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  1. Hey there. Here's a story. It's about muscles and stuff. The nature of desire. The ache of it. But also muscles. I hope it pleases. THE CHAMPION It had been a triumph. He was blowing up Instagram. He was THE cover of every muscle mag that still printed. People would buy copies to commemorate it. The reddit thread already had thousands of comments. ADAM NOVAK: BIGGEST MR. O IN HISTORY He’d only started lifting four years ago, in his early twenties. He only competed for the first time as an amateur two years ago. Got his pro-card last year. Qualified for the O this year. Nine months later, a rookie winner. No one expected it. Lots of people expected him to finish second or third no matter how obvious his dominance, just to make him “work for it” and “earn it” in a year or two. But it became obvious at the show itself: if they’d crowned anyone else, there would have been rioting. He was unlike anyone who had ever stepped on a bodybuilding stage. He was so enormous, it was alarming. Frightening. And he was so young and got there so quickly. The comments online were fast and furious. Things like: “Is there any limit to how big this kid can get?” “What the hell are they feeding him?” “Did a muscle growth experiment escape its lab?” But also things like: “it’s too much.” “Disgusting.” “What happened to old school aesthetics?” “He’s gonna be dead of a heart attack in 18 months.” He put his phone down, caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror across the restaurant where his crew had taken him to celebrate. Fuck, he didn’t look human. Handsome face - he was only 26 - straight nose, big expressive eyes, firm generous lips, Hollywood jawline, thick dark hair kept short, but not too short - just enough to show its curl on his brow. But the rest of him. Fuck. He bulged. He burgeoned. He looked fit to explode, like his skin was barely holding back the giant round forms of his muscles. He took up twice the space of a normal human. Three times the space. He couldn’t move right, he was so huge. His buddy had to help him eat. He knew the stats. Everyone knew the stats. 5’8”. 358 lbs at registration - probably closer to 370 now that he’d been carbed up. 2% bodyfat. 30” arms. 46” thighs. 80” chest. Ramy, Roelly, Hadi, Brandon, Iain, Hunter, all of them were dwarfed by him. His shirt, the only thing he could fit into that came anywhere close to formal wear, was splitting at the seams - literally, it had already torn in two places, small tears, for now. It was custom made. He hadn’t paid for it, the company that made it had volunteered, as long as he did a social media promo. But they made it weeks ago, not expecting him to grow into the show. He had definitely grown into the show. “Where did this kid come from?” Just a little town in southern Ontario, nowhere special. * THREE YEARS EARLIER Adam had to lift pretty late at night because of his job and his classes. He was almost done with the degree. He hoped it’d land him a better job, one that would allow him to lift at a more sensible time. But for now, he showed up at the gym around 11 pm and generally left a little after midnight. It was one of those gyms where members all had a fob to open the door, and there wasn’t always staff on site. This night, the few guys who were there already left not too long after Adam arrived. He had the whole 20,000 square feet to himself. He felt dwarfed by it. He’d been lifting for nine months now, had some newbie gains to show for it, but he still felt out of place. He just looked kind of fit, at best. A little muscle on him but nothing special. He launched into his next set, machine rows, and he really got into the rhythm of it. Slow cadence - he knew not to use momentum, he knew to emphasize time under tension. Pull, squeeze, return, stretch, repeat. His baby lats burned but he kept at it. These are the reps that count, he told himself. This is where the growth is. When he finished, he looked up and saw a bodybuilder sitting on a bench, watching him. Adam was confused - he was certain he’d been alone for twenty minutes or more. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Had this guy been in the lockers all this time? And he was blatantly staring. Adam took out his phone and toyed with it, hoping the bodybuilder wouldn’t start anything. He didn’t want trouble. He just wanted to finish his workout. If Adam had noticed the time on his phone, or looked up at the clock on the wall, he would have seen that it struck midnight during the set of rows he’d just finished. Adam heard a voice and felt a presence looming. “Hey kid.” His mouth went dry and he looked up. The bodybuilder was huge. Like, pro huge. Some pros went to this gym but Adam rarely saw them because he always came in so late. Adam’s dick began stiffening automatically at the display of bulging pecs, thick veiny arms, quads exploding out of the bottom of tiny shorts hiked high, calves like two footballs clutched by veins like tree roots. He couldn’t help it. The guy was handsome, too. Mediterranean, maybe? Persian? Black hair, dark eyes that were swift and intelligent, perfect tan skin, and the muscles. My god, the muscles. He smelled like testosterone, this close up. “I said hey.” Adam closed his gaping mouth. “Oh uh…. Hey there.” “You wanna get big, huh?” “Um… well…. Yeah.” “Thought so. I could smell it on you from across the room. You’re pretty scrawny but the size of your desire, whoo boy, I’ve rarely seen a desire so huge, not even in the pros.” What was this guy talking about? Adam was worried, this bodybuilder didn’t seem to be in his right mind. He knew a lot of these guys did other drugs, was he hopped up on something? He did have a vaguely coked-up air about him. Adam better be careful not to agitate him. “Oh uh, well, thank you. I’m trying my best.” “I see that. That was a nice set you just did. Good intention. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to get everything you want, and more.” “.... haha, well, I hope you’re right. I definitely want to get huge.” Adam gave his best fake laugh. “You better start your next set. You’re on 90 second rests and it’s been more than 100.” “How…?” “I said start your next set.” His voice was quiet, commanding. Adam gulped, turned his attention to the machine, gripped the handles firmly, and started rowing. Like before he fell into a kind of rhythm, but this time it was deeper. He kept pulling and pulling and pulling. His lats felt like they would burst. But he was merciless. His form remained smooth, controlled. His tempo, slow. He was crying, it hurt so bad. Literal tears mixing with the sweat running down his face. He kept rowing. It burned so bad, worse than anything he’d ever felt. When Adam finally stopped, he released the handles with a sob and let his arms fall to his sides. There was no way to hold them that didn’t make his throbbing lats feel worse. He groaned in helpless agony and looked around for the mysterious bodybuilder who had been talking to him. There was no one else in the gym. Even though he’d been in his own world during that set, that agonizing endless set…. Adam would have noticed the muscle man leaving, right? * A YEAR LATER “Adam, you should totally compete!” “Oh, I don’t know...” Adam shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to acknowledge that he had been considering that very thing himself lately. “I’m serious, man, you’d fit right in on an amateur stage, classic, maybe even cross over and do open as well.” Adam had poured himself into the gym after graduation. He found a job but his focus really wasn’t there - he was competent, but his managers always said he could be doing more, and as the months went by and his muscles continued to expand, they grew uncomfortable with his physical presence. He was handsome, muscular, confident, but there was something off about him, something they couldn’t put into words. The gym was his life. His passion. It was almost like the first nine months he’d spent lifting were a kind of false start - what he thought of as newbie gains were quickly dwarfed by his second year of progress. His friends were right - not only would he not look out of place on an amateur stage, he’d stand a good chance of winning the whole thing. So that’s what he did. The experience of contest prep was hyped up to be a gruelling gauntlet to him, but somehow he never found it that way. He got leaner, his skin thinned, his muscles popped, but he never felt hungry, he never felt exhausted. At first he was concerned because the scale wasn’t going down the way it should - but the mirror told a different tale. “I guess you’re growing into your show. Lucky fucker.” The classic weight limit for someone 5’8” was 182 lbs. The plan for him to do both classic and open was scrapped as his weight never dipped below 185, and indeed crept into the 190s by the time show day arrived. He registered as a light heavyweight. He wore turquoise posers. He blew everyone away. He won his class. He won the overall. He qualified for nationals. His friends were beyond hyped at the after-party. “You’ve gotta do it, man! Do nationals! You’re built for this!” He believed it. He’d never felt happier in his life. That night, back at the hotel, after everyone had left, he stepped into another shower to try and get more of the fake tan off. He knew he’d be shedding it for days to come even after doing his best to scrub it away. He enjoyed the way the water cascaded down his rock hard musculature. His glutes like twin boulders. His pecs like two shields of stone. The veins on his biceps and forearms like veins in marble. His cock throbbed, and he indulged himself; it only took a half dozen strokes before he blew a load all over the hotel shower wall, the hot water turning his cum all stringy. He turned off the shower, enjoying the warm humid air. Slowly he toweled off and stepped back into the room, naked, his skin raw and scrubbed fresh. He stopped in his tracks. Someone was in the room. It was the bodybuilder from the gym. That bodybuilder. “Adam,” he said, smiling. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, just as massive as the first time Adam saw him. Stringer tanktop covering less than a quarter of his tanned, bulging, super heavyweight torso. Dark nips angling downward from the sheer size of his pecs. His lips quirked into a smile. “You’re looking well.” “What the fuck are you doing in my room,” Adam said, the timid pipsqueak from a year ago nowhere to be seen. “Settle down. Relax. And you’re welcome, by the way.” “I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” “You’ll figure out who I am in time. And I’m here to congratulate you. And deliver the remainder of your prize.” Adam’s eyes flickered to the gimmicky sword he’d been awarded for winning the overall. Amateur shows don’t have cash prizes. What could this guy mean? “What are you, a rep for a supplement company or something?” The bodybuilder’s lips quirked as he held in a genuine laugh. “That’s a new one. No, as I said, you’ll figure out my identity in time. Don’t you remember our first meeting?” “I… I do,” Adam said reluctantly. “Well, I simply asked if you wanted to get huge, and you said you did. Your need blazed like a bonfire on a dark night, you know. Obvious. It practically begged for me to intervene on your behalf. But I do need permission, you know. So I asked. You wanna get huge? And you said you do. So….” the man gestured elegantly, muscles shifting and flexing as he did. “Here we are.” “I don’t understand.” “You will.” And with that, Adam woke up. His head hurt. His mouth was dry. His slow sleeping pulse suddenly doubled as he remembered - the weird bodybuilder! In his room! Talking some kind of crazy talk! Adam leapt to his feet and almost fell to the ground. His body wasn’t like it had been the day before. He was… larger. A lot larger. The same height, 5’8”. The same bones. But his muscles had inflated. At least 25 lbs. He saw himself in the mirror above the TV, his handsome face freaked out, terrified, his chest and ab-quilted stomach heaving with heavy breaths. What the fuck. * SIX MONTHS LATER His work was definitely going to find some excuse to fire him in the weeks ahead, he could tell. When he walked - or, waddled - into a meeting room, their faces screwed up like he had a stink about him. He was outgrowing his work clothes and he didn’t want to invest in new ones if they were just going to fire him anyway. But he had to get money from somewhere. OnlyFans was a surprising help for his finances. He didn’t even have to have sex - just posing, flexing, or even doing normal things like shaving, or preparing food with no shirt on. Sometimes he got his dick out but a lot of the times he didn’t even do that. And people in the thousands paid to watch him, this young guy, just turning 24, handsome enough to be a movie star, with his jaw dropping muscles. The day he was finally let go, for reasons he could probably challenge successfully except he didn’t want to, he celebrated with an OnlyFans post. “Watch me flex out of my work clothes.” All his office attire, going back to when he had been a 150 lbs nobody. One by one he squeezed his muscular body into them and then flexed hard, forcing seams to split, tearing fabric apart. It was like ripping apart his old identity. The old Adam. Adam wasn’t much for social media but he couldn’t keep his physique under wraps any longer. Instagram was a must. He hated it, but the sponsorships he’d picked up since his big win required him to make posts, and the larger his following the more likely they’d be to renew contracts. He had no paycheque anymore so he did his best to lean into it. As Nationals drew near the buzz around him was unmistakable. Instagram is full of bodybuilders who seem like they’re going to blow the competition away on show day, only to finish in the middle of the pack - but everyone was convinced that, this time, for Adam, it would be different. He was the heavy favourite among the online crowd. He’d registered at 194 lbs at his first show. What no one knew was the very next day, after the visitation from the weird bodybuilder in his hotel room, he’d weighed in at 221 lbs. The growth kept coming during the three months of bulking he’d planned before beginning his cut for the Nationals. 250 lbs is a lot on someone who’s only 5’8”, but that’s where he landed before the cut. That’s when he got fired from his job. They just couldn’t handle someone that massive, such a meathead in a professional environment. No one who’s of sound mind would ever do something like that to their bodies. Obvious steroid abuse. Ticking time bomb of roid rage. No one felt comfortable in the office with him. Fuck them anyway. He was making good money from sponsorships and OnlyFans, and he’d be getting his pro card soon. His cut for his second-ever contest began, and just like the first one, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down as low as 243, but it stayed there for a while, and then began creeping up. He was vicious about his diet and cardio. He didn’t cheat at all. But he was growing into his show again. With two weeks to go, he was back at 250 lbs, but so much leaner and sharper than he’d been just a couple months previous. The internet was losing their mind. This wasn’t just a kid who deserved a pro card. Adam was rapidly growing an Olympia-contender physique, right before everyone’s eyes, and doing it at an accelerated pace that beggared belief. He flew out for the show a week early, set up shop in an Airbnb, did his final workouts and a photoshoot at a local gym, went home and ate his prepared meals, updated his instagram and his OnlyFans, played video games, and then slept. Day after day. He waddled into registration exactly 59 lbs heavier than he’d been for his first show. 253 lbs. The guy recording the weights couldn’t restrain himself. “Damn, son.” He looked Adam up and down. “That is a HELL of a lot of mass to be carrying on a 5’8” frame.” “Thanks man,” Adam said nonchalantly, trying not to become overly emotional. He kept a tight rein on things until after the show was over. He knew he was a favourite to win. He knew that pro card was his. But he had to pretend he didn’t know, until it had actually happened. Super Heavyweight. Called to the centre of the lineup within seconds of getting on stage. Stayed there the whole time. Nailed every pose. Adam’s physique was shocking. The official photographer’s camera was going off like a machine gun. He knew this was something special, that pictures of Adam from this show would be well known twenty-five years from now. These pictures he was taking, as this freak of musculature moved gracefully from pose to pose to pose, would be joining the echelons of legendary physique pictorial. Cutler’s quad stomp. Arnold on the beach. And Adam winning his pro card, absolutely mopping the floor with the competition. The after party was glorious. Everyone wanted to suck his dick, metaphorically and, eventually, literally. He should have been exhausted but he felt elated. He felt high, like he was on a drug. He kept pumping his cock into warm willing holes in the hotel room, a frenzy of muscle and lust and dominance. He was the fucking champ. He was the newest IFBB pro. He was only 25 years old. He was hot shit, and he had his whole future ahead of him. He didn’t remember falling asleep. When he woke up it was still dark outside. The room was gloomy, dim. He felt hungover. His balls ached. How many times had he cum last night? Five? Six? More? He groaned and rolled over, intending to lumber into the bathroom for some water - he could drink all he liked now, after all. He froze mid-roll. There was someone else in bed with him. A big lumpy shape, half-seen in the darkness. Denting the mattress. Not a surprise - hadn’t he hosted a victory orgy? But the room was dark, no one else was here, and although there’d been plenty of muscular men attached to his dick last night, this one was bigger than any of them. About the same size as me, Adam thought. The other man blinked awake and smiled prettily. His massive pecs mounded up under his chin as he propped himself up on one arm and leaned toward Adam. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, showing perfect white teeth that almost glowed in the gloom. “Wh-... what the fuck,” Adam stammered. “Don’t be so shocked. You really ought to learn to expect me by now.” He reached a hand out and stroked Adam’s muscular arm, then his face. Adam didn’t draw away, for some reason. He felt hypnotized by the mysterious bodybuilder. He was paralyzed yet untroubled by this fact. “You’ve done so well. Look at the size of you. You’re really huge now, aren’t you?” “Yeah I’m… I’m pretty huge...” Adam felt himself speak, but it was like someone else was speaking. “I’m contractually obligated to give you an off-ramp here, but fair warning. It’s your last chance to back out.” “Huh?” The bodybuilder smirked. “It’s like their brains shrivel up, I swear.” He resumed stroking Adam’s handsome face, toying with his short curly hair. “I’ll make it simple for you, big guy. You can stabilize around this size. You’ll spend your off-season in the 270s, you’ll compete in the 250’s, you’ll probably have quite the career. I can’t promise what kind of success, because I won’t be involved any longer. In fact, tonight will be the last time you see me. Pity, that. If you take this option, I mean.” Adam whimpered. His cock was throbbing, achingly hard, like a steel beam in the sun, like he hadn’t cum for a month. “The other option is, you stay on this ride and we see just how huge ‘huge’ really is.” Adam felt his mouth open and close. “Guh….” The bodybuilder stroked his face again. “Such a pretty man, really, even without the muscles. So what do you say, kid. Do you want to get even huger?” “Fuck, yes, please, anything, I want to be a monster, I want to be the biggest bodybuilder ever, I never want to stop growing, I wanna grow til I split my skin” Adam felt the words come tumbling out, like a dam inside him had burst. The bodybuilder chuckled, his pecs flexing and dancing. “That’s what I hoped I’d hear. You know that bonfire of desire I said you had inside you? It’s burning brighter than ever, it’s never dimmed. It rages, I can sense it across the eons. I’ll see you next time, handsome.” Then he leaned in and kissed Adam. It was the most powerful kiss Adam had ever experienced. He felt his soul melting. Untouched, his cock began to twitch and dance and spurt cum like a broken sprinkler. Adam moaned loudly, reached out to pull the sexy bodybuilder in closer, and his hands passed through thin air. The man was gone. Adam slumped back onto the mattress, stared at the ceiling for a second. Then, realizing just how disgusting and stinky his mouth must have been during that kiss, that best-ever kiss with that god of a man, rolled over and went to the bathroom for a glass of water and to clean himself up. * Adam shouldn’t have been shocked when he woke up in his hotel room the morning after his show. It had happened once already. And yet… he somehow hadn’t expected it. He was bigger. A lot bigger. Like 40 lbs bigger. 