant cock into some kind of missile launcher? Look at how his cum busted up that cabinet. Pretty cool, huh?” I was so ready to explode myself that all I could do was nod my head up and down. Any other movement would have sent me off like a time bomb. Bud reached down and pulled the unconscious muscled Bruiser off of his cock and then placed him lovingly on the floor next to his husband. As soon as they felt the warmth of each other’s bodies the two firemen curled into each other’s arms – even though they were both completely out. Even in my desperate need for release I smiled when I saw the hunky Bruiser pull the smaller Rogers into his arms and then begin to suck on one of his thumbs. Old man Stevens had clearly satisfied the guy so much that he was returning to some childlike state of pure happiness. Seeing the married men resting in Bud Stevens’ heaven was beautiful. Meanwhile, the big man was standing there lifting his arms up and down like he was curling a barbell – making his massive globular vein covered biceps pump up to insane proportions. “Hey little Connor-babe, did you see how these huge guns pumped big Bruiser up and down on my cock so fast he became only a flash of colored lightning,” Bud said, clearly having a moment of self-adulation. “His big body was so light that it was a breeze to rocket him up and down my hard shaft. Damn, I got to use more of my strength fucking him than I ever thought possible. That big man could take the kind of pounding I long to offer. And knowing it turned you on little man made it even more exciting. And what about my super breath making Rogers shoot off like some kind of powerful missile? That was hot, huh? Look at what he did to that metal cabinet over there! He dented the door in just from me adding a super blast behind his orgasm. Man, that was fucking hot, wasn’t it, my little lover?” The lack of an immediate response and the sound of a pitiful whimper from my body made the big man look up from his massive arms. He had been so wrapped up at staring at his bulging muscles that he had not noticed how desperately I needed release. I had been a good little muscle-worshipping lover and saved my own orgasm for the man, but he had been too excited about all he had done to notice. I immediately saw that Bud was embarrassed and angry with himself for not noticing. That warmed my heart considerably, but all of my strength was being used to prevent my cock from spewing – hearing the man talk about his feats of strength and watching him gaze at his own muscles was proving to be almost too much. Suddenly, I was scooped up in the man’s arms and he was apologizing profusely. “Oh babe, I’m so sorry,” Bud said as he lifted me into the air. “You’ve been a good boy and saved your juice for me and I haven’t even noticed. You made it through all the fun with the firemen and the massive cum explosions. I may be strong as hell, but you’re the superhero. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to hold out that long. Here, let me give you the kind of relief that makes your toes curl!” Bud Stevens held me at the waist and pulled my crotch toward his face. He opened his warm wet mouth and plopped my raging hard-on into the waiting cavity. As soon as his lips clamped down on my throbbing rod the big man inhaled slowly like a super vacuum on its highest level. It wasn’t a quick slurp – Bud could make the suction last as long as he wanted and it was immediately clear that he wanted to drain me with one long powerful sucking. As soon as I started blasting my cum into his mouth it felt like I was going to be turned inside out by him pulling all of my organs out through my cock. He didn’t stop for even a second. I didn’t orgasm in spurts – like a normal guy – it was, instead, a long continuous explosion that meticulously drained my body of every ounce of cum it could have possibly churned out during recent events. Not only did my toes curl up in tensed ecstatic pleasure, my entire body became so rigid I’m sure it felt like I had become instantly petrified. Bud sucked slowly and powerfully – knowing the kind of magnified sexual gratification it would give. The huge man didn’t need air in the same way as normal human beings, so he could continue his powerful drain of my body as long as he wanted. From the moans of happy enjoyment he was emitting I realized his actions were pleasing him as much as me. I had no control over anything - either what he was doing or how my body was reacting. I was completely under the spell of his powerful mouth and we both loved it that way. I kept thinking I was surely out of cum but then my body would somehow find more to blast down the big man’s throat. It wasn’t until near the end of my drawn-out orgasm that I realized I had been screaming in pure sexual bliss the entire time. All I had been able to focus on was the powerful suction from the muscle man’s mouth. I was also busy re-living all the things Bud had done that day in my mind – dragging a tree a few yards so I could have some shade, lifting an entire fire engine like it weighed nothing, and playing around with twenty big firemen like they had been mere dolls for his pleasure. It became very clear to me that I was going to join the unconscious firemen in a Bud Stevens induced sleep as soon as my body was drained of every drop of cum. I didn’t mind. I was in the arms of my huge boyfriend and he loved me with a ferocity that not only gave much security – it made me only think about pleasing him. Bud wanted me to find strength feats for him to do to make me happy and I was beginning to realize I was the right guy for the job. I wanted my giant senior muscleman to be so satisfied from pleasing me that he was happy beyond belief, too. As my head fell back and my eyes began to close I reached down and rested my hands on the sides of Bud’s face – caressing his cheeks lovingly. It was my sign to him that I was totally spent and extremely satisfied. His own moans of pleasure increased as he sucked in a few last drops to signal that he felt the same way. That’s when I finally chose to pass out.

Previous chapter: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster Chapter 16: Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After Casey’s first workout demonstration for The Nineteen that afternoon promised to be brutal – and awesome - as he had hoped it would be. He knew he would love every moment of it. He knew it would almost make up for the confusion and fear he had felt the night before. He would be as strong as a god, sailing through every lift, every rep, every set with strength he didn’t know he had. Almost make up for it. Not quite. But maybe afterwards, he could pose for them? Just a little? In the locker room, alone, and about to go before these crazy huge guys once again, he ruminated. He was, if he admitted it to himself, not a little leery about these guys. After all, he had a big black eye. And just about 12 hours ago, thick, creamy jets of cum had shot from18 firehose cocks and plopped down on him while he lay tangled in a sweaty muscle mass mess with Karim Abdul, both of them with swelling black eyes and bloody noses. Kind of a strange introduction to the world of supreme muscle he had been looking forward to for two years – and had been fantasizing about for far longer. “I wonder what Miles would say,” he thought to himself. He had glanced at his black eye in the mirror in the locker room. It was fully open, not bloodshot, just rimmed with black and blue. Not too bad. Actually, it looked fucking hot. He quickly did a side chest. Bam. Nips high. Rivers of striations. Yeah. Lookin good. He was hot. He knew it, too. Or, rather, was beginning to know it. He found his old sweats, thoughtfully hanging up and waiting for him in a large locker with his name on it, which he assumed was his. He noted that the lockers themselves were almost like storage units, not the shameful, small individual skinny things most gyms had. He looked up, slightly startled. Musclemen Gunst and Obatu were suddenly there at the end of the locker row, waiting for them. At first he barely noticed what they were wearing. But then he saw. “What the fuck?” “You ready?” “Uh. Yeah.” “Let’s go, then.” He stripped down fast, found his old jock in the locker, and grabbing his huge cock and balls, shoveled his heavy machine into the pouch. As always, it sagged heavily, groaning softly from the weight of his manhood. He glanced down the row. Gunst and Obatu were blankfaced. Casey threw his sweats on. “Now?” “…..yeah.” Casey slammed the door and waddled towards them, throwing a bathsheet towel over his broad shoulders. “Let’s go lift.” Gunst and Obatu brought Casey onto the workout floor. All of the musclemen in the squad were in attendance, naturally wanting to see how much weight the pretty muscle boy Casey could handle. After all, he may be huge, and all realized he was pretty fucking strong in the ring. He could move fast, and his