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HUMPING IRON By Lorus “Happy birthday, son!” Ralph Braithwaite handed his son Brandon the keys to a brand new Ferrari 458 before hugging him like the spoiled brat he was. The Braithwaites had so much money, thanks to Ralph’s grandfather striking it rich in the oil business decades before. But that didn’t stop Ralph going on to establish one of the most profitable law firms in the country. “Oh Daddy, my very own Ferrari. How did you know I wanted that more than anything?” Brandon beamed with joy. Having grown up with affluenza, the eighteen year-old knew nothing of the value of things. But he liked owning things, especially if they were super expensive. “Oh your Dad knows these things, son. Besides, I got a good deal on it. It only set me back $287 thousand. I think your mom has something for you too. In fact, is that you coming down the massive staircase of our home in your clackety-clack Christian Louboutin heels I got for your anniversary, dearest?” Sure enough, Allegra Braithwaite flowed into the huge living room of their 120-roomed mansion, positively trembling with excitement. “Good morning to my two favourite men. And happy birthday to my baby boy.” An astute germaphobe, Allegra hated touching anyone, and simply blew her son a kiss from several feet away. She then handed him an envelope with diamond-encrusted silver tongs she used to pick up most things. “Thanks mom. You look great, by the way. Really thin,” said Brandon, accepting the envelope with gusto. He opened it and read the contents within. “Wow, my trust fund from Pop-pop has matured. I just inherited $100 million big ones. Wow. I’m so fucking rich.” The Braithwaites didn’t mind their only offspring swearing. He’d been doing it since he was able to talk, and most of the time he’d string up expletives to shoot at the cleaning staff and many governesses that couldn’t stick working for the family for more than a week or two at a time. “Well, enjoy your day, son. I have to get to the office for a major meeting with the partners. I’m thinking of buying them out of the firm, so I could be gone for a while.” That said, Ralph summarily left, grabbing a croissant flown in from Paris on his way out. “And I have a tennis lesson, darling. Fernando is fitting me in at ten-thirty, so I need my hair and nails done before I arrive on the court,” said Allegra. In fact, unbeknownst to her husband, Fernando would be “filling her in” straight after the lesson. This was Brandon’s life. His parents loved him, but spent very little time actually with him. He was about to tell them he was gay, but fuck it. He wanted to take his new toy out for a spin. He wanted to look his best and so rode the elevator up to his bedroom to select his favourite preppy shirt, bow tie, pastel shorts, and a Gucci V-neck sweater to drape around his broad shoulders. He came from a long line of wealthy, handsome men, and Brandon was no exception. He was six feet tall, with golden blonde hair combed to the side with a side part, and shaved neatly at the sides and to the nape of his neck. He had ocean blue eyes and olive skin with golden undertones. His teeth were sparkling white and perfect in every way. He was very handsome indeed. Wealthy beyond all reason, and a spoiled brat to boot. Playing tennis and sailing his yacht had helped to give him a pleasing physique. He had nice pecs and a firm, flat stomach with a few abs showing. He was a bit on the top heavy side, but he liked that a lot. He’d always dreamed of being a bodybuilder, but his rich extravagant lifestyle always got in the way of such a vocation. Unlike his on and off boyfriend Gaylord Bentley-Pugh, also a rich spoiled brat. Gaylord’s father was a rich movie producer, and so the muscle-stud had already been in several movies, usually minor roles because he couldn’t act for shit. But he had screen-god looks and had been bodybuilding for three years so far. He hadn’t yet competed in any shows, but he was considering doing one within a year or so. “I think I’ll call my gorgeous bodybuilding boyfriend Gaylord,” said Brandon, after he was fully dressed. “Hey babes. I got a sick Ferrari for my birthday… wanna go for a ride?” “Sure, honey. Did you tell them you’re gay yet?” “I was gonna, but you know they always have things to do in a heartbeat. Besides, I don’t really care if they know or not. I just inherited a fucking