253 lbs is a lot on a 5’8” frame, like the man at check-in said. 290-something, in contest shape? Practically unheard of. That’s beyond Roelly Winklaar size. That’s beyond Big Ramy size. That’s already in a category of its own. He threw himself into the off-season with a vengeance. The mass came, like his body knew no limit. Every set, his freakish muscles filled with so much lactic acid, his eyes would tear up, he would be gasping and moaning, unable to ease the pain. And then his timer would beep and he’d launch into another set, ignoring the throbbing pain, pumping himself ever huger. He grew. And grew. And grew. A member of the 300 lbs club now, rapidly filling out. His shoulders mound up alongside his head, bigger than his skull. His pecs hit his chin when he looks down at them. His walk now an extreme waddle. Every eye staring at him when he goes out in public. Blocking a sidewalk, blocking an aisle at the grocery store. People watch him, mouths agape. Children ask questions. Mommy, what’s wrong with that man? His first pro show, an Olympia qualifier. The discourse went from “how well will he do” to “is he a contender to win it” to “how well is he going to do at the Olympia after he wins this?” He tried to ignore the headlines in the bodybuilding press. ADAM NOVAK PREPARES FOR HIS FIRST PRO SHOW, PROMPTING THE QUESTION: HOW BIG IS TOO BIG A NEW ERA OF MASS MONSTERS OR A ONE-OFF FREAK? ADAM NOVAK He started his prep at 312 lbs. Just like before, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down slowly, stalled, and then began climbing again as the show neared. Adam’s training sessions were almost like trances, now. He’d emerge from the altered space occasionally, and see the pumped, fit to burst muscle freak, face anguished from the lactic acid burn, tortured body slick with sweat and tears, XXXXXL tank top about to explode, veins the size of pencils, lungs heaving for oxygen. He was so massive he could barely get enough air in to fuel himself. He was always winded. His feet hurt from carrying this much weight. His gut hurt from eating so much food, every single day. Even his contest prep diet was enough for a family. He got leaner, and leaner, and leaner. Scarily lean. It was the most shredded he’d ever been. He weighed in at 317 lbs the day before the show. “Jesus,” the guy taking the measurements muttered. “Holy fuck.” Adam’s body seemed impossible, there was no way a human being could carry this much meat. The few people who knew him before, when he was just a normal dude, who were still in touch with him all sent him texts and DMs, worried about his health. It’s too much, Adam. Your body can’t take this for long. Forums and reddit threads were full of predictions of his doom. He must be on grams a week. Getting this huge this fast - kids today are too impatient. He’s going to pay the price for it. The show was a coronation. He was the heaviest guy there. He was the leanest guy there. His proportions were perfect, if of a magnitude unheard of. When he hit a most muscular, the audience actually gasped. The Olympia qualification was his. The celebration was subdued, though. Not an orgy like last time. He didn’t even want to go to a restaurant. He was tired of how people in public gawped at him. He just wanted to chill in the hotel room, smoke a joint, order some pizza, watch some stupid videos on youtube. So, that’s what he and his crew did. The champ gets what he wants. As he said goodbye to the last of his crew, he knew what to expect. He had been expecting this all along. The memory of the kiss in the hotel bed last time stayed with him. It was seared into his soul, a tender spot he couldn’t stop poking at. It was the best kiss he’d ever had. It had been far more than a kiss. “You can come out now, if you’re here,” Adam said to the empty room. “You’re learning,” the bodybuilder said as he stepped out of the dark bathroom. “I’m not that stupid. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life, that’s all. You can’t expect people to catch on that fast.” “Can’t I? You lot used to be so much more reasonable before your faith in science overtook the evidence of your senses,” the bodybuilder smirked. “Although I will admit, your science has wrought many wondrous things.” He flexed, then, admiring himself. He’s smaller than me, Adam realized. A lot smaller. “Everyone is smaller than you now, Adam,” the bodybuilder said, answering Adam’s thoughts. “A very small number of them are close, but you’re top of the heap. You’re it. The biggest bodybuilder in the world, in human history. How’s it feel?” “It’s exhausting.” The bodybuilder was silent, and Adam felt compelled to continue. “I can’t even tie my own shoes. I have to turn sideways to get through some doors. Everyone stares at me. I’m always out of breath and my feet hurt. Nothing fits. When I’m not lifting I’m eating, and when I’m not eating I’m sleeping. I have to wear a machine when I sleep so I don’t suffocate on my own meat.” The bodybuilder stared at him, still silent. Was that the tiniest shimmer of pity in his dark, expressive eyes? Finally the bodybuilder spoke. “I told you last time, it was your last chance to back out. There is no escape, now.” Adam was quiet. “I know.” The bodybuilder narrowed his eyes. “That bonfire of need in you….” “Yes?” “It’s still there, Adam. It hasn’t dimmed, at all.” Adam hung his head, his chin in the cleft between his pecs, his arms unable to rest at his sides because his lats were in the way. His legs forced apart by the sheer volume of his quads. “.... yeah.” “You want to get even bigger, don’t you, Adam?” Adam felt his breath shaking and catching. He was trembling. His body couldn’t take this. It was too much. It was way too much. He wouldn’t last another year if he kept growing. This has to end. It has to end now. It… “.... yeah.” Adam heard the sound of a wretched sob from somewhere in the room, the sound of a broken soul. The bodybuilder stepped closer. He reached an elegant finger under Adam’s chin, having to work it into the canyon between his pecs to do so. He lifted Adam’s face. “Son of the earth, the need in you is…. exquisite. It is beautiful. You have the purest need of any mortal I’ve seen, and I have been here for…. For far longer than you can know, my treasure.” Adam felt a tear trickling down his face as the fallen angel’s true form flickered through his disguise. The beauty he glimpsed was painful to behold. “I should not do this. I am here to punish the sin of greed. I don’t know what they’ll do to me. This might be my unmaking. But you, Adam… your greed is no sin. It is purified, somehow. The purest essence of want. Son of the earth, I’ll give you what you want, but it won’t hurt you any more. It won’t sap your life any more. Your skin won’t rip and tear. Your organs won’t fail. Your heart won’t break. You’ll keep growing, son of the earth, and I’ll protect you, damn the cost.” A second tear trickled down Adam’s face as his eyes were locked with the demon’s. The world was shrinking, it was only their two bodies, not even the room around them. The point of contact where they touched was all of reality. Adam’s monstrously overgrown form, obscene and impractical mass, and the demon’s human guise, the pure essence of virile muscular masculinity. The demon leaned in and kissed Adam again. It was like in the hotel bed. The ancient sign of a sealed covenant. The terms of their arrangement had been altered; a new contract was signed. Then, smiling, the demon took Adam by the hand and led him to the hotel room bed. His hands slowly running over the human’s unheard of musculature. The angry red stretch marks where his skin had begun to fail. The crevices where two muscles had run out of room and were now vying for territory. Adam’s ass, the biggest most muscular pair of glutes on planet earth, slowly being prised apart by the demon’s thick foot-long cock, radiating heat, slick, lubricating as it went. He was as good as his word - Adam would not come to harm as long as he was under the demon’s power. Adam felt drugged. He felt cosmic. His whole body was a sexual organ and the demon was touching every inch of it. Their hot breath in unison, mortal and immortal. The demon was inside him, deep inside him, pulsing, filling him with radiant seed, more and more of it. They couldn’t keep their mouths off each other, tongues darting, lips grasping. They wanted to devour each other and keep each other whole. When Adam woke up the next morning, he was alone. He felt elevated; he felt empty. He was 340 lbs. * NINE MONTHS LATER The entire Olympia weekend was a media spectacle. Adam was the biggest name in bodybuilding, not just literally but metaphorically. He’d just been a normal young man three years ago, when a demon had visited his gym at midnight and offered him a deal. Not that Adam understood that it was a deal, back then. But now, after having gained more than 200 pounds of raw beef with no end in sight, he knew it very well. Everyone wanted to know Adam Novak’s training secrets. Everyone wanted to know who his coach was. Everyone wanted to know what next gen roids he had to be taking. They tried to make the press conference about more than him. Soft-ball questions lobbed at the other competitors. They tried to make it seem like a true contest, like anyone else had a shot. Even though Adam clearly dwarfed everyone at the table, hunched over his microphone like a literal mountain of meat, the largest official Olympia track suit looking comically tight, painted on. Several months ago he was already the biggest bodybuilder in history. And he had grown since then, grown a lot. He registered at 358 lbs, still at 5’8”. The video clips of it happening had gone viral. He needed help to get dressed and undressed. He got so pumped backstage that he needed someone to feed him the endless amounts of carbs that his huge body required in the hours before the show - he could no longer touch his own face, or even reach his mouth with a fork. He posed to Sympathy for the Devil that night, the crowd losing its mind. They knew they were witnessing history. Adam felt kind of cheesy. The song choice seemed too on the nose. Adam hoped he was watching. Adam hoped he liked the tip of the hat. Adam wanted to see him grin at the little joke. Adam longed to see him again. What had he said? He might get in trouble? “This could be my undoing?” Something like that. He was supposed to punish Adam, but he had decided not to. He had decided to give Adam everything he wanted and to protect him from the negative downsides. Would he be waiting for Adam at the hotel tonight? Would they make love again, like they had last time? Adam couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized, in the van back to the hotel, his gargantuan freakshow body taking up the entire back row, that he was in love. He was in love with a demon, his very soul was magnetized to him, and he didn’t know if he’d ever see him again. His heart was pounding as he waddled down the hotel corridor, so overgrown he almost brushed the walls with his beachball delts. It wasn’t the heart attack that internet trolls kept saying would claim him any day, as he grew and grew and grew beyond all reason. His heart was pounding because he didn’t know what was waiting for him. If he didn’t show up…. Adam opened the door. The room was dark. He hit the lightswitch and heard his own tight voice, aching with hope. Aching with need. A simple word, wanting an answer. “Hello?”