mandatory poses last night were impressive. But could the dude lift? Could he train?? Dr. Irving stood by with the video camera, fussily taking his precise notes. And Zaftig was there, of course, hanging back, saying nothing, just watching, watching. And now, at least, Casey could remember the dude’s name. Dr. Zaftig. After all, this was the dude who was going to make him huge. He nodded shyly to him. “Good afternoon, Dr. Zaftig.” “Good afternoon, Casey. Welcome to Valhalla.” “Thank you…” “Let’s get going, Casey,” said Sergeant Moster. “You’re keeping us waiting. Again.” “I’m sorry,” Casey said. Moster frowned. No signs of reaction to all the White Caps swimming around in his bloodstream. There were, inevitably, more moments of muscle awkwardness to be had first. First off, Casey was entirely unprepared for the men’s workout gear. His usual workout clothes fully covered him, a ripped and worn outfit of dirty, sweaty baggies, a sloppy oversized sweatshirt that seemed to have been made for a man of 600 pounds, and full-length sweatpants, ragged and much the worse for wear. Even in these baggies, his bulge loomed heavily, swaying from side to side as he came onto the floor. Moster had changed into his full-dress spotlessly clean green uniform slacks, boots, and a skin-tight regulation t-shirt. His mammoth black muscles gleamed with ferocious power, and his crisp, clinging t-shirt outlined every peak, valley, cut, bulge, thick vein and crevice of his astonishing physique. Casey tried not to stare at him. He was oddly drawn to this black mountain of muscle. “I wanna be as big as you someday,” he said softly to himself. The squad, on the other hand, he nervously noted, were all dressed in White Cap Night Valhalla regulation gym gear: ripped, torn and ragged wife-beaters with muscles bulging every which way. Dripping sweat, muscles red and inflamed, their workouts over. No shorts, Army boots, heavy cable socks, and sweaty, swollen, looming Army-green mesh jocks. Bulging packages protruded, looming cocks, also swaying heavily with each muscleman movement, all around the gym floor. “This is how you guys dress to work out?” asked Casey timidly. Okay, so it was still weird. His question was ignored. There was a lot of barely sheathed bulging heavy duty muscleman dick on this gym floor. His own was more modestly covered. If just as bulging. And just as evident. And no one’s on the floor appeared to be as big as Moster’s. Once again he stared for a moment at the man’s obviously huge, looming penis, outlined clearly in his green trousers. He could see the penis corona, even the deep piss slit through the thick dark khaki fabric. Moster sure wasn’t ashamed of his cock. So maybe Casey shouldn’t be ashamed, either. And what Casey couldn’t know is that the men, just having finished their workouts, were delaying their shower sports. White Caps racing in their bloodstreams. And holding back. Not 10 minutes before Moster had sternly separated Blankenship and Lang from some foreplay, giving each man a quick spanking on their bare bottoms before all the other men. Afterward Alvarez pulled Lang back and eyed him dangerously. There would be words between them tonight. Lang was staring at the floor. Blankenship, of course, was grinning. Toothlessly. “How about starting off with some incline flyes?” said Moster. “You need a warm-up set?” “I wanna stretch first,” said Casey. Miles had always taught him the necessity of proper technique. Light warm-ups were part of that, though once he actually started lifting, what constituted a warm-up for Casey might be a final blasted set for another man. “Always smart.” The men stood watching Casey intently. “Don’t you guys wanna go workout somewhere?” he blurted out. “We’re done,” said Alvarez. “We’re waiting for you.” Abdul was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Tiffany was smiling sweetly, butter not melting in his mouth. Schumacher was blank-faced, and all the scarier for it. The others were intent, if blank-faced. Even Hension, whose thoughts were usually betrayed on his handsome face, wasn’t reacting much. He just was staring. They were all staring. Casey shuffled off to a corner of the Marley mat and began his stretch routine, arms swinging, legs kicking, gentle but firm. The men watched him. “He’s bow-legged!” whispered Hension. Loudly. “Yes, we see that,” said Alvarez, mocking the whisper. “I think that’s so hot….!” Casey heard a resounding smack! echoing through the room. “Ow!” Someone had hit Hension again. Casey, his face turned away, had to smile. Apparently the pretty boy got hit a lot. “Um. This takes 20 minutes,” Casey said. Suddenly he didn’t care what they thought. He was going to stretch. He started torso turns, his hands behind his head. Moster spoke. “Casey, we don’t have all day.” Casey turned back to him and repeated himself firmly. “This takes 20 minutes. I stretch for 20 minutes. If you don’t want to watch, don’t.” And he turned back, cupping his big hands together, continuing his torso turns. Moster smiled slightly. Good. The White Caps had obviously kicked in after all. It seems Casey required more White Caps for an effect, and the societal restrictions weren’t so easily abandoned. But the boy was asserting himself, and quite naturally. Zaftig was suddenly next to Moster. “He’s not so easily bullied,” he whispered. “Not like your other men. You won’t have your way with him so easily.” “You don’t think so?” “No, I don’t.” “Well, we’ll see, then, won’t we?” Zaftig frowned. Clearly, Moster wasn’t concerned about Casey digging in his heels at his first workout, doing it his way, defying the Sergeant. “What do you know?” Zaftig hissed at Moster. Moster, never taking his eyes off the teen muscle giant now doing rapid pushups, turned to Zaftig, laid his cards on the table. “The kid has never been worshipped before. He wants it, he needs it. He needs someone to tell him how amazing he is. And he needs musclesex. Badly. He doesn’t know how much.” “I see. It’s your musclesex thing again. Goddammit, Sergeant. This project is about youth and strength and creating the most fearsome army the planet has ever seen. It’s not about sex. It never was. It was about creating the perfect physical specimen. The most extraordinary physiques the world has ever known.” Moster smiled sardonically. “You’ve forgotten, Dr. Zaftig, or perhaps you never knew. Even when you were a young man. Were you ever young?” Zaftig smiled. “Amazing to consider, isn’t it?” Moster continued. “Everything for men is about sex. And bodybuilders? Even more so. And for these bodybuilders? All that times about 200. 500. All these guys want is to be admired. Worshipped. Sucked off. Felt up. Fuck. And, I might add, get fucked. Train, lift, eat, sleep, shit, fight, suck, get sucked, fuck, train some more, fight some more, fuck some more, suck some more, eat, shit, sleep. And,” he added sweetly, “…that’s about it.” “Fuck you, Sergeant.” But now Zaftig was smiling. He knew there was more to it. Wasn’t there? Moster sighed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Zaftig. But that’s what you’ve created here. Millions of dollars poured into fucking machines. But look at the bright side.” He leaned in. “It’s going to make you millions, as well. All of us.” “I already have millions. I don’t care.” “Well, I don’t, and I do.” “By the way, how did the boy get that black eye?” “Looks pretty hot, don’t it?” “Less than 24 hours in the compound and already someone’s slugged him.” “Don’t look too closely at Abdul or Blankenship.” Zaftig glanced over at Abdul, sporting a shiner of his own, and noted the missing teeth of the blond bomber beauty Blankenship. Zaftig groaned inwardly. Another trip to the dentist. He hated having to take the men off the mountain. But there was a dentist in San Jose who fixed up the men regularly, regular hygiene, capping, replaced teeth, crowns, implants, the works, and charged nothing, content merely with big biceps flexed in his face while he sat in the chair playing with his tiny dentist dick. Then, Moster to Casey, “You about done there, boy?” “No, sir.” “All right, then.” The men were getting restless, shifting from foot to foot, now staring at Zaftig and the ever-cool Moster. Alvarez was the only man on the squad who seemed calm and in control of himself. A fact not unnoticed by Moster. Or Casey, for that matter, now secretly watching all this play out for himself. He was beginning to catch on that there was even more to these big dudes than just training, taking this crazy drug, and spanking their monkeys. “Men, time for some biceps curls,” Moster announced. “All of you go do 15 sets of light reps. 25 reps per set per arm. No ball busting, now. Get to it. No more than 25 pounds. I mean it.” He turned back and smiled at Casey. “We’ll wait until The Boy is ready.” Okay, so he was The Boy again. Zaftig wasn’t done. “In a few months the Joint Chiefs will be here for review. I want Casey ready