fortune. We should celebrate. Go for a ride in the Ferrari. Have lunch at the fanciest most expensive restaurant on the East Coast, then sun ourselves on the family yacht. Maybe have some of your bodybuilder friends aboard for a seafaring orgy!” “That sounds like the perfect birthday, Brandon. Just let me finish my chest exercises and you can swing by and pick me up in thirty, yeah?” “Sounds great, Gaylord. I love you.” *** Gaylord had to be cut out of his side of the Ferrari. His legs had been pinned under the crumpled dash when Brandon lost control of the car and careened the left side into a wall. The air bags tripped, of course, and Gaylord lost consciousness. It was Brandon’s fault. He’d had one too many Bucks Fizzes at lunch, made with a particularly strong brand of champagne. The cops on the scene breathalysed him, and found him to be over the limit. Strangely there wasn’t a scratch on him, although he insisted they take him to the emergency room as he felt himself swallow something during the accident. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, but otherwise he looked fine apart from being somewhat inebriated. The cops read him his rights and slapped cuffs on him. “You can’t arrest me, officer. My dad is Ralph Braithwaite, top attorney. He’ll make all this go away, and see that you end up working the security night shift at a rundown mall!” And that was how Brandon Braithwaite spent two hours of his birthday in a jail cell. *** Sure enough, when Ralph heard what had happened, he went straight to the police station to bail out his son. Crying in his father’s limousine afterward, Brandon worried about Gaylord. “Dad, Gaylord isn’t just my best friend. He… he’s my… boyfriend. I wanted to tell you and mom earlier, but you never have time for me. You never did.” “It’s okay, son. We already know you’re gay. We’ve always known. Well, actually Consuela Number Fifteen hinted to us that you might be when she was fluffing your pillows and found your stash of “Glory Hole Monthly” behind your headboard. Here, use my cell phone to call the hospital.” Brandon composed himself and phoned the hospital to inquire about Gaylord. Fortunately the injuries to his legs weren’t that serious, and the doctor on the phone was confident he’d make a full recovery upon referral to a plastic surgeon. “What about his bodybuilding? Will he be able to continue with that?” The doctor said that he’d need some time to recover, but that it wouldn’t be a problem for him to return to the gym eventually. Brandon breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll make all this go away, son. No way they’ll convict you for drunk driving. I get people off on those all the time. No sweat.” Ralph patted his son on the leg and then indicated to the driver to take them home. Later that night… Brandon tossed and turned in his sleep. He couldn’t settle. He’d brushed and flossed and gargled with mouthwash, but he still couldn’t get the metallic taste out of his mouth. It was driving him crazy. His father had already ordered him another Ferrari, the other one fit for a junkyard once the police were done with it. Brandon got out of bed and rang for the butler to get up and bring him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Very good sir,” said Cheedle the butler, not one bit annoyed that the spoiled brat had woken him up from a particularly spicy dream. Brandon ate the sandwich, but he still couldn’t get the taste of metal out of his mouth. He still felt hungry, ravenous actually. “Cheedle, ring for the family doctor. Get him over here pronto. If he says it’ll have to wait until tomorrow, tell him I’ll fucking destroy his reputation as a physician, like I did with the last one!” “Very good sir. At once sir,” said Cheedle, and to himself: fucking rich cunt. The doctor arrived at the Braithwaite estate within thirty minutes. He performed a thorough examination of Brandon but couldn’t find anything wrong. “I feel like I swallowed something, maybe a piece of metal when the car crashed. I want it out of me, doctor.” “Well Brandon, I can’t do anything here without an x-ray. I’ll arrange for you to get one in the morning. If there is something foreign inside you, we’ll deal with it accordingly.” “Fine. I want it first thing in the morning!” The doctor left and Brandon eventually collapsed into bed, utterly exhausted. *** At 6 a.m. Brandon woke up, feeling strangely