  2. theseventhwave

    m/m The Symbiote War - Chapter 16

    If you haven't read Chapters 1 through 15 - here are links: Chapter 1-7: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/1689-the-symbiote-war/ Chapter 8: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/4428-the-symbiote-war-chapter-8/ Chapters 9-10: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5517-the-symbiote-war-chps-9-10-and-eventually-the-rest/ Chapter 11 is on page 3 of the previous thread. Chapter 12 is on page 4 of the previous thread. Chapter 13 is on page 5 of the previous thread. Chapter 14: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/15351-the-symbiote-war-chapter-14/ Chapter 15: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/19698-the-symbiote-war-chapter-15/ Chapter 16: Sunday Evening – What have I done? The walk back to Mark’s place was quiet. Mark seemed lost in thought. I felt as if my poor brain was short-circuiting. What does all this mean? What will this growth do to Mark? To our relationship? Will he be the same person? Am I the same person? I can’t keep my eyes off Mark – or more specifically, his new muscles. With this new growth, he’s now just a bit taller than me – but not enough to really make his pants look short. But it’s his muscles that are stealing the show. His shirt now clings tight across his pecs, and the neckline can’t hide the flared mounds of his traps. The sleeves are stretched tight around his bulging arms – which highlights the swell of his delts. I can see the muscles in his arms flexing as they gently swing with every step. But my gaze keeps returning to his pants – his muscle growth is really impressive down there. His pants cling to his well-developed quads and are now stretched tight across the shelf of his sexy booty; so tight that the pants sort of ride up and cinch under his butt – making the front pockets flare out like two elephant ears. Speaking of elephant… I can clearly see the massive outline of his erection pointing toward his hip – almost sticking out of his pocket at the waistline. It bobs up and down with each step he takes. Damn he’s hot! We arrive back at Mark’s apartment; he misses getting the key in the keyhole. “Hmm… The keyhole is a bit lower than usual.” He ushers me in and closes the door behind us. For a moment, we just stand there in silence staring into each other’s eyes. Finally, Mark lets out a sigh. “You must be a ball of emotions.” “Read me like a book, you have.” My tired attempt to channel some Yoda to lighten the mood. He smiles. “Like an open book, you are.” His ability to be nerdy is one of his many adorable qualities. But his genuinely warm, charming smile steals the show. And to have all that bound up in this tight package of muscles is just kryptonite for my heart. “It’s been a day.” Not knowing how else to sum up today’s turn of events. “How are you feeling?” He sort of spreads out his arms and looks down at his body. “This will take a bit of getting used to. But I can’t lie, I feel amazing. My body feels hard, dense. And I’m horny – like really horny – my cock feels like it’s going to bust out of my pants. Did Shawn mention anything about feeling this horny?” “Well… Shawn would typically cum after each round of growth. So maybe that’s the answer to your question. And we were focused on getting out of my dorm – so you haven’t had that opportunity.” Mark pulls his shirt off – revealing an impressive, dense-looking six pack of abdominals – tight and hard. He previously had sort of a lean, slightly muscle-y frame, but now any fat has disappeared, replaced by hard muscles vacuum-sealed under a thin layer of skin highlighting the dense cables of each muscle fibre. He runs his hands over his abs, and up to his pecs, giving them a squeeze. “Well, if he has a fetish for muscles, then this sort of growth would be quite a turn on.” “Yes, quite a turn on.” I say almost hypnotically – watching the muscle fibers in his shoulders dance as he feels up his body. “This feels a bit unfair. You’ve been working so hard in the gym to earn your hot muscles, and I’ve gotten these without any work. And I believe I may now be a bit buffer than you – no offense – you’re still a sexy muscle-stud.” “No apologies. You rescued me. And… This is so…hot.” I can’t resist. I reach out and cup his pec, giving it a bit of a squeeze. My thumb slides into the cleft between his pecs – I can feel the individual muscle fibres as they undulate beneath the skin. His skin is quite warm, and his muscles are hard – there’s no visible fat, so no cushion to soften those dense muscles. “Mmm…” I let out a soft moan. Once again, my hardon is straining in my pants. “Corr. You’re killing me here.” Mark reaches down and unbuckles his belt. I can see his erection – straining to poke out of the pocket at his hip. He undoes his button and unzips. In order to get his pants down, he has to push his boner in toward his hip – and with some stretching, he’s able to get his pants down past his impressive obstacle. He shucks his pants and stands straight up – he only has on a small pair of sexy red briefs – which are completely defeated by his massive hardon. He’s so rampantly erect that it’s pulling his waistband away from his hip – and I can clearly see a girthy piece of meat that’s almost as thick as my wrist – and long enough to poke past his hip. Previously, I had only caught a brief glimpse of his flaccid cock – which was still a good size. And I had certainly felt his boner through his pants – so I knew that he was carrying an impressive tool. But now… Mark reaches down and gives his boner a squeeze through his briefs. He lets out a low growl of pleasure. “…so horny…” Mark pulls his briefs down and releases his cock – the thick tree-trunk stands perfectly straight out from his body. “Oh fuck.” He’s perfect. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.” He replies. He leans in for a kiss. I grab on to his hard delts and pull him in. He cups my ass with both hands and drives his tongue into my mouth. I run my hands across the mounds of muscle in his back and try to squeeze his firm glutes – they’re solid. His hard boner is sandwiched between us, I can feel it poking up into my abs – a very thick pipe that almost reaches up to my nipples. With tongues intertwined, we start making our way down the hall toward Mark’s bedroom. He pulls my shirt off over my head. And having his tongue out of my mouth gives me a moment to speak. “Mark. How is this going to work?” “Oh yeah… You have a point.” He picks up on my concern. “Perhaps a condom?” “That should work.” Mark leaps off to the bathroom while I strip off the rest of my clothes. He returns opening the wrapper and taking out the condom. He’s framed in the light from the hallway – the outline of a physique model who’s taken a liking to the gym. His glorious tree-trunk cock pointing directly forward is bobbing as he walks. I’m already at full erection, and my balls churn at the sight of the gorgeous hunk of man. “Let me get this on you.” Mark kneels down in front of me, grabbing the base of my dick. “You have such a beautiful cock.” And just before beginning to roll on the condom – he quickly rams my boner down his throat – providing a bit of lube for the condom. I can see a bit of moisture on his lips – was that pre-cum, or just saliva? If it was pre-cum, it likely wasn’t enough for any noticeable growth. Now that I’m covered, Mark stands up and we resume our tongue fencing. I used to be stronger than my nerdy boyfriend – but I would now agree with Mark’s assessment that he’s got the upper hand in the muscles department. He’s able to manhandle me down onto the bed – he’s on top and has me pinned – not that I’m trying to escape. My one hand is trying to make a dent in his ass, while my other hand is strumming across the ripples in his deltoid. Our two cocks are grinding against each other, fighting for space between our sandwiched bodies. I can feel the heat from Mark’s thick cock – and he’s leaking pre-cum – which is providing some lubrication as he’s grinding on top of me. Mark whispers, “I need to fuck you.” “With that giant piece of meat?” “I’ll go easy.” Like any good gay boy, Mark has a bottle of lube stashed beside the bed. He’s already got me on my back – he lifts my legs in the air and positions himself. He gently massages my hole with a lubed finger – teasing. My cock throbs and my balls churn with anticipation. He leans in for a lingering kiss, and then plants a trail of kisses down my neck and across my chest. His finger is gently massaging my prostate. My balls tighten up; my cock throbs. Mark removes his finger and directs the lubricated head of his cock toward my tight hole. I can feel the warmth and the moisture as he gently rubs his cockhead around my sphincter. He’s taking his time – my cock is throbbing in anticipation. Mark slowly begins to apply pressure, gently. He’s a pro at taking his time. His teasing is effective – my anxious anticipation is turning into eager desire – I want his cock deep in me. I feel the release as the thick cockhead fully enters. Mark pauses for a moment, leans forward and plants another string of kisses across my chest. I can feel him slowly rocking back and forth – applying just enough pressure to ease his massive cock in a little farther, and then backing away enough for me to feel the release. My cock is pulsing – I can feel every heartbeat in my raging erection. Mark continues to rock back-and-forth – his cock slowly driving deeper – I can feel the engorged head pushing its way farther up my ass. Finally, I can feel his firm balls nestled into my glutes. Mark takes a pause, leans forward and gives me a gentle kiss. Then he starts grinding – rocking back-and-forth – his cock pushing and pulling deep inside my ass. I am in ecstasy – my balls are clenched tight – my cock is on fire. He’s grinding my boner between our bodies. My hands are clamped tight on his glorious muscles – dense and hard to the touch. I can feel myself nearing climax. And I can also feel Mark nearing climax – as I can feel his thick cock swelling with the approaching orgasm. As he nears the edge, I can feel his muscles clench in anticipation – getting harder underneath my hands. This just excites me further – and then… Through my clenched teeth, “I’m gonna cum!” And I can feel the moisture flood my abs. Oh no! The condom has come off! It’s been dislodged with all that back-and-forth grinding. Mark hasn’t been swelling with an approaching orgasm – he’s been absorbing my pre-cum! And now I’ve just cum all over my abs! Mark is still lying on top of me – still eagerly fucking my ass. And now I can feel my cum drying up, being absorbed by Mark’s already gorgeous body. The first thing I notice is the surge of growth in his cock – the thick cockhead pushes a little deeper and the girthy shaft swells further. I can also feel Mark’s muscles growing – he’s becoming heavier. His pecs widen and push harder into my chest. I can feel his delts widening and thickening underneath my hands. And his eyes inch slightly up toward mine as he adds new height. He’s clearly stronger than me now – his thrusting is increasing in intensity. Impaled on his cock, I’m grinding on the bed as he’s fucking my ass. “Oh fuck yes!” (that’s me) “I’m gonna cum!” “Cum in my ass Mark!” I can feel his cock finally swell with the oncoming orgasm. The hard muscles of his body lock up – he freezes in place as his balls clench, his cock surges – and I can feel the intensity of his orgasm deep inside my ass – shot after intense shot. After the eternity of orgasm – Mark unfreezes. He collapses on top of me in exhaustion. His body is weighty – but even post-orgasm, his body is still densely-packed, hard muscle. He picks his head up and gives me a tender kiss. “You’re fucking amazing.” He has the more adorable post-sex puppy dog eyes and warm smile. “Thanks. You’re amazing too… And, if you don’t mind me saying… also rather heavy.” “Oops.” He lifts his torso up – and I can breathe freely. “Be gentle coming out.” Referring to his massive cock still stuck up my butt. “I’ll go slowly.” His cock was massive before, but now – even post orgasm – it is gigantic. Definitely as thick as my wrist – and hanging over a large set of balls, it is still hanging half-way down to his knees. The rest of him is just as impressive. Mark stands up beside the bed. His frame has filled out. He’s developed a gorgeous set of rounded delts that are corded with muscle fibres. And where the mounds of his delts come to a taper, out springs the mountains of his biceps and triceps – his biceps look as if he is smuggling a pair of softballs under his skin – and each one has a prominent vein. His pecs have become a bit of a shelf, pushing out over his abs. The ridges of his abdominals are now more prominent – and are clearly showing a solid eight-pack. His stance is now wider to accommodate the growth in his quads, which flare out from his tight hips to give him an impressive “X” shape. I stand up beside him – and I am now looking at least two inches up whereas before we were close to the same height. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to being the short one.” “If this happens every time we have sex, this could start to become a problem. How about we shower and get to bed – it’s been a long day. In the morning, we can discuss plans.” Although I really wanted an excuse to get my hands all over Mark’s muscles, we decided it would be safest to take turns in the shower. We curl up in bed. Due to Mark’s new size, it just makes sense for him to be the big spoon. He wraps an arm around me, and we curl up together. His muscles are firm, and I can feel the very sizeable lump of his cock nestled in the cleft of my ass. His breath is gently tickling my neck. This is heaven – and I am quickly asleep.