and I want the men at their sharpest, and no funny business. Intensify their training.” He turned away. “You leaving?” Zaftig turned back. “Hell, no” he smiled. “I want to see my latest boy wipe your men all over the floor. Maybe you’ll listen to me then.” Moster nodded. Inwardly he had to admit he respected Zaftig deeply. The man may have been a puny genius with no body, but he wasn’t dishonest, and he was clearly unafraid of Moster. He had no personal need for muscle worship, and never bothered the men. He was, at the end of the day, a partner Moster could trust, if never take advantage of. He admired that. Moreover, Zaftig had never indicated another other than scientific curiosity about Moster’s treetrunk tool. That was a plus on his side, too. Moster turned to Casey and called out. “Okay, you’re done,” he said, brooking no denial. “What’s your starting weight for inclines?” “Um…..180?” Hension, 20 feet away and now doing the ordered biceps curls, stared at Casey. “Damn!” he squeaked. He put the dumbbell down and scratched his barely covered balls. “180?? To start?” Casey looked away, trying not to notice. That boy certainly was pretty. A perfect face. Without realizing it, Casey licked his lips, staring a little at Hension, who, gawking at the muscle monster, inadvertently smiled back, absently scratching his balls. The exchange did not go unnoticed. Lang nudged Alvarez, who nodded sagely. “180 it is. Let’s see what you got.” Moster strode to the bench, grabbed two 180-pound dumbbells as if they were sacks of feathers, and handed them to Casey. Casey took them without a blink, two sacks of feathers. And so the workout began. One by one, the men re-racked their light weights, approached the bench where the giant Casey lay, ready to lift. Casey’s perfect technique was evident from the start. He smoothly lowered his huge bulk onto an incline bench. He raised his arms into position, the two dumbbells easily held aloft overhead. In no time he reeled off twenty reps of perfectly calibrated incline flyes, then peeling off into overhead presses, gently touching the dumbbells one another, then down to the tips of his big brown nipples, outlined in his oversized sweats. His chest bloomed, rivers of sweaty muscle flowed, the pumped pecs seemed to reach to the ceiling as he pumped. “Pow, pow, pow, pow,” he breathed to himself with each rep. Light stains of pec milk appeared on his sweats. “Wow….” breathed Hension. “Do you see that??” “What’s next?” “Do it again.” “Okay.” He reeled off another set. The men watched him stonily, now all gathered around the bench. More pec milk appeared. “Now?” “Do another.” “Sure.” He did another set. Finishing, he clanged the weights to the floor. “Can I work with something heavy now?” Moster smiled. The White Caps had taken effect. He shot a look over at Zaftig, who merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Certainly, boy. Take it to 220.” So he was still Boy. “Anyone have gloves?” “Sure, Case!” Lang reached into his bag and tossed a pair to Casey. Casey smiled a little, hearing Lang call him by the same nickname the cadets down the mountain did. “Thanks.” He caught the gloves and slipped them on. Everyone was watching now. The red light of the video cam continued to blink. Standing next to Lang, Alvarez was blank-faced, but not unapproving. In the corner, Dr. Zaftig now had his head tilted back, musing. This boy will go the limit, he thought. No matter what Moster says about what the men really want. This boy is different. He’s pure muscle, and nothing else. No, that was not right. He was muscle, cock, and butt. This boy would be worth millions. And very, very soon. An uncommon sex machine of the first power. Innocent Casey, unaware of the plans being made around him, rose, took the two 180 pound dumbbells, and re-racked them, two sacks of feathers back to the their featherbed. He strode down the line and grabbed two 220s, returned to the incline, lowered his bulk, and reeled off another set of 20 reps, grunting loudly and blowing out air with each rep. More milk flecks appeared on his shirt. He blew sweat and spit, began to groan mightily. “ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh….” When he was finished he set the dumbbells down gently on the marley floor, and looked up at Moster. Absently he wiped the milk away from his nipples with thumb and forefinger. “Nicely done, boy,” said Moster. He spoke loudly to the group. “Notice that Casey does not drop the weights.” He looked pointedly at Jin, who was famous for throwing the weights to the floor after the punishing final set of any lift he did, excepting squats – where he re-racked as noisily as possible, all while screaming. Jin looked back, defiant. “Why do you do it that way, boy?” Casey shrugged. “Way that Miles taught me, I guess. It’s harder.” “Miles?” “Miles Donovan, Raw Weight Gym.” So that was it, thought Gunst. Miles Donovan. He should have known. Donovan was a biceps freak, and hosted many others in his gym, taking their pay-offs for private posing from men who liked to blast big guns in the faces of the hapless, endlessly paying schmoes. No doubt Casey had been a major revenue stream for the notorious Donovan gym, he reasoned to himself. Of course he had to have huge guns. Miles would have seen to it. Blankenship grinned, a front tooth missing and looking all the hotter for it. “Yeah, makes sense, he came from that old horn dog Donovan’s gym. You worked out on the 3rd floor yet?” Casey looked at Blankenship a little blankly. “Um. No.” Obatu spoke up. “Casey is still too young and green for the 3rd floor. Besides, he has been training at the cadet gym down the mountain for the last several months. Haven’t you, Casey?” “Yeah, I guess. What’s next?” “You flat bench?” “Sure. How much weight?” “Let’s see what you can do.” The squad backed away a little as Casey, gripping each elbow and stretching his arms over his head, walked towards a row of flat benches. Gunst despaired a little. He was wrong. Casey wasn’t posing and being paid for it at Donovan’s. Which meant he’d built those mountainous biceps on his own. “Lose the shirt!” squawked Hension. “I want to see your nips milk!” “’Kay,” said Casey. He stopped, slipping out of his sweatshirt, folding it up carefully. Underneath he wore a baggy green t-shirt, which may probably have been at one time a pup tent. “My nipples always make a little milk when I train,” he explained. “See?” He reached under his soaked t-shirt to a nipple, gathered some white liquid, held out a finger dripping with milk droplets. “But it looks like I’m making a little more today.” In spite of himself, Moster was touched by Casey’s innocent neatness with his sweatshirt. And his explanation. “T-shirt too,” said Waring. “Not yet,” said Casey. Moster’s eyebrow raised a little. He glanced over at Zaftig, who nodded. Good. Good. It was all good. The White Caps were claiming his ego. Casey was showing signs he could stand up on his own. “Load up a starting weight of 360 pounds,” directed Moster. “You can handle 300, can’t you, Casey?” “Sure, easy.” Casey laid his bulk down on the flat bench while Waring and Lang placed eight 45-pound plates on either end of the bar. He began to suck in air in preparation. “Hey, can someone wrap my elbows?” he suddenly asked. “Sure. Washington, grab some heavy wraps for Cadet Rockland. Get to it. The man has to lift.” He lifted the bar off the bench and began to bench, pumping his enormous pecs. Now he was working his hardest. He was now more determined than ever to fit in with these huge men. He was going to show them now. The workout continued. Flat bench, declines, more flyes. All pecs stuff. More milk. Throughout the workout Hension, Lang, Jin, Bogarde, Washington, Meyer, Waring, Duncan, Chad, and Corporal Blankenship were cheerful and approving. They howled their encouragement and counted the reps. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!" Throw the weights, Casey!” "Okay to throw them?" Casey asked Moster, holding 600 pounds aloft, just about to bring it down to his milky nipples. He was calm. "If the men want. This time. Throw it when you're done." "Okay." He finished pumping, and instead of reracking... Clang! Casey threw the weight on the floor, sat up, grabbed the plastic bottle and chugged a half-gallon of water. Water poured from the side of his mouth onto his shirt. The men whooped and hollered. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and strode forcefully to the next weight. Immediately the men were counting again. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!” Clang! Wipe. “YEAHHHH….!” And on it went for 45 minutes of grueling, punishing lifting. Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, LeFevre, and Alvarez and Private McIntyre seemed more reserved. Corporal Abdul just grunted. But he was impressed, in spite of himself. The boy was training harder than he had ever seen. His muscles were blooming, seeming to grow as he watched. Gunst was quiet and watchful. Zaftig was beaming with professional pride. Moster remained aloof and keenly observant. And all the while, Dr. Irving followed every move with the video cam. The cocksure little Private Joe Tiffany cheered him on just as loudly. Casey pretended not to see the evil glint in the muscleboy’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. He’d learned at the Home how to read signals. The Home…..hmmm. A memory appeared dimly, and, just as quickly, was gone. While resting between two punishing sets, Casey was still silently agog at the size of Moster’s muscles. Occasionally he found himself staring at the improbably large mound resting atop his CO’s left quad. The tip of the mound reached to just above the giant’s knee. He noted the other men seemed to be avoiding looking directly at Moster’s leg. Even though they all seemed to be sporting packages of similar size. Damn, their dicks are big, Casey thought. Are they real? And deep inside Casey, a little voice proudly squeaked…..”Wait until they see MINE…” Then he remembered – …..oh yeah.... They’d already seen it. And he had seen theirs, too. Sorta. Between his half-closed black eye. His hand went up, and he rubbed the black eye. Looked at Abdul, and his black eye. Adbul was smiling a little now. Not friendly, but hard - but still, a smile. Casey grinned wearily as he finally finished up with the last set of triceps pulldowns. Private Meyer, a big toothy grinning lighting up his handsome, beaming face, burst forward from the group, and pumped the newcomer’s hand. “Thanks,” said Casey. Meyer nodded enthusiastically. “He can’t hear you,” said Private Waring. Casey looked at Meyer, stricken for having forgotten that Meyer was a deaf mute. “It’s okay, he doesn’t mind.” Casey, touched, shook Meyer’s hand vigorously. Meyer shook his head cheerfully, touching his lips, and shrugged his shoulders to show that indeed he didn’t care that he couldn’t speak. Then he stepped back and proudly flexed his own powerful, round right biceps, smacking them with his left hand, and reached down to grab Casey’s wrists. He pulled his arms up encouragingly and Casey, getting the message, proudly brought his huge guns up and flexed mightily. “Mother fucker!” yelled Lang and Hension simultaneously. The men roared with laughter, and Casey colored a deep red, smiling sheepishly. Alvarez clamped that affectionate paw of his around Lang’s shoulders and hugged him close. But he looked worried. Something was on his mind. Behind them Hension eyed them both steadily, with longing. Meyer kept his hands on Casey’s obliques as if he was rotating his upper body for all to see. “It’s okay, plebe,” said Jin, laughing. “You’ll get to know us all.” While all through the devastating workout he had been stronger than he could ever remember, now he felt – well, almost frail – as if something, suddenly, was missing. “All right, men,” said Moster calmly. “Rec room in 15 minutes. Casey, shower up.” “Yes, sir.” “Men, file out. Casey, come here a moment first.” He glanced at the men, who leaned in, curious as to what Moster might be saying. “Well, Cadet Casey, it looks as if you’ve made it.” Moster spoke quietly. Casey looked up at him, and grinned wearily. “Thanks, Sergeant Moster.” The men gave him a round of applause, Casey noted that even Corporal Schumacher seemed to approve. He lowered his head, modestly grateful. Then Moster turned back to the group. They were still applauding. Casey was embarrassed, turning to go. He didn’t see Moster’s stone face shift into a slight smile. “Men, get dressed. Shower up. No play time. Get to it. I expect you all in uniform, neat and clean, in the rec room, in 10 minutes. Hop to it. Get a move on.” Then, to Casey, “Casey, use my private locker room to shower.” He pointed to a door across the floor. “You’ll find clean sweats in there. They’ll fit. Grab them after you shower. And no jerking off, boy.” Casey, embarrassed that Moster seemed to be reading his mind, nodded dumbly and headed to the door. He was worried again. He had only masturbated once today so far, and on a day like today, he needed a lot more….especially after that worship session with the cadets this morning. He was discovering….something….and his huge cock wanted to know more. But he went, dutifully, into the private locker room, showered, and changed into the clean sweats he found there. Before he left, he checked his guns and his pecs in the full length mirror. Flexing, he breathed to himself. “Damn. I’m fucking awesome.” And with the capsules still not in apparent full-force effect, dressed in baggy trunks and a clean, white light tee, he stumbled his way to the rec room. For what, he couldn’t tell. Probably more weirdness. But now, he was ready. Dr. Irving was there ahead of them all. He had set up chairs for all the bodybuilders in a semi-circle, with the inevitable video cam set up. There was a chair in the center, obviously meant for him. He glanced over at Moster, who nodded and gestured towards the chair. Casey waddled with his bodybuilder’s walk towards it slowly and sat. He looked around with anticipation. “So now what?” he asked. Zaftig took Moster aside. “This boy is gentle. We don’t want to break his spirit. He’s had a tough time and he just wants to make friends. Go easy on him.” Moster’s shoulders stiffened. The veins in his neck popped a little. He looked Zaftig dead in the eye, and said, “Being sweet to him now will kill him later. Is that what you want?” “No.” “Then let me handle it. I know what is best.” “Did you at least give him a capsule?” “Sure,” answered Moster. “He’ll be just fine.” “Doesn’t seem to have taken effect yet.” “He’s a big boy. Blood volume and all. It takes time.” “Fuck you, Moster.” Moster’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he knew not to protest. Zaftig was properly proud of his discovery. “You know fucking well that White Caps P-21 take effect immediately regardless of ‘blood volume’, if you want to put it that way.” “Dr. Zaftig, it’s my turn now.” “It’s always your turn.” Zaftig turned on his heel and left the rec room without further comment. Moster watched him go. The men were sitting impatiently. “All right, men. Let’s get to it.” He turned to Casey. “All right, Casey. Welcome. You’re one of the group now. We’re now….The Twenty.” “Yeah, baby!” “Bout fucking time.” “Tell him what that really means….” said Alvarez. “Spank him!” yelled Hension, and then, before Chad, sitting next to him, could swat him, he said, “Don’t you fucking hit me!” Chad did anyway. “Ow!” yelled Hension. Casey chuckled. “That’s gotta hurt. These dudes seem to hit you a lot.” “You will too, in time,” said Waring. “What did …he….”….um…” “Alvarez,” said Alvarez. “What did Alvarez – sorry – mean – when he said “tell him what that really means?” Silence. Casey continued. “I mean, what does it mean to be one of The Twenty?” Moster smiled. “Yes, let’s talk about that, Casey. Men, why don’t we show Casey what it’s all about?” Then he paused a moment. Casey wasn't reacting. He was just sitting quietly, albeit with great body tension. His muscles were hugely pumped, and Moster could see the fabric shifting as Casey's enormous cock began to uncoil in his sweats. Soon he would be hard. But the boy wasn't moving. Odd. Quietly, he asked, leaning in, “Casey, level with me.” He looked the teen in the eye. Casey couldn’t look away. Inwardly he was stammering. He was looking at Moster's crotch. “No, look me in the eye. Look up. Not down there. Up. How many White Caps have you taken?” “White Caps?” “The capsules. The pills. How many?” He gazed at him levelly. A pause. “Four, I think. Five?” He shrugged, weakly. "i don't remember." "Where did you get them? I gave you one...." "Uh..." Casey didn't want to indict the men on his first day. Weirdness notwithstanding. “Never mind. I can guess." Moster looked back at the group, all standing still, attentive, neatly dressed in their uniforms. And every cock seeming at attention, poling out hugely in their khakis. The men were ready to play. Past ready. Mmmmm. Not much effect on Casey, though, for 5 White Caps. A few moments of assertiveness and a powerful workout, but…..not much. "Are you feeling anything…unusual?” “Well….” Casey paused and looked away. He found himself staring at the men and their looming erections. Jesus. Here it came. Strong societal blockers, Moster thought. "Do you want to have sex? Like now?" No answer. Casey just stared at the cocks in the room. The men were deadly quiet. Then it hit Moster. Of course. “Casey, are you hypoglycemic?” Not so much to his surprise, even the dimwitted Casey knew exactly what that meant. Still staring the the men's rocket crotches, he spoke softly. “......I need oranges or candy bars sometimes.....” “They told you this when you were growing up?” “They told me in the Boys Home. My blood sugar. I have problems.” Of course. That was it. It happened sometimes. He reminded himself he had to mention it to Zaftig. It was the same for Obatu when he first checked in, and then, years later, for Eli Meyer. Since Meyer could neither speak nor hear and his sign language didn't encompass the subject of hypoglycemia, it took them a few days to realize that a cup of chocolate milk worked wonders on the tight glutes of the hot little muscle fuckee Meyer. Give the boy some cocoa and he'd take massive tool after tool up his butt for hours. He called over his shoulder. “Dr. Irving, please step into my office and get an orange. You’ll find a bowl of fruit on my conference table.” He turned back to Casey and smiled a little. “It’ll be just a moment. Then we’ll tell you what The Twenty is all about.” Irving left the room, used to being invisible except when ordered about. Moster stood up, in front of Casey. "It will only be a minute now." The men, behind him, were now pawing the floor like racehorses, ready to rock and roll. Casey, sitting, was now eye-to-crotch to Moster, in front of him. He stared openly at Moster’s enormous bulge in the fly of his uniform khakis, a thick pylon of sheathed cock snaking heavily along the edge of huge quad muscle, and gulped, looking up. Though Moster was the only man in the room without an erection, his penis yet appeared to be the biggest. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. And stared again. His heart was pounding. Moster put a hand on Casey’s beefy shoulder, kneading his fingers slightly into the thick muscle. “Hang on. It won’t be long now.” He turned to the men behind him. “Men? Drop trou.” Zippers unzipped, belts slipped out of belt loops and went to the floor, as the 18 bodybuilders – even Abdul – dropped their uniform slacks to their ankles. Pants down. Around the room. Now all the men were in micro posers. Those massive bulges were unleashed. Looming, heavy, hard, all already pointing straight out. Their cocks almost fully exposed except for the bulging, straining fabric barely covering cockheads. Some of the posers were ready to snap. Casey stared at them all. "Wow...." he breathed. "Men why don't you do some posing for Casey? You've seen his muscles. I don't think he's had the opportunity to see yours." "You, too, Sergeant," said Abdul. Moster looked at him. He paused. "All right, then." He unbuttoned his bulging dress shirt and slipped it off. Casey could almost imagine he could hear the groan of relief of the fabric, suddenly relieved of the need to stretch over the man's massive muscles. But he wasn't prepared for the massive musculature of Moster. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Casey felt a dribble of precum shooting in his posers. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to Casey and became one with his men. The Nineteen placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Casey. He fumbled with his crotch a moment. His head was spinning. The lineup of 19 men stood before him, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room back to Casey. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Dr. Irving returned with the orange. “Chow down on this, Casey,” said Moster as Irving handed it to him wordlessly. "Men, drop the biceps pose." The men relaxed. Hension snickered. "Yeah, chow down, Casey." Then, warning Chad...."Don't you hit me...." “Dr. Irving, would you get back to your camera, please?” Dr. Irving went back to the video cam, checking his clipboard, and began to tape. The men circled around Casey as he took a big bite out of the orange, and then another, and then another. A moment passed. Casey began to flush, a deep crimson red – and then, just as quickly – the flush faded. He looked up at Moster, and smiled. Broadly. “I’m fine now,” he said. “Casey,” asked Moster evenly, “have you ever sucked cock before?” “No, sir.” “Would you like to?” “Yes, sir. I think I would.” Snap! Snap! Gunst's and Blankenship's posers snapped. Their cocks bloomed free, swaying heavily, ready for service. Gunst stepped forward, but Blankenship elbowed him heavily out of the way. Gunst looked at him threateningly, raised his fist, ready to punch face. Moster stood back. "Easy, men. There's time for everyone. Who should he start with?” he asked the group. “I think he starts with ME,” said Abdul, striding forward, his hands on the straps of his bulging posers. The 14 inch shaft was fully exposed, the tendrils of Abdul's thick pubic hair shining in the rec room light. “Fine with me,” Casey said, still smiling. “How do I do this?” “Don’t worry. It’ll come naturally. Just let it happen.” Abdul took his position in front of Casey and pushed out his powerful hips. As Casey leaned in, Abdul roughly cupped the back of the teen’s head, and pulled him in close. "Get to work, boy..." Casey open his mouth. Wide. "Sorry about last night, " he said up to Abdul, who loomed over him, taking his mammoth cock out of his posers and aiming it. "Wider," said Abdul. "Can I pose for you guys later?" Casey asked. "Sure thing!" squeaked Hension. Smack!! "Ow! What did I say??" "I said OPEN WIDER," commanded Abdul. "Sure thing," said Casey. He opened his mouth wider. "Let's go." And so.... it began. **** Want to read "The Twenty" from the start? Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets

This was a requested idea for a story. I hope the person who requested it and all of you like it. The Modern Ultra Man by F_R_Eaky "His limo has pulled up!" one of the Mr. Olympia stage staff hoarsely whispered off in the sides of the stage. It was still loud enough to be heard by all of the stage hands and all of the contestants waiting for the curtain to go up and the parade of participants to begin. The show was not late in starting, and neither was the contestant whom just pulled up in the limo, but he was late in his arrival for prepping, weighing in, and positioning for entry. But after seeing him at his first check in the day before, everyone knew it really didn't matter. This man was so large he was going to walk in last just so as not to cause a disruptive audience. No matter whom was walking or standing next to him, even if you could bring back and add some of the larger greats of bodybuilding to the current: Lou Ferrigno, Quincy Taylor, Noah Steere, Aaron Reed, Ralf Moeller, Nathan Jones, Conan Stevens, Olivier Richters... the fact remains he made each one of them look small, and everyone who stood next to him made their picture look like a size difference shot for Tall Men or Muscle Growth website. The rest of the competitors looked towards the stage door either angrily, apprehensively, or disgustedly. Who was he? Where did he come from? How is it he was just showing up this year and blowing everyone away in competition? Scientists, doctors, legal folk, administrators, all those with a logical mind will tell you that the young man's father is Kentaka Kenyama, known affectionately to his fans as Ken'Ken. He was, and still is, a very famous sumo wrestler, although he is retired and only trains others now. He was also one of the biggest sumo wrestlers ever standing at 6' 9" and coming in at close to 600lbs. One could definitely agree that this is where the mysterious bodybuilder got his stock from - the genetic make up that made his DNA; however, his mother and the locals tell a different story. According to his mother, Miyu, his father is actually a yōkai, something akin to a goblin, but he was a very distinguished yōkai. It...he, was very striking and handsome of face, he was also very strong and powerful. He approached Miyu one night and said that he had to have her, to be with her. She, of course, refused and tried to run away, but suddenly the yōkai began to grow taller and taller until he was exceedingly and exceptionally tall as a giant. As such he could easily outrun her, no matter which direction she went, and so she simply gave up. It is said she was found by a local monk who, upon hearing her screams and moans, found her lying on a large rock, her robes undone, in the throws of a fit that made her body buck as if being struck by something in her groin. Once the monk approached her, the seizure stopped and he bundled up her robe and called out for another to help carry her to her home. Nine months later she gave birth to a boy - a very healthy and large limbed boy. But there was something quite unusual about him. His face was very soft and fair looking, not at all like his fathers, but perhaps every bit if not more so like his mothers. And the child never out grew this beautiful face. He was such an anomaly with his large muscular male body, but very angelic and hadsome, almost female like face. His father more and more shunned the boy as he got older because everyone wanted to treat him like a bishounen - men who were so modelesque in the face they could nearly pass as a woman. His mother loved him just as he was, and in fact named him Daikenmio, a name that meant "large, strong, beautiful man." The rift