refreshed. He checked his mouth for the taste, and was relieved it was no longer there. Maybe he hadn’t swallowed any metal at all. Then, as he made to slide his legs out of bed to the lavishly expensive carpet below, several forks and spoons slid out with him. They clattered around his feet. “What?” A closer inspection revealed the alarming truth. There were bite marks all over the cutlery. Brandon picked up a half-eaten spoon. There were teeth marks on the handle. He suddenly felt the urge to match his bite to the marks. They were a perfect fit. “I don’t remember doing that. But how could I be strong enough to chew through metal?” He then walked towards his huge en suite bathroom, passing by a mirror as he went. With only tight boxer briefs on, Brandon took in a shocking sight. His body had undergone a dramatic transformation. He had grown. A lot. “What in the world? I’m bigger than Gaylord. I’m fucking huge.” Sure enough Brandon had transformed overnight into a light-heavyweight bodybuilder. He had muscles bulging just about everywhere, and his boxer briefs were stretched near to bursting at the seams. “I’m beautiful. But how is this possible?” He began popping different flexing poses, each time his muscles bulged in every way it’s possible for muscles to bulge. He rang for Cheedle. The butler arrived promptly, even though he’d had fuck all sleep the night before thanks to Little Lord Fuckeroy. Cheedle tried not to look surprised. He’d come from a long line of butlers, going back several generations. He’d pretty much had most of his emotions bred out of him. But he couldn’t hide his shock at seeing Brandon’s new body. “Cheedle. Tell me I’m not dreaming and that this is real,” Brandon demanded. “Sir, you are not dreaming, and this is real, sir!” “That’s what I thought. Now what do you make of this?” Brandon tossed a half-eaten spoon at the butler, who caught it with almost superhuman precision. “It would seem sir has been… um … snacking on the silverware.” Brandon then became aware that his butt-hole felt a little tender. He slipped down his boxers and ordered Cheedle to take a look at his sensitive ass. “Hmm… it would seem something has created a friction burn around your, erm… rear entrance?” “That means I must’ve stuck something up my ass, right?” “I would assume so, sir… and repeatedly to boot.” And then: “If I could be so bold, sir, one of the chambermaids reported a candlestick missing from the drawing room. Such an item may be to blame for the injury to your derriere, sir.” “A candlestick? A FUCKING CANDLESTICK?” Brandon’s usually olive skin turned red around his face as he flew into a rage. Cheedle took two prudent steps backward. “Are you suggesting that I shoved a candlestick repeatedly up my ass? I have no memory of it. Or eating fucking forks and spoons for that matter!” “It may be the cause of your apparent physical transformation, sir. Although I wouldn’t be knowledgeable on such things. Perhaps there is an element of the supernatural involved. Should I contact the Winchesters?” “Fuck those losers. I won that 67 Impala from Dean in that pie eating chow-off fair and square. No… I’ll get to the bottom of this myself.” “Looks like the candlestick beat you to it, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.” “Start searching every inch of this room. If it’s not here, search the entire fucking mansion. I want that candlestick found. In the meantime, I have an x-ray to get to.” *** Brandon was at the hospital for 8 a.m. The x-ray revealed nothing. There were no foreign objects present in his body, although his blood was quite rich in iron, but the levels weren’t threatening. In fact, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health and complimented him on his physique. He was probably gay. Afterward, Brandon visited Gaylord in his private ward. Brandon didn’t want to alarm him, and so he made sure to wear a baggy sweater and jogging pants. Still, it was difficult to hide the changes to his physique. “Thanks for stopping by, sweetie. I’m feeling better. My legs are sore but they got me on the good stuff,” said Gaylord, his words a little slurred because of the morphine. Seeing that he was stoned, Brandon thought it wouldn’t hurt to show Gaylord his upper body. So he took off the sweater, finding it a little difficult to get the garment up and over his muscles. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience either. “Whoa… dude… what happened to you, and please can I have some!” Gaylord popped a raging boner under the bed quilt. He had a huge dick, so the steepling effect was considerable. It made his legs hurt more, however. Brandon deftly executed a full lat spread, now that he was wearing just his joggers. His body swelled to muscular brilliance, veins and striations erupting everywhere. He was easily forty to fifty pounds heavier than Gaylord, although before the transformation he was about thirty pounds lighter than his bodybuilder boyfriend. “Something happened when I crashed the Ferrari. I know I swallowed something out of the car when it hit the wall, but nothing showed up in the x-rays. There are also half-eaten forks and spoons in my bedroom. And a candlestick is missing. I think I stuck it up my ass. But it’s nowhere to be found.” Brandon turned his back to Gaylord and then pulled down his joggers. His bubble-but was now very muscular and deeply striated. Gaylord, although groggy, could clearly see the burn marks around the hole. His thighs were rippling with muscle. Gaylord got so turned on. His boner got even harder. “I wish it had happened to you, as well. You probably wouldn’t have been injured as much. I gotta try something.” Gaylord’s breakfast tray hadn’t been collected yet. He’d not eaten much, as the food from the hospital cafeteria was far below the grade they were both accustomed to eating. Brandon was suddenly ravenous. Had he eaten anything before leaving the mansion? He couldn’t remember. What was up with his memory? He didn’t have a concussion or a hangover. Maybe the champagne from the day before was stronger than he realised. He wolfed down the rest of Gaylord’s waffles and syrup, and even licked the plate clean. Then he picked up a fork and licked his lips. An insatiable feeling washed through him. He placed the fork in his mouth and started to chew. The metal instantly heated up from friction and fatigue as he worked it around in his mouth. His mouth and tongue should have been bleeding at this point, but that didn’t happen. Gaylord snapped out of his morphine reverie and couldn’t believe what Brandon was doing. “Mmmm. It was so tasty. So good!” Brandon chewed up the top of the fork like it was taffy. He kept going until it was utterly devoured. Then he did the same with the knife. “Brandon, what’s happening to you? That’s not normal. You should see one of the doctors here.” “I feel fine. Just still hungry.” Brandon spied Gaylord’s chart hanging from the end of his bed. He took off the paper part, pleased to see that the clipboard part was made of metal. Brandon raised it to his mouth and bit off a corner, chewing noisily. “Jeezus, Brandon, cut it out. You’ll hurt yourself. I’m calling for a nurse!” Gaylord pressed the buzzer to get a nurse. The one that he got was an Hispanic-looking male nurse. It said Luis on his nametag. He was handsome and hairy underneath his scrubs. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the shirtless millionaire. Brandon bounced his pecs vigorously. Another steeple formed, this time out of the nurse’s pants. The nurse was carrying a clean bed pan. Brandon eyed it hungrily. “It’s okay Nurse Luis. Gaylord doesn’t need a whizz, but nothing to stop you from sticking around for a muscle show!” Brandon’s confidence with his new self was becoming more pronounced. He liked the feeling of having big muscles. But why stop at just ‘big’? He threw up a double biceps pose, his guns peaking and hardening like the metal he was now fond of eating. Luis, not un-muscular by any means, loved the size and form of Brandon's big biceps. He longed to lick them and caress them. “I’ll let you worship me if you give me that bedpan, Luis!” Brandon wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Gaylord didn’t seem to mind another guy getting his hands on his boyfriend’s new muscles. He was good like that. Speechless and full of lust, Luis handed over the bedpan. But this time Brandon didn’t take a bite out of it. He began to crush it between his hands, causing all of the muscles of his upper body to bulge hugely, and veins and sinews to pop out all over his arms, chest, and neck. Both Luis and Gaylord couldn’t believe such a feat of strength. “Yeah, this feels so great, you guys. It would seem with great muscles comes great strength, too.” Brandon was awed by his new power. He continued to deform and