  3. Absman420

    m/m THE NEW SUPERMEN: BIZARRO pt2

    PREVIOUS CHAPTER Pt 2 McGrath, the Sheriff’s Deputy from Oklahoma, was smoking a cigar while he fucked his buddy Zelinski in the “super-sling” that Zelinski had mounted in his San Francisco playroom. McGrath had been a big man before becoming one of the New Supermen -- corn and beef fed they said of the male stock in that region -- but since his transformation, he was one of the biggest men alive. (Really only two or three bigger.) Thick, brutish muscle, he was large before he’d played college ball for the Sooners, when he really bloomed to peak size (what he’d thought was his peak, till his transformation). But McGrath maintained a GPA that allowed him to graduate cum laude -- unlike most inside linebackers, he had the brawn AND the brains. With a Bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice/ Law Enforcement, McGrath knew what he’d wanted to be long before football had come into the picture. And he loved being a lawman. He loved the badge and the power and the sexual fantasy that accompanied the job. How many women had big, hunky, Deputy McGrath seduced in his time with his muscular ass and husky thighs stretching his Sheriff’s uniform to the max? And again, McGrath had been well-equipped before becoming a New Superman. From simple observation in the team locker room, McGrath knew his cock was one of the biggest, too -- probably only two or three bigger. His wife had loved it -- and he’d loved giving it to her. And honestly, if there were a down-side to being one of the New Supermen, it’s that he wasn’t able to fuck women anymore. He’d tried it with his wife -- her riding him -- but it wasn’t enough. They both liked down-and-dirty too much. And he knew that if he’d pounded into her the way he used to, he’d simply crush her beneath him. So their sex life foundered. Who knew that it was more important to her than their marriage? (Their marriage had never stopped HIM from fucking around on the side.) Whatever. It’d been going stale, anyway -- and he enjoyed his role as Superman significantly more. Besides, fucking Zelinski’s tight ass was nearly as good as any pussy he’d ever had, including his wife’s. More, Zelinski liked it even harder than she ever had -- he could really cut loose and not worry for a second about damage or safe words. McGrath still considered himself straight -- he just took advantage of opportunity. He couldn’t fuck women anymore, so he fucked men -- he had to fuck something, after all. But he wasn’t gay -- he didn’t suck cock. He’d touched a couple of the other New Supermen, nipple play and stuff -- he’d gone so far as to kiss his buddy Tucker -- but he wasn’t gay. He didn’t DESIRE men -- he just fucked them because there was no other choice. And Zelinski was a great fuck (plus he could take McGrath’s entire cock), so a couple times a week McGrath flew out to Zelinski’s San Francisco loft and dropped a load or two. Zelinski was exactly the type of guy McGrath preferred in a fuck-buddy -- he was grateful and adventurous and playful, but not demanding or clingy or caught in the mire of romantic feelings. They got together -- they fucked -- they went their separate ways. McGrath wished he could’ve had that kind of relationship with his former wife. That Zelinski had gone so far as to make this “Super-Sling” only emphasized his commitment to giving all the New Supermen the sexual outlet they needed -- the ones who’d remained single, anyway. Some of the New Supermen had gotten together into “relationships”. McGrath knew that his buddy Tucker had paired off with Max Malone -- McGrath had played with them a couple of times, but he wasn’t into all the kissing and shit, so he finally gave up on them as anything other than friends and instead spent his sexual time with Zelinski. It was better (for him) when relationships were clearly defined. And nothing more clearly defined him as a top than the pounding he was giving Zelinski now while McGrath smoked a cigar, wearing only his work boots and a black baseball cap reading “DEPUTY” in block white letters. McGrath’s thick handlebar mustache and his perpetual five o’clock shadow gave him the look that every bottom fantasized about as their ultimate Daddy -- at least, that was how Zelinski lived the moment. He had the same Tom of Finland fantasy every time McGrath fucked him. McGrath pumped to a fever pitch, his breath hitched, and he shot his load deep into Zelinski’s hole. “Fuckin’ hell yeah,” he groaned, exhaling a plume of cigar smoke. “Take that shit.” It didn’t last long -- McGrath’s orgasms never did -- before he was pulling his generous dick out of Zelinski and wiping it down. He noticed Zelinski just lying in the sling, catching his breath. “You gonna cum?” McGrath asked, as he cleaned himself off. Zelinski sighed contentedly. “You gonna help?” he asked with a smirk. McGrath snorted. “You know I ain’t gay, Z. I don’t do cock.” Zelinski laughed as he started beating off. “Says the guy who just fucked my ass.” McGrath turned back to face him. “And fucked it good,” he said, reaching in to grab Zelinski’s balls. With a firm hand, he squeezed the root of Zelinski’s sac until he heard a moan. “That what you like, you little homo?” he growled. “Yes, Sir,” Zelinski moaned, jerking himself hard. “Yes, Daddy…” “Shoot your load, boy,” McGrath ordered, sucking on his stogie with his free hand. “Shoot it now while you’re all full of Daddy’s cum.” And Zelinski did, blowing a load that landed across his throat and chin. Fuck, he loved these straight dudes. He screamed as he let go. McGrath smiled. His job here was done. “So,” McGrath said as he slid his underwear back on and Zelinski floated up out of the sling, landing by his cum towel, “we still good for Friday?” Zelinski chuckled. “We’re good anytime you wanna give that big cock, my friend. I fuckin’ LOVE that dick,” he said, wiping himself down. “I just wish I could get you to love mine.” McGrath shrugged his massive shoulders. “We are who we are,” he said, zipping up his black cargo pants. “Look, Z, if I were gay, you would…” “I know, I know… I’m not trying to make a thing out of it -- I’m just sayin’...” They stood there awkwardly facing each other, the sexual pull between them undeniable, but McGrath just couldn’t do it -- he couldn’t kiss Zelinski. Instead, he gave him a Bro-Hug. “Look, gimme some time…” McGrath whispered in Zelinski’s ear. “There’s no one else I’d want to do this with…” Zelinski smirked. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he laughed. McGrath pushed him away. “Fuck you,” he said playfully, and reached for his shirt. “Yeah, you will,” Zelinski said, heading toward the bathroom. “On Friday. Have a good flight… daddy.” McGrath wanted to throw something at him, but he knew his super-strength would be more destructive than playful, so he flipped Zelinski off instead (to Zelinski’s laughter), stubbed his cigar butt out and slid his t-shirt on -- the word “Sooners” stretched across his chest. He heard the shower come on, so without a formal goodbye, McGrath stepped out onto Zelinski’s balcony and flew off toward home. He’d done this flight a thousand times -- he could almost do it blindfolded, From San Francisco, he flew Easterly, though he preferred a more Northerly flight path over Nevada, Utah and Colorado, rather than the more direct Southerly pass over Arizona and New Mexico (and part of that shithole Texas). He liked the scenery of the Rockies versus the desert -- there was plenty of flat and boring in Oklahoma, thank you, give this man the mountains. But then, just as he was flying over Glen Canyon National Park in Southeastern Utah, just as he was settling into a post-orgasmic, blissful, trance-like flight (listening to a Tim McGraw album on his headphones), he was hit directly from beneath, unexpectedly, by what seemed like a missile -- it momentarily knocked the wind from him. “What the actual fuck?” he asked no one. Looking around for what hit him. Tim McGraw sang about being humble and kind. Then it hit him again, this time from behind, and drove him -- at super-speed -- down onto the ground before he could get his bearings. It was a person -- a man -- it was a some-ONE, not a some-THING. Someone with super powers. McGrath forced himself up from the ground and back-handed the guy off him, knocking him about twenty or thirty feet back, where he landed in a puff. Regaining his feet, McGrath noticed a white, chalky dust on the back of his fist where he’d hit his adversary. He wiped a bit with the fingers of his other hand and sniffed it. And he was suddenly horny. It hit him like cocaine -- that’s what it reminded him of, this white, chalky dust -- except drugs weren’t supposed to affect him anymore. And what… was the guy covered in it or something? Why was McGrath’s dick hard? The guy stood, shaking off McGrath’s wallop. He was a gigantic thing, six-four, six-five, close to three hundred pounds of muscle -- simply massive -- dressed only in a Superman compression shirt and a pair of over-stuffed red speedos. To look at him, he COULD be the actual Superman, he looked so similar, except for the fact that his skin lacked pigment and his hair was a disheveled mess -- he was a white as a snowman. Glancing at the powder on his own hands, McGrath wondered if the guy was covered in it… or if he was producing it somehow. Whichever, he had a shit-eating grin on his face -- he looked like an idiot. He HAD to be coked out, McGrath thought. (Although, horny as he was, McGrath couldn’t help but notice the guy’s huge, swollen ball sac, big to the point of being uncomfortable, causing Macrath to inadvertently lick his lips.) “All right, pal,” he said, in a ready-stance, “what the fuck is goin’ on?” The monster laughed, a big, fool’s laugh. “BAD WORD!” he said, pointing. “YOU NO AM SUPERMAN! YOU AM BAD WORD!” “Are you okay?” McGrath asked, warily. “Are you on something?” “ME WANT ON SUPERMAN! YOU NO AM SUPERMAN! YOU AM BAD WORD!” Casually, McGrath pulled the Sooners tee over his head, revealing his own heavily-muscled torso, and the metallic S-shield that was tattooed across his mighty chest. “I think you’ll find me a worthy substitute,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “YOU... AM... SUPERMAN!” the thing said, as if discovering something new. “ME WANT FUCK SUPERMAN!” “What…?” And then, with a burst of super-speed, the creature was on him and knocked McGrath onto his back. “ME WANT FUCK SUPERMAN,” the thing said, and it began kissing McGrath, over and over again, like someone who’d never kissed an adult before. The dust that came off the creature -- that coated the creature? -- McGrath could smell it -- taste it -- it WAS like cocaine. Horny cocaine. As he wrestled with this creature, he got more of it on himself… in himself. He could feel the thing’s erection pressing against him. He could feel his own pressing back. What the fuck…? “YOU AM FEEL IT NOW!” the creature rasped, as if his throat were dry, too -- or he didn’t know how to whisper. “YOU AM HORNY SUPERMAN!” Lifting up into the air, McGrath tried to flip the creature over his head, but then ended up slamming them both into the ground on their backs, raising more dust -- he couldn’t break the thing’s hold. Admittedly, he wasn’t used to wrestling (seriously) with guys that had strength equal to his own -- even in his daily work as a deputy, he rarely came across anything that required his full strength. Sure, every now and again he’d lift a car, or a tree blocking the road, but nothing like this. “ME AM SO HORNY FOR SUPERMAN!” Without even trying to, the creature easily flipped position and scissored McGrath’s head with its massive quads -- its over-sized balls right in McGrath’s face. Impossible to breath -- everything