between Daikenmio and his father grew larger, almost in proportion to as large as Daikenmio was growing himself. His father seeing how large Daikenmio was growing naturally wanted him to follow in his footsteps as a great sumo wrestler. But being a more modern child, and not really sensing a lot of love from his father, Daiken, as his friends called him, decided to choose another sport all together, bodybuilding. He began training with the best while in High School. How could he not, he approached them as this towering fourteen year old and they thought he was already an adult. Imagine their surprise as over the years while training him, the man not only grew out but grew up as well! The kid was lifting while he was growing and studying all training techniques, eating habits and cooking styles, and when his growth spurt stopped he gorged himself on food and heavier lifting while his body went through the filling out process to "catch up" to his height. By the time all was said and done, by age twenty-nine Daiken was the largest bodybuilder in the world. He stood a towering seven foot eight inches tall. And that tall frame carried and immense build of mounding muscle that weighed in at 551 pounds. True he weighed less than his father, but the size of his arms, his legs, his chest, they were all much thicker than his dad's and he had a taut waistline with bricks for abdomen muscles too. And strength! Daiken had it in spades. His muscles were so tightly packed, so dense, he was like twice as strong as an average sized gentleman, proportionately. No matter how one looked at it, making his father as large as he is, or making him as large as his father was, the young man out lifted, out carried, out hoisted, out hefted his father in every way imagineable, and we do me every way imagineable. When Daiken walked into a room to pose or walks out on the beach, people do a double, triple, and quadruple take. Frist they have to take in how tall he is, most of them not even coming up to his chest. Second they have to take in his muscular size: arms bigger round than his own head, which are lifted up to hang almost straight out by lats that are so wide he nearly looks square in the torso. Then there are his thighs which force him to kick his legs out sideways in order to be able to walk, and that doesn't count his calves which are so big and thick they could snap an average man's waistband. Then there is the third thing....well third, fourth, and fifth things. Daiken is carrying a package... a HUGE package. One can't help but stare at the massive buldge in front of them. It looks even worse from the side because his massive quads are pushing his balls and cock up and out in front of them. And this cock, flaccid, hung down three-fourths the way to his knees! Imagine all that bunched up together with his ample sized balls in a tight, little, posing strap. However, he was definitely making a name for himself. People couldn't help but stare and watch him. His face was so handsome with high cheek bones, deep golden brown eyes, long thin and pointed nose, with full, naturally pouty lips, all topped off with a thick mane of jet black hair that was straight and feathered naturally and nicely. Then they would see this model's face they fell in love with stand up...and up....and up....and Up... AND UP! They couldn't believe how tall he was. How short he made them feel. Then they would notice how small he made them feel as they'd ask to stand next to him and then see his supremely built body of massively built muscle. Of course they had to ask and then take pictures of comparisons between them and him: hand to hand; foot to foot; shoe to shoe; head to his shoulder, mid chest, bottom of chest, mid abs; flexing of arm to arm in which his was a mountain and all others were sticks. Then he does things like pick them up easily with his hands, one handed, hoists them on his shoulder, rests them on his bulbous and barreling pectoral muscles which were so big, it was like staring at a wall when close to them. Or perhaps he might do a feat of strength like lifting several people on a bench at once, or hoisting a small car by himself. The was just no getting around it, he was the biggest freak of nature in mankind's history with the most adoreable face that everyone sighed and swooned over. It is with this size and looks that he finally decides to compete in bodybuilding competitions. He wasn't going to work his way up and bide his time, learning here, learning there, earning a few titles and then faultering to nothing and battle back. No, he was just going to show up and win. He was going to train like there was no tomorrow, learn every trick before hand, and come in the largest, the biggest, the most defined, the most shredded yet most full bodybuilder of all time. And that's just what he did. He entered a local competition and won it hands down. He entered a regional and won it completely. He entered national and took it easily. He then set his sights on the professional competitions: Ironman, Arnold Classic, Mr. World, Mr. Universe... he set his sights on them and he defeated everyone, taking every title. He knew he had it all, a handsome face with the body of a god. Even as bulky and as largely built as he was, he still had definition, symmetry, full muscle bellies, grace and form. And so now, it was time to take the title of Mr. Olympia. Daikenmio opens the stage doors, both of them so he can actually get through. He unzips his jacket and throws his arms behind him while two members of his entourage grab the jacket lapels and peel it off of their boss. He slips out of some sandle like flip-flops and then flexes each leg causing it to swell and pop the seams on the sweat pants he was wearing. He then does a squat to cause his calves to rip them further. Finally he reaches in the waist band and just snaps it off pulling on the pants and causing the cuffs at his ankles to pop and he hands the shredded pants to one of his groupies. He saunters over to the line up grabbing a Japanses flag along the way. He kicks his legs out from side to side in order to walk with his gargantuan thighs. The thighs in turn cause a rolling motion of his cock and balls in their tiny poser prison and they bounce from one thigh to the other in great obscene fashion. His footsteps, as light as he tries to make them are thudding hard and loud with each pad of his foot. His head must duck some of the rigging for the curtains and sets. His pectoral muscles, his chest, bounces in full fashion almost like boobs but with more solidity and much more display of muscular movement. The crowd is roaring, cheering, applauding as all of the contestants step out on stage, first to the center and then to their respective little spot. It all goes quiet when he comes out. Standing two feet taller than most of the competitors, he dwarfs them like no other man could. His own legs are thicker round than any of these men's thighs, waists, torsos, their chest area. Indeed just one of his calves might be thicker round than any measurement on these men and they all look bloated and smooth compared to him. But of course, what audience member is going to notice that? They're too busy watching the bob that is his cock and balls going up and down as they roll from left to right, pulling harshly on his posing strap, causing the band to slide down and out showing a bit of the monstrously massive base of his prick while the bulbous mushroom like head, covered in the shimmering jade colored cloth, bobs and bounces like a large bouncing ball leading folks in a sing-a-long. The parade of competitors and countries over, he goes and sits in the greenroom working on keeping his pump. The crowd outside has tried to cheer for the person they originally came to see, but many are talking about the gigant behemoth, wondering where he came from, exactly how big he is and how will the judges grade his physique? Finally it is his turn to pose by himself. He comes out to traditional Japanese music that becomes cut with fusion of western pop and Japanese style popping in and out here and there. With each pop and change of music, he moves and twists his body into various bodybuilding poses: Rear Double Bicep: Yes it shows off his arms, but folks are murmuring about his back. How incredibly thick and wide it is. His back, his shoulders, his lats all there to make that Christmas tree shape, but somehow is more like and extra wide W. It only gets wider as he moves into a Rear Lat Spread. Dear god! He looks to be nearly as wide as he is tall. This is impossible, and yet there he stands. Side Triceps: Good Lord! Now they're realling beginning to see and sense the size of his arms. His biceps is elongated and somewhat flat in the pose and they can see just how big, how bulging and developed his triceps are. They stick out behind him enough one could lose a competitor's head behind it. It is equal proportionately to his monstrous