compress the bedpan. To him it felt like very, very, thick aluminium foil and not the tempered stainless steel it had originally been fashioned from. The metal became hot to his grasp. It should have been too hot to handle at this point. But he continued to crush it into a smaller, denser shape. When it was down to the size of a snooker ball, Brandon started munching on it like an apple. “It’s so delicious, guys. I wish you could try some. But you can’t, because you are weak, whereas I am fucking strong. And I’m getting stronger, too!” “You… you’re also getting bigger,” cried Gaylord, suddenly the pain in his legs no longer registering due to the astonishing thing he bore witness to. “Yeah, I can feel it. I can feel my skin getting tighter as my muscles continue to grow bigger than before. Aw… so amazing,” said Brandon between metallic mouthfuls. “I need more food though. It helps the metal go down better.” Without thinking, a mesmerised Luis took a granola bar out of his pocket. Brandon snatched it from him and didn’t even unwrap it. He just popped the whole thing into his mouth. His muscles got bigger and bigger, oozing with razor-sharp definition. Muscles bounced and rolled around on him like over-sized ball bearings. The sinew and tendons beneath his skin were like coiled springs, eager to release their energy and fuel his growth further. “Grrr… I’m getting huge!” As Brandon began to outgrow every super-heavyweight bodybuilder in existence, his muscles tore free of his joggers, rendering him completely naked. His dick and balls were now obscenely huge, with the dick reaching way past the foot-long point. It didn’t quite curve upward; rather it had a slight warp to it, and kinked somewhat to the left as the warp occurred about midway along the shaft. Gaylord loved his boyfriend’s dick, believing that a dick with a warp in it gave a better fuck up his ass. Brandon swallowed the granola bar, but he was still hungry. This time he needed to feed another hole. He eyed up Gaylord’s drip stand. Yeah, that would do. The bag of happy juice hanging from it was all but empty at this point. Just as Luis started to masturbate to the incredible sight before him, he heard himself being paged over the intercom. Fuck it, he thought. I can always go back to bartending. He ignored the call, and locked the door behind him. Brandon removed the drip bag from the stand and lifted it up with ease. He broke off the top and bottom parts (he’d eat them later), and was left with about six feet of stem. It was hollow, but sturdy. Still, he re-shaped it with little effort, and in just a couple of minutes he’d fashioned a crude but workable dildo. There was a problem, however. He was now too muscular to insert the dildo himself. Gaylord couldn’t for obvious reasons, and Luis was too engaged in his wank to be of any use. Brandon had an idea. He bent a few inches from one end in such a way that he could hook it to the back of a radiator. He then pressed in the top of the radiator as if it was wet putty, in order to better secure his prize. When it was in the right position, he went to work on himself. “Oh fuck… that feels so good. A little sore, but I can break through the pain threshold,” he exclaimed with delight. He spent the next five minutes pleasuring himself. It caused his dick to erupt with a torrent of jizz, which splattered all over Luis, who’d just shot his own modest load. “Oh yeaaaahhhh!!” Brandon enjoyed this release better than any that came before. Gaylord also shot a load into his pyjamas. When their orgasms subsided, they all caught their breaths. It was then that Brandon noticed all that remained of his dildo was the hook part he’d made to fix it to the radiator. The rest was nowhere to be found. Brandon began to laugh. Luis started to laugh as well. Gaylord didn’t find anything remotely funny. This was an incredible experience, something beyond his wildest dreams, seeing his boyfriend transform before his eyes into a massively huge bodybuilder. Because he’d no phone of his own, Brandon reached for Gaylord’s on the nightstand beside his bed. “Please don’t eat that. I only got it two days ago,” Gaylord pleaded. Brandon said nothing, but dialled home. Cheedle answered, as he usually did. “Hey Cheedle, you can call off the search. I know what happened to the candlestick.” Brandon proudly bounced his pecs, displaying the smuggest grin possible. “Very good, sir!”