smelled like sex and horny energy. He was having trouble fighting back. The creature squatted and t-bagged McGrath, his grapefruit-sized balls flopping to either side of McGrath’s face, smothering him in ecstasy. He reached up and grabbed the thing’s quads, perhaps in an effort to pull himself off the ground, instead he put himself deeper in the creature’s sac. He didn’t care. The way he was feeling right now -- he wasn’t caring about much of anything. “YOUR COCK AM SO HARD!” the creature said, grabbing it. “YOU AM SO HORNY!” McGrath drew in a deep breath, moaning -- his face was covered in powder, giving him the look of someone hit too hard by a makeup poof. He wiped it off and licked it -- he wanted it straight from the source. “Yeah, gimme your cock,” McGrath panted, desperately. “I need that cock... ” “ME FUCK SUPERMAN,” the creature said, laughing his stupid laugh. “ME MAKE SUPER HORNY!” “Yeah, fuck me,” McGrath heaved, his desperation growing, pulling his pants off. “Put it in me!” “ME FUCK YOU!” the creature said, playing with its own dick, sliding a dusty finger into McGrath’s hole. “ME FUCK YOU STUPID!” It was the creature’s balls that were swollen, not its cock -- McGrath’s own was significantly bigger -- but McGrath had never had any cock at all, remember, so his virgin ass was going to be feeling it no matter what. Except something about the dust coming off the creature wasn’t making him feel much of anything other than lust and need. He felt its cock against his hole, pressing for entrance -- and briefly, he thought it might hurt, but he didn’t care -- he didn’t even care if it made him gay -- he just let it in. He needed it. And it was ecstasy from the moment it was inside. The creature clung to him, humping him doggie-style, but wrapped around McGrath’s muscular torso, one hand in McGrath’s mouth, so that McGrath sucked on the creature’s fingers, licking the candy-coating straight off. He felt nothing but idiotic bliss as the creature’s enormous balls slapped against his hamstrings. “ME CUM NOW!” the creature roared. “ME GIVE SUPERMAN BIG LOAD!” And then he did -- he slammed deep into McGrath’s muscular ass and filled him with cum, every ounce those giant balls could produce. Liquid ecstasy. The creature stayed inside him, reaching around and grabbing McGrath’s rock hard cock. “NOW YOU,” the creature growled in his ear. “NOW YOU GET STUPID! HORNY AND STUPID!” McGrath’s balls started to swell, as if they were filling with the creature’s ejaculate. McGrath held his package, moaning, the weight of his nads increasing -- the sexual charge growing right along with them. The creature jerked him with rough, clumsy strokes, but McGrath was so blissed out it didn’t matter. He was moments away from shooting -- moments away from losing all control. He felt so fucking good! “SHOOT, HORNY SUPERMAN!” McGrath, unable to help himself, threw his head back and yelled, “YES! FUCK, YES! HORNY SUPERMAN SHOOT!” And then he did -- this huge, blinding, stupefying orgasm. His big, swollen balls pumped out ropes of thick, white jizz. More and more -- every little bit of him. Even as the last drops dribbled out -- a line like thick, white snot descending from the open tip -- McGrath’s dick remained semi-erect. He continued to play with it, licking the dribs of cum from his fingers as if discovering the taste. He was nearly covered in white powder, making him look like a bodybuilding clown. For no reason, he found that funny and started giggling. The creature chuckled with him, pulling his cock out of McGrath’s ass -- there was a tight “pop!” that made them both laugh out loud. “YOU AM STUPID!” the creature said, delighted. “YOU AM STUPID NOW!” McGrath laughed -- a big, braying, bovine laugh. “ME... AM... STUPID!” he said, smiling, looking around. “WHERE… WHERE BRAINS GO?” The creature laughed, smacking McGrath on the ass. “YOU SHOT ALL YOUR BRAINS OUT, SUPER COCK! YOU AM STUPID NOW!” The two of them looked at each other for a moment, trying to comprehend, then they broke out laughing and they hugged. “STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!” they sang and danced around each other, big balls flopping and cocks dribbling. They awkwardly kissed, suddenly reminding themselves they were horny and desperate, covering each other in the powder. McGrath felt a new kind of need — the need to pass it on. (Not that he was in a position to articulate it.) “WE NEED FUCK MORE SUPERMEN!” he said with a smile. (Okay, maybe he could articulate it.) “HORNY…” The creature vigorously nodded. “YES! MAKE MORE HORNY SUPERMEN!” “ME NEED SUPER COCK!” The creature looked around. “WHERE AM MORE SUPERMEN?” Putting his hand on the Creature’s mighty chest. “ONE SUPERMEN,” McGrath said with seriousness and intensity, as if this were taking all his concentration. “TWO SUPERMEN,” he continued, touching himself. “WE AM TWO SUPERMEN!” he laughed, clapping childishly. “YOU AM SO STUPID,” the Creature laughed. “WHERE MORE SUPERMEN AT?” “ME KNOW! ME KNOW!” McGrath jumped up and down with his hand in the air. “THERE AM MORE SUPERMEN IN SAN FRANCISCO! SLUTTY SUPERMEN!” “ME LOVE FUCK SLUTTY SUPERMEN!” “YAY! MAKE SLUTTY SUPERMAN STUPID, TOO!” Again, they danced joyfully together. “WE MAKE ALL SUPERMEN HORNY AND STUPID!” They cheered, then stood there looking at each other blankly. “WHERE WE GO?” “SLUTTY SUPERMEN’S HOUSE, HORNY STUPID!” McGrath laughed. “RIGHT! ME NEW AT STUPID! NOT GOOD LIKE YOU!” They laughed together, hugged and kissed again. “LET’S GO!” Holding hands, they flew off. NEXT PART
  4. Something new for all you gorgeous people to read! This one's shaping up to be pretty schmoopy, fyi. It was spawned by a couple of really different songs getting thrown together while doing Cardio. I'm linking them and a visual aid for anyone who likes to see the inspiration side of things before they start reading. Also, another thank you is owed to Dredlifter for helping me iron out some numbers. First Song - Falling Slowly https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQvwXbvs5GY Second Song - Confident https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwLRQn61oUY And the T-Shirt https://www.teeturtle.com/products/gym-unicorn?variant=1540111073289 Enjoy. FORTUNE FAVOURS... Cas watched TJ warily in the gym mirror. The asshole behemoth had been eyeing him and Karen since they arrived. He had his usual band of cronies working out with him but today there was a new face added to the mix. TJ kept leaning down, way down to speak in his ear like he was giving some sort of direction. New Guy finally looked over and made eye contact in the mirror. Cas shivered and immediately dropped his gaze to the floor – the guy was fucking perfect! He snuck a look back up in the mirror to see New Guy nodding slowly to TJ before he started to swagger across the gym. “Incoming, Karen....” She pushed her blue-black hair out of her eyes and glanced over her shoulder before pushing out a final rep on the leg press. “Well fuck. How did he even figure out what time we'd be here?” Normally TJ followed a pretty strict schedule. With a little unofficial help from the staff, Cas and Karen had been able to schedule their own workouts for times when he wouldn't be there at all. Today TJ had thrown them for a loop – they came in well after he would have normally departed but he was still here with his counsel of sycophants scurrying about his massive frame. Cas watched the twink's approach. Well, that probably wasn't fair – New Guy was pretty damn built, more like a twunk, maybe. Ash blonde hair was playfully mussed at the front, a tuft of it standing straight up. Grey eyes stared out below fuller brows that arched up to prevent him from having a permanent cro-magnan scowl. He was a little scruffy but Cas could still see the square definition of his jawline before it tapered to the chin. He had a slightly upturned nose that lent his symmetrical face the slightest hint of a feline quality. He was achingly handsome and Cas felt a tingle of desire twinge through his body. It was like TJ had gone out of his way to find someone who would be as attractive to Cas's tastes as possible. New Guy was almost to them. "Fuck, he's seriously built...." Definitely thicker than a twunk. It was his height that made him seem smaller than he was. Cas estimated himself to have about a six-inch advantage. Karen was on her feet now, also appraising his approach. “Shit, Cas. This one's very easy on the eyes. And damn he fills out that racer tank in the best way. If he hasn't absorbed too much of TJ's douchebagliness, maybe he can be saved? How much do you want to bet that he mentions your shirt?” Karen looked over at Cas and grinned mischievously. The sight was decidedly unnerving. There was something about a woman who looked like she could bench press Buick smiling wickedly that could rattle anyone. “But you told me you love this shirt?” Cas started defensively. “That shirt is fucking amazing. Doesn't mean he isn't going to mention it. Five bucks?” “It's a lousy bet and we both know it. How 'bout we just give you the win and I'll bring you cookies next time I make some?” "Done. Let me know if you need me?" And with that, she moved off to more leg work nearby, earphones off and listening. “I'm sure I'll be fi-” “Hey.” Damn, Cas had turned to keep talking to Karen and lost track of how close New Guy was. Of course his voice would be misleadingly deep for his size. It was a low, rich tenor, just a smidgen above a bass. Cas felt his balls draw up tight in response to the vibration. His bottom lip hinged open and he stared slack-jawed at the person before him. Karen was not wrong – his chest and back completely stretched out his tank top. Well developed delts and traps topped off the look with the barest tease of his serrati disappearing into the shirt down each side. The dense spread of blond hair across his pecs was trimmed but not shaved. Same thing under the arms, but, as Cas's gaze involuntarily lowered, not the legs. Interesting.... “Uh, Hello?” New guy tried his greeting again, this time paired with a confident smirk in response to Cas's less-than-subtle ogling. “Sorry, sorry – Hi?” Cas couldn't stop himself from blushing scarlet. “I just came over here to say that I, um, really like your shirt...?” Karen snorted in the background. “That sounded like a question. You sure that's why you're over here?” Cas gave a pointed stare at TJ across the gym. New Guy turned his head to follow the look. TJ just stood there, watching patiently with a malicious stare – his blue eyes chips of ice from across the room. Cas shivered at the hate in the look. New Guy noticed the shiver as he turned back. “Just... just ignore him.” “It's... complicated.” “I'm sure it is. Any more complicated than why you decided to wear a shirt that has a buff, dead-lifting unicorn with a rainbow, mohawk mane to a gym in a small, conservative city?” New Guy took another step closer so they were barely 6 inches apart. “There is nothing wrong with my shirt. It's a dead-lifting unicorn, where the hell else am I supposed to wear it?” Cas hissed out through his teeth and tiptoed closer trying to intimidate New Guy. New Guy didn't rise to the bait. He just widened his stance, rolled his broad shoulders back distractingly and kept eye-contact with Cas. “I didn't say there was. It's ballsy. I like it.” “Oh... um...” Cas deflated immediately and shuffled backward. This was...unexpected. “Hey, you don't have to- Fuck this posturing bullshit. I'm Blake.” New guy held out his hand at what he hoped was a non-offensive distance. Cas reached out and shook it, grateful for the offer. “Cas.” For a shorter guy, Blake's hand dwarfed his in thickness. Sure, Cas's hand was a bit longer, but the strength in the breadth of Blake's palm