biceps and makes that arms just swell with power. Side Chest: And that biceps begins to swell just a little as Daikenmio grabs a hold of his own hand and moves into the pose that causes his chest swell up and rise! It's not a chest, it's not a pec shelf, it's a fucking awning that another man could seek shelter under. His pecs just jut out there so full and thick, round and massive. How and why does he not fall over when he attempts to walk.... that's right it's because of those massively thick thighs and calves he has. Front Lat Spread: The crowd goes into murmured whispers and gasps. Daikenmio seems to inflate even larger as he works his way into this spread. His chest is just there. It rises so high. It hangs so low. It's as wide if not wider than his lats. It...these... those are his body part du jour. Huge mighty slabs of concret just sticking out from his body. The crowd is taking bets, wondering if bullets would bounce off of them. Those shoulders are so broad. The lats are right there with them. This man has wings. WINGS! Large enough that he could probably jump from a ship without a parachute, catch enough wind, and glide down to safty. How does he even get into this position his lats. back, chest, and upper arms all fighting for room to be seen and to execute movement. Front Double Biceps: BOOM! BOOM! He just shot off his two guns and they're like something off of a battleship. The crowd is paying attention to them this time around and they gasp in awe and wonderment as the two upper arms flex and rise, swell and grow to be as big if not bigger than Daikenmio's head. The rise of biceps' peak, the fullness of the bellies. The squirm of the veins crossing over the tops, criss-crossing over the pecs and deltoids and running down the cobblestone that is the abs. But those arms, so full and dense looking when relaxed and then POW! the mountains erupt into active volcanoes rising higher and higher in the sky.... ... ... Abdominal and Thigh: Holy crap.... it is mind blowing how huge his other muscles are. It's even more mind blowing to see how tight his waist is in comparison. The harringbone pattern of the interlocking obliques. The straight row pattern of the abdominals. All these little cobblestones working together to form such a perfect road of fitness and strength. All working their way down to the thighs that are huge and inflated. Bloated with muscle. Each one containing massive tear drop shapes in the front and a leg bicep in the back. Oh how inspiring to see all these muscles rolling and bunching... bulging...in just one package of a man. Most Muscular: And now everything pops and lurches forward. He swells that much more as he growls and flexes like a crab. His shoulders popping, his arms expanidng, his chest jutting, his abs crunching, his thigh tear drops snapping into definition and outrages bulge. And then he moves into the victory pose, standing up to his full height and raising his arms and hands high. Now he looks even bigger than ever as it looks like he might be able to reach a stage light and pull it down. The crowd is beginning to go wild, coming out of their shock. He smirks greatly and nods his head as he approves their new found love and respect for him. He does another lat spread to show off his chest, but this time something happens. There is a lurch in his poser trunks. This happens to many bodybuilders. The rush and feeling they get on stage might make them erect, however with Daikenmio this will pose a problem as his cock is so big, but he tries not to concentrate on it and continues his posing. Another pose - another lurch. His cock just grew out more at the same time his muscles seemed to swell bigger. Pose -lurch... LURCH! SWELL! Daikenmio is swelling up even larger and his cock is hanging longer and thicker than before. The crowd is becoming torn on what to do. Some folks are already screaming. Some are beging to run away. Others are still watching this giant man and cheering him on. Pose - lurch - swell. Pose - Lurch - Swell.... POSE - LURCH - SWELL! The more he poses his muscles the longer and thicker his cock grows. The bigger his prick becomes the larger, more dense, his muscles grow and inflate. The more he swells and inflate, the more he wishes to pose to show off his body. The more he shows off his body, the more confident he becomes and the more confident he becomes, the prettier his face is becoming. His face is becoming?!? The crowd gasps as it seems over the course of time, as he has been growing, his face has been changing as well. He's becoming even more strikingly handsome. The ultimate adonis. Women become frozen at a mere look at him. Men begin to stammer as their confindence in the presence of such a huge, handsome, well built, hung man drains slowly away. Daikenmio just smiles and keeps flexing. His dick and balls swell out larger, further, heavier. His muscles bulk up more and more. His arms begin to elong-gate growing even bigger with muscle. And then he begins to stand up even taller. Taller. TALLER! He is growin up, growing out, and growing a third leg. Eventually there is a rip a tear and the audience gasps as Daikenmio's cock rips his poseres to shreds and his balls and cock now hang free. Someone hollers out, "MY GAWD! WHAT AN ERECTION!" Daiken replies: "My cock is not erect." There is a collective "Not erect?!?" exclamation from several people followed by moans and whimpers as several of the staff, the competitors, and the audience have just creamed themselves at the idea that Daikenmio's penis is in a "small" flaccid state. Daikenmio meanwhile has continued to grow and broaden and lengthen and harden....and so his arms have grown almost gorilla like. His muscles are massively huge and powerful. With his cock becoming so big, he looks like a living, walking version of a morph by N. A cartoon of Matt. Overly grown men by Hulum. This he likes and it turns him on. It turns him on that people are cumming at the sight of him and are hopping up on stage now to caress, grope, and feel up his muscles. And this begins the loop cycle Daikenmio is still stuck in to this very day. His cock began to spew forth his seed, shooting semen every which way it was pointed. As it shoots it grows bigger, longer, thicker. Spurt of growth - spurt of semen....spurt...spurt...Spurt... Spurt... SPURT! SPUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRT! As his cock blows and grows his muscles are still getting bigger and bigger. Larger and fuller. He is becoming muscle bound unable to move for friends or family as his muscles are growing too large and fighting for room to move. His body is attempting to help by making him grow taller now. Taller.... broader.... fuller....thicker... harder...denser... more hung....bigger balled....prettier face....shooting cum.... His head is being held up by his pec shelf, so big and broad are his chest muscles, the biggest thing on him, well except for his cock. That is growing, still growing right now, in a semi-flaccid state. We calculate he might be about only half way to erection and yet his cock has grown so large it is now a length and half of his current body height. That by the way is approximately fifteen feet tall....and growing. Yes you heard that correctly. As I said earlier Daikenmio is stuck in a loop. His cock is still growing causing his muscles to grow, which is causing his body height to increase, which turns him on and turns others on - that's part of a rotating crew that comes in just to clean him up, rub him down, feed him, jack him off. Then that turning him on causes his cock and balls to go off and cum all over the place, which causes his cock to grow and round we go again. We estimate he will break through the stage ceiling in just a few days. A few weeks and that bubble but of his will flatten the entire convention center. But there he is just growing, flexing, and cumming... and if you'll excuse me... I need to go relieve myself by cumming on him. I just can't help it. He is so good looking and built like a god!