could easily crush his if he wanted. Blake eyed the guy shaking his hand quickly. He had looked so confident laughing and joking with that woman from across the gym. He was taller than he looked – lean and athletic upper torso tapering to a lean waist. Blake could see the obvious curve of his ass through the pants but couldn't tell much else about his legs. High cheekbones highlighted his oval-shaped face capped with playfully tousled toffee-brown hair. His eyes were a vibrant green set evenly beneath what had to be shaped brows. A narrow, refined nose split the face evenly with full lips below that would be perfect for giving... a lot. Blake turned away to surreptitiously adjust himself a bit as he halted his thoughts before he got fully hard in his workout shorts. “Just Cas? Or is it short for something else?” “You sure ask a lot of questions, Blake?” “How else am I supposed to get to know you?” Why was this guy so defensive? “What did TJ send you over here to do?” “Well...um....” Blake knew this was a bad idea. Why did he agree to this? Cas saw the look of confusion flit across Blake's face. “Caspian. Cas is short for Caspian.” The revelation emboldened Blake. “He wanted me to challenge you to some sort of lift competition? I just kinda smiled and nodded and hoped I'd be able to work out what he really wanted once I got over here and started talking to you. He gave me this free workout drink to do it. I'm supposed to get the other part to after I, um, blow you away and win. He's kind of a creepy asshole, actually. He kept going on about how he was finally going to be the one to teach you something? I figured I didn't have a lot to lose – I don't really know anyone at this gym yet. It's a great ice-breaker, in here anyway, showing off a bit without being an ass and maybe find a work out partner. Besides, it's not like you'd be able to lift as heavy as I can, right?” Blake finished with what he hoped was a cocky yet endearing grin. “I'm sorry, what was that last part?” Cas had a plan forming in his mind. “TJ kinda led me to believe you'd be, well, smaller than me.” Cas quirked an eyebrow at that. “And even though you're not exactly small, there's no way you could ever lift as much as these guns!” Blake brought his arms up and flexed, hard balls of muscle popping up and filling the space above his arms. They were impressive on his frame – probably 15 inches cold. “Did he say what you were supposed to win?” “Something about you wearing the little blue devil and proving it to me and to him at the gym. Does that make any sense to you?” “He told you to ask for that?! Are you sure?” “Pretty sure. He made me repeat it before I got this drink.” Blake started to lift it up to his mouth to take a swig but Cas reached out and touched his elbow lightly, leaning in to whisper. “Don't drink it, Blake. Keep raising it to your mouth and pretend to drink but whatever you do, don't actually put it in you. And don't let TJ know that you aren't slugging it back. TJ has a number of...questionable hobbies. One of them is amateur...biochemistry, you might say.” Cas stepped back and looked around for Karen. They were probably going to need help for what he had in mind. "I'm sorry? Are you saying that this is some kind of...experiment for him?" Blake stared at the unnaturally scarlet liquid in his shaker cup. “Do you really know TJ outside of the gym, Blake?” “Uh, no. And I only joined like a week-and-a-half ago. I was using the gym on the college campus before I started my practical placement. What's the deal with you two? You looked really on edge earlier when you first looked over at him and now you're acting weird again....” “I just need to find my friend, the woman I was with before. I'll be right back, okay?” “Uh yeah? I'll just wait here?” “Perfect.” Cas practically bolted toward the cardio machines. After legs, Karen usually cooled down on a treadmill. He found her on her favourite one and led her back to Blake, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Hey Kid, hear you're going to challenge Caspian to some lifts?” Karen smirked as she drawled out Cas's full name. “Um, that's right, Ma'am?” Karen raised an eyebrow at getting Ma'am-ed. “Er, Miss? Do you... prefer Ms. maybe?” Karen burst out laughing as Blake floundered. “What's the matter, Kid? Haven't you ever seen a woman who lifts?” “Er, nooo...” Blake raised his shaker cup and almost forgot to only pretend to take a drink. “It's Karen, Kid. And don't really drink that shit – it's toxic as hell if it's from TJ.” She took a swig of water. "So here's the deal, Karen," Cas started. "TJ asked Blake here to challenge me, defeat me handily, and as his prize, I was to wear the little blue devil to the gym in order to prove it to Blake and TJ." Karen choked on her water. “He wants that?! Oh Kid, what the hell did you do to piss TJ off?” “My. Name. Isn't. Kid.... It's Blake. And what the hell is this blue devil thing? Why is it so important?” Cas leaned in conspiratorially and brought up a picture on his phone. Blake sputtered and his ears flushed bright pink. “He wants me to make you wear an ass plug?! Wait, does that thing actually fit in your ass?” Several people looked over at the trio strangely. “Say it a bit louder, Blake,” Caspian whispered. “I think there's a deaf woman in the tanning room who didn't hear you.” He stepped back and looked over Karen and Blake before continuing. “So, if you win, that's what you're going to get from me. I can guarantee TJ will bring his posse in on it and you probably won't be getting out of here without having your own forced blue devil experience.” “TJ is so sick. Sick and wrong. Why can't I just go over there and call him out? You know the management has just been looking for a reason....” Karen was livid. “Guys, I just met you. This is a little...heavy. Is he really going to get away with this?” Blake was looking green. “Hell no. You're not going to win.” “What!?” “You're not going to win....” “How the fuck are you going to do that!? I mean, you're in great shape and all, but I'm pretty sure the advantage is mine.” Blake puffed up. He wanted to help Cas out but he didn't want to be shown up in public by someone so...slim.... “Kid – shit, sorry - Blake, you don't know what you're in for.” Karen caught on to where Cas was going with his plan after hearing Blake's self-aggrandizing. “Did TJ tell you what he wanted you to beat me at?” Cas grinned widely down at Blake. “He...no, he didn't....” “That just convinces me he wanted to get back at you for something. Here's the wager, if you win, TJ ravages our asses against our will. If I win, you have to attend a HIIT class with me tomorrow morning and let me take you to brunch. Deal?” “I'm sorry, are you saying that if I win we throw ourselves at TJ's mercy but if you win, I'm the one who gets free food?” “And you have to attend the class.” “Pffft, it's a fitness class. I'll be fine.” “Do we have a deal?” “Fine, whatever. We have a deal.” “Karen. You get to be our neutral witness. Not even TJ will argue with you.” “Oh Blake, you're in for a ride today.... You doing what I think you're doing, Cas?” “Yup. Blake, you're challenging me to standing calf raises. Working set of 8.” “What?!” “You look like you don't skip leg day so it shouldn't be a complete blow out for you.” “Calf raises?” Blake was still stupefied as Cas led him over to the machine. “C'mon Blake. You should warm up.” Cas started to adjust the pads for Blake's height and then stopped himself. That was going to involve way more physical contact than someone like Blake would probably want from him. “You should, um adjust the machine for yourself....” “Are we seriously doing standing calf-raises?! Who the fuck tests themselves with calf-raises?” A couple of machines over, one of TJ's lackeys overheard the comment and started snickering. Blake blushed deeply, a tight coil of anger gathered in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck them, let's do this. I hope you know what you're doing, Caspian.” He lowered the shoulder pads and popped the pin down to 250 lbs and blew through 8 quick reps. "Nice, Blake! Did you even feel that? And starting at 250 will help make sure TJ gets the drawn-out show he thought he wanted. Just let me get the pads up." Cas slid into the machine and smoothly cranked out a warm-up set. Blake watched him lower the pin to 300. That wasn't too much below what Blake used as a working set. "All ready for you. Pin should be set too." Blake stepped in and started to push up, but something felt off. The shoulder pads weren't sitting where they should. They were too high. He shot Cas a glare, who stood there making the least convincing innocent face in the history of pranks. “Nice, Caspian. 'Cause that hasn't been done to me since high school. How tall are you anyway – you've got to be at least 6 feet if you need to raise it that much more than my 5 feet, 6.5 inches." Blake lowered the pads a bit more. Cas looked from him to Karen, who looked back at Blake and slowly shook her head. “Blake, who told you that you're – aw Fuck - it was TJ wasn't it?” Cas was fuming – this was a new low. “Uh, yeah. Said his drink could make me at least an inch taller in a week, just like it bumped him up to 6 feet, 5 inches....” “I'm not 6 feet tall. I might squeak by at 5 feet, 11 inches. Karen's 5 feet, 4 inches and you don't have almost three inches on her....” Blake looked over at Karen. His eyes were above hers by about an inch, but if she was only 5' 4”.... He tried to stop the tears of anger from welling up in his eyes. Simultaneously, both Cas and Karen reached out to touch his shoulders but he shrugged them off and stepped into the machine. “I'm going to fucking kill him. He is such an asshole!” Karen started to march off but Cas grabbed her shoulder. “Just wait. He'll get his without you having to go murder anyone. Blake, you good?” "Yup. Apparently, I'm still... 5 feet fucking 5 inches and...just fucking... fine...." He started slowly lifting himself up and down. “Hey, tell me about your favourite breakfast food? Pancakes? No – it has to be waffles. You totally look like you're into waffles.” Cas approached the machine taking care not to make physical contact with Blake. Blake finished his set without answering and just stared at the machine. “I bet someone as built as you are - like a stacked tank - can pack away tonnes of food, right?” When in doubt, appeal to the straight man's sense of masculinity. It managed to get a small smile out of Blake, but was he straight? “You have no idea, Cas. I'm going to cost you so much money with breakfast tomorrow. I'm going to eat so much – you're going to help me get even more massive.” Blake's small smile widened as he described the vast quantities of food he would consume. “You're up.” “You okay if I up the ante to speed this along? I think it may have been a bad idea to try and give TJ a show.” “Absolutely. He deserves nothing from us. I'm a little lost about why you decided to go along with this whole thing that he set up anyway. You clearly don't like him and I've put together that he probably doesn't like you so much either. Which is weird, because every time I met up with him, he was always talking about you.” “It's complicated.” “Yeah, you said that earlier....” Blake trailed off mid-sentence, obviously trying to cue Cas to jump in at any time. "Have you ever had someone do things to you over and over and over that you couldn't stop because they were just too strong, too big, too powerful, too whatever for you to deal with? And eventually, you resign yourself to just go along with certain things to avoid making it worse on yourself? To avoid the struggle, because the struggle always ends up with you losing and making things worse for yourself?” “I