The house was a wreck when we got inside. The communal bathrooms hadn't been updated in years, and the kitchen was barely functioning. As the team moved in to stake out their rooms, Colin and I retreated to the study. "Colin, this place is a disaster. Are you sure it's a good idea to move in here?" He put a hand on my shoulder, and I was immediately reassured. “I’m going to call Marcus’s father for help now.” Dan Cunitz was one of the most successful real estate developers in the state. He was also an alumnus of the school’s football team, and had been very generous to the school over the years. He had both the means and the resources to help rebuild the house. “Dan, we are going to need a complete rebuild of the bathrooms and kitchen, for starters. You WILL send over all the plumbing materials we need.” There was a pause as Dan spoke, then Colin replied: “No, not next week. Tomorrow. You will send the materials tomorrow.” I flinched a bit just overhearing Colin’s direct tone: Dan Cunitz had a well-deserved reputation as an aggressive, hard-nosed negotiator. I wasn’t sure this approach would work well with him. “You want to see what I can do with the team?” Colin said. With that, he barked at Jackson and me: “SHIRTS OFF!” Without hesitation, we obliged. I looked at Jackson and was impressed with his build. His shoulders seemed impossibly wide, with cannonball delts, a thick chest of armor, and a ripped 8-pack of abs. His biceps were huge and peaked, even while he was relaxed. He put his hands on his narrow hips and just casually flexed it all. Then he looked over and acknowledged me for the first time that day. With a blank look on his face, he put his huge hand on my neck and gave it a firm squeeze. He even reached over and slapped my hard midsection a few times, and said, “Colin did nice work on you, bro.” Even I was surprised at how my abs withstood his playful, but strong slaps. With that, Colin held up the phone, took some photos of us and sent them to Dan. I could only overhear pieces of Colin’s side of the conversation: “I can train Marcus…. In four weeks, he’ll be as big as my brother, in the photo…. at least that big, yes…. then eight weeks…. yes… 275lbs…. I know you are familiar with Jackson’s athletic record… Marcus has the potential to pass him. I know how to motivate that kind of growth, yes… but we’ll see how training goes, Marcus may not even be suited for baseball in a few months.” Did Colin just promise to have Marcus as big as me in four weeks? Bigger than Jackson in eight weeks? I knew better than to doubt him. And he had Mr. Cunitz eating out of the palm of his hand, which was probably the most impressive feat of all. There was another pause, and then I saw a knowing smile come across Colin’s face. “You can have it delivered today? That’s even better Danny-boy.” He was calling one of the most powerful men in the state Danny-boy. Even the university president addressed him as Mr. Cunitz. “Send over some staff to do the installation as well. Oh, and you’ll also have 600lbs of grass-fed beef shipped to the house each week. We need to eat well.” And in a deeper, much more authoritative tone, Colin concluded the call, while looking directly at a shirtless Jackson: “Let me know when you want to visit, I’m certain you will be pleased with the results.” Colin seemed to have an inside track on how to motivate Mr. Cunitz. Mr. Cunitz agreed to all of Colin’s demands. After the call, Colin summoned the entire team to the weight room, which was in an addition to the main house. The 6,000 square foot facility was stripped of most equipment, save for a 14-foot long pull-up rig, which was bolted to the concrete wall. “Good news. Marcus’s father has agreed to pay for the renovation of the house, which will start this afternoon. And, he will have the weight room fully functioning in a couple of days. But first we have to take down this rig.” “Colin, this rig is in perfectly good shape. It’s perfect for pull-ups, squats, and so much more. Why would you take it down?” I asked. “Jackson, show him.” Colin said. Jackson sauntered over to the rig, where the pull-up bar was eight feet off the ground. Staring right at Colin, he just reached his massive arms up and gripped the bar, with his feet planted firmly on the ground. “A pull up bar is no good if your feet can reach the ground,” Colin said, matter-of-factly. “Well not all of us have Jackson’s height, or wing span for that matter,” I interjected. “Not yet,” Colin said, with chilling confidence. “Take the rig down Jackson.” With his arms still extended overhead, Jackson tightened up all of his muscles and started to pull. At first, I thought the rig wouldn’t yield without more assistance, but Colin calmly coached Jackson: “Tighten up your core Jackson,” he said quietly. And we watched, breathlessly, as each of Jackson’s cobble stone abs activated, one by one, as he inhaled slowly, looking directly at Colin. “Now show me what those lats can do.” Jackson’s lats slowly started to flare out, as he inhaled, to immense proportions – much wider than anyone had ever seen. Colin gently placed a hand on Jackson’s upper back and softly said “That’s it Jackson, activate here now.” He started to exert all of his muscle, and after about a minute of silence, the rig started to creak. There was a loud groan coming from the concrete wall, as the iron bar started to yield to Jackson’s raw power. Jackson’s biceps, triceps and forearms were flexed up as well, showing his truly colossal muscle. The room was completely quiet except for the groaning of the rig, which steadily increased. I looked at the team, and everyone was riveted to this display of undisputed strength, most especially James, the power hitter. The cinderblock walls started to loosen, imperceptibly at first, but they slowly started to crumble. Then Colin said “NOW JACKSON, LATS!” and the whole rig separated from the concrete wall. Cinderblocks tumbled down onto the floor as each of the 16 wall fasteners popped off, sounding like gunfire, one by one. All that was left were the floor anchors. Jackson stood triumphantly under the crumpled rig, a stunning sight of 275lbs of raw muscle. His arms hung at his sides, pushed out by his still immensely flared back. His massive chest heaved slowly, as his breath started to return to normal. Jackson was about to deal with the floor anchors when James stepped forward and addressed Colin: “Let me take out the floor anchors. I want you to see what I’m capable of.” “You know the rule, James. Shirt off, and get to work.” Next to Jackson, James looked diminutive. But when he pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, he revealed a solid, dense build of 195lbs of power hitter muscle, and legs like a thoroughbred racehorse. James had a beefier build, and his neck and trap muscles were remarkable. He moved to the thick vertical bar that anchored the rig to the floor and gripped it. He got into a quarter squat, inhaled slowly and started to exert upward pull on the bar. At first, it seemed like an impossible task, since it was difficult for anyone to get leverage in that position. But after a few seconds, with James glutes completely fired up, the bar started to come up out of the cement floor. The bar continued to groan with resistance, but finally gave up. With one last immense rumble, the concrete floor started to crack, and then opened up and released the anchor, yielding to James’s coiled muscle. A glistening James smiled at Colin, knowing he had redeemed his stature on the team. The entire team was riveted to these two feats of inhuman strength. Colin’s training program was underway. The next two weeks were a complete blur. Marcus and I were sharing a room, and our schedule seemed to revolve around his workouts. When we weren't at the gym, we were planning his next sessions, or his diet. His earlier animosity towards me seemed to dissipate, and he had a newfound respect for me. His progress at the gym was impressive - slow, steady, deliberate. For a guy who barely weighed 145lbs, he was benching his body weight in no time. He seemed a bit apprehensive anytime we mentioned his father’s sponsorship of the team, but I was able to keep him focused on his regimen. Brendan and Jeremy had taken over the supervision of the overall team, and it was paying off. Their collective body weight had increased a remarkable 15% in the first few weeks. Brendan now tipped the scales at 210lbs, up from 180, and he had all but abandoned his dream of becoming a pro wide receiver. "Just too damn big for that," he said with a huge smile on his face. Jeremy was now up to 240lbs himself, easily one of the biggest guys in the house. He had all but tossed out his wardrobe, since he inexplicably grew taller. At 6 5, he walked around in tight shorts and whatever tank tops he could find. He spent his days happily coaching, eating and lifting. Jackson spent all of his time with Colin. For a guy we all remembered as a typical alpha-male athlete, his attitude had changed dramatically. He was entirely subjugated to Colin now: following him around 24/7, almost mindless in his devotion. Everywhere that Colin went, we were sure to see Jackson two steps behind him, and he would either be shirtless, in just shorts, training shoes and a backwards baseball cap, when he wasn't wearing a custom-made 150lb weight vest. Any verbal interaction we tried to have with Jackson was met with a blank look, since he now only communicated through Colin. After two weeks of intense training, he stood at 6 7, and weighed in at 325lbs of ripped muscle: the biggest and strongest athlete in the history of the university. And although he lost any ability to think for himself, his GPA had soared from a paltry 2.7 to a perfect 4.0. Then Colin got a call from Mr. Cunitz, who said he was coming to visit and wanted an update on his “investment.”