can't say that I've ever really experienced it....” Blake started to look distinctly uncomfortable with where Cas might be going. “But you can follow the train of thought?” “A bit, I guess. Kinda sounds a little... rough, actually.” “Yeah...you could say that....I-” Cas stopped himself and sighed. This wasn't the time or place; he could not have this conversation here. “...Cas...?” Karen's hand reached out and made the faintest contact with his elbow. Blake watched them look at each other silently. Without exchanging a single word, he saw the tension bleed out of Caspian with that single, gossamer touch from his friend. Hearing Cas speak, seeing him fight to get the words out.... Blake wasn't stupid. He knew where the train of thought led. It woke something inside him, not quite a righteous anger, but a desire to make things different, to show Cas that he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. “Let's just say it's like that, okay? I don't want to give TJ any reason to do anything and so I'm going along with this little charade of his. Besides, if I hadn't, you and I might not have really met, right?” Cas tried to lighten the mood. This was way too serious. “Well if you put it that way, I am pretty amazing....” Blake couldn't resist bringing his arms up behind his head and flexing them while he flared out his shoulders and upper back. The look of raw, naked awe and desire Cas gave him fuelled whatever was awakening within him. He wanted so much more of that look. He wanted so much more than five paltry minutes of feigned intimacy with this person. Caspian discerned a change in Blake's expression, a glint of something he couldn't identify. Shaking off his own emotions he broke the gaze and looked back at the machine. "Brilliant then. Let's finish this." Cas lowered the pin to 350 and adjusted the pads, taking special care to actually mark what height Blake needed. He cranked out the set without breaking a sweat. Blake gaped at how easy Cas did the warm-up set. “You're still warming up at 350?” It was Cas's turn to blush a bit as he lowered the pads. “....yeah.... Um, maybe you should just go for your max...?” Blake gulped and stepped into the machine. He liked leg day... mostly. He didn't skip it at least. How could this ...twig, well relative to him anyway, outperform him on any lift? He dropped the pin to 400 and took a deep breath. It was one plate more than he had worked with last week – he could do this! He made it to three before he started to struggle. Four and five burned but were workable. Six... six was rough. Seven...he felt the weight move up the slightest bit before he had to lower it. “Nice job, Ki-Blake. I'll give you your seven.” Karen clapped him on the back. She was being generous and he knew it. “Fuck. TJ's starting to make his way over. I'll try to make this quick, but it might get ugly, Blake.” Cas raised the pads and did four quick lifts and then stopped and lowered the pin to 500 even. Blake's jaw fell open as he watched Cas work through his complete set. At least this time it looked like he had to work for it a little. “Can he actually max the machine?” Blake's gaze didn't leave Cas's curvaceous ass methodically rising up and down in steady, controlled motion. “Probably.” Karen crossed her arms and widened her stance in preparation for TJ's arrival with his henchmen. “He's stopping at 500 so I can save some face, isn't he?” “Yuuup. Cas is usually a pretty good kid.” “Finally, he gets Kidded.” Karen snorted. “Kid, everyone's 'kid' to me. Except TJ and his crew – they're just assholes.” “Is he... How...old-” Blake leaned in close to ask but Karen saved him from having to say it. “25. But you didn't hear it from me.” She spoke low enough for only Blake to hear before calling out as Cas finished his set, “And that's a set of 8 at 500 for Caspian. You want to try it, Blake?” “Hell no. I, uh, have to survive a HIIT class tomorrow now and find something clean to wear for breakfast....” Cas stepped out of the machine just as TJ finished his lumbering approach. Blake watched Cas's body tense. He raised himself up onto the balls of his feet as if he were expecting to run or kick. He clenched his hands tight but not into fists. Blake could see Cas's fingernails digging into his palms. Was he seriously going to make himself bleed? Could he be that angry? And then Cas shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Blake and Karen were with him. His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated in preparation of a flight response. Despite his anxiety, he still managed to turn back to the object of his terror and stand his ground as TJ sneered down at him. Blake cursed under his breath and started toward Caspian. Karen quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him from rushing in before Cas had a chance to stand up for himself. “Queer.” The voice sounded reedy, petulant. A sharp contrast to the hulking exterior. Dark hair and a solid brow line scowled over emotionless blue eyes. A grim slash of a mouth barely opened when he talked. He could someday, possibly even be handsome if he bothered taking care of himself or took the time to smile occasionally. “TJ.” Cas returned icily. “Anything I can help you with?” “Just coming over to see how your little competition went. Calf-raises huh? Can't say I'm really surprised that someone as pitiful as you would pick something like that, Cassie.” He rested a hand on the machine and leaned down into Cas, trying his best to force him into giving ground. Blake was having none of it. He broke from Karen and deftly interposed himself between Cas and TJ's looming form. Sure, Cas was tall enough that TJ still had a clear shot at his face, but if he tried it, he'd have to leave his abdomen open to whatever Blake wanted to dish out. Blake shoved his shaker cup up at TJ's chest. Hard. The unexpected movement caught TJ off guard and he stumbled back a step. Blake felt Cas slowly let out the breath he had been holding. “It went pretty well, all things considered, big fella.” Blake kept his voice steady, neutral. “I did get my ass handed to me though, so there won't be any blue devil in your immediate future. I guess you'll have to have one of your 'friends' help you out with that instead.” TJ's eyes narrowed. "Oh, and I won't need that drink you offered me after all. Looks like I didn't have the stomach for the first bit. How about you keep my shaker cup, eh? It's the least I could do for all the assistance you gave me showing me around this week and helping me figure out who to avoid.” “Careful, shortstack. Pretty sure you're making a mistake right now.” “Nah. No mistake. But thanks. So Much. For coming over. To say goodbye.” Blake laid it on thick at the end. A moment of tense silence settled between them before TJ finally spoke. “That's... cool.... We were just about to head out anyway. Take care, ladies.” His inflection ensured not a single person felt anything was 'cool.' TJ pushed against Blake as he made his way past the trio and toward the door. The couple of hangers-on scampered after him looking more like animated caricatures than actual people. Just as he reached the corner Cas called out. “Blake was telling me about your problem with accurately measuring your height, TJ. If you ever need someone to help you buy shoes with even thicker soles than those ones so you can actually hit 6'4,” give me a call. I'd love to help you deal with your insecurity.” TJ stopped for a moment but didn't turn around. His two underlings failed to notice and collided with his broad back. Muttering apologies to TJ, they all awkwardly started toward the exit again. "Well, you two little shits were in fine form. Did you feed each other fistfuls of sass pills while you were flirting earlier?" Karen barely managed to keep a straight face. Blake shook himself out while Cas tried to control his breathing. "Thanks, guys. And Blake, you didn't have to do that, stepping in front of me. It was a stupidly brave, kind gesture and really appreciated but you could have gotten yourself killed or worse what if he had actu-" “Hey.” Blake raised a hand up to Cas's shoulder to snap him out of his rant. “If I didn't want to be there, I wouldn't have put myself there. I'll do it any time and every time....” He looked as if he was going to say something else but instead suddenly blurted,” I, um, have to get out of here. Now. To go do some laundry so I have something that doesn't make me look like a hobo for tomorrow. What time's the class?” "7:30 am. Lasts about 45 minutes. Don't wear loose boxers. See you then?" “Without a doubt.” Blake gave them one final bi flex before making his way toward the men's locker room with an overhead wave. Karen and Cas watched him leave in silence. “You manage to figure out if he likes you yet?” Karen crossed her arms again. “I had, like, five minutes. Five. What do think I said, Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” “From you? Yeah.” “Oh my god. I hate you so much right now.” “Nah you don't. He know you're teaching the class tomorrow?” “Not a chance.” “Smooth. Sure that'll be fun. Maybe I'll show up to see his face.” “No you won't – you won't even be out of bed until after 9:00 am.” “Nooope.” Karen grinned and then looked at Cas expectantly. “Well?” "Well, what?" All Cas could think about was how the hell he was going to patch together a workout when all he could think about was Blake's smile and his biceps and the perfect pattern of shorn hair on his mammoth chest.... “Aren't you going to follow him?” “Like, right now?” “Yes, now! Go.” With a playful shove from Karen, Cas tried to keep from tripping over his own feet as he hurried toward the locker room.
  5. This is the second story, and the first time I use that kind of measure numbers. So please don't be anger if they are to unreal. And maybe give soms tips. While Colin and Fred are having a good time, the father of the boys was visiting his father. He had say to the boys that he and his wife were going on a holiday together. But his wife has her vacation in Italy while Tyrone was sleeping on his favorite place, his old home. The grandfather of Colin and Fred was living on a farm, a couple miles driving from the city. The reason Tyrone and his wife has split vacations was that they were on the edge of a divorce. They hadn’t told the boys, because they wanted to wait till it was all clear. Tyrone knew it was his job to do it. He ha find out his wife was sleeping with other man, from her work, the husband of her friends and even the old teachers of Colin and Fred. He was flipped out when he had found out and threw her out of the door. He knew he didn’t love her anymore, and that the only reason he should stay with her was for his boys. He knew his boys where strong, strong enough to service the divorce. With them most of the year on college they shouldn’t get much of it. He has decided he should tell them when he got back from the farm. But it wasn’t that far yet. First of all, he should help his dad with all of the work on the farm. The farm of his dad was surrounded with meadows, and with the summer it means the grass was grew to hay. And that means Tyrone must help with father with driving the tractor, move the hay bales and picking the fruit of the trees and the bushes. When he arrived at the farm, his father was already waiting. Tyrone’s father was a big, muscular silver daddy. He only wear an overall without, what Tyrone didn’t know, underwear. Robert, as Tyrone’s father was called, enjoys the feeling of his member rubbing against the nail dust. Robert helped Tyrone with his suitcases. When they were on Tyrone’s old room he wrapped his big, muscular arms around Tyrone and pick him up in a big, bearish hug. ’It’s good to have my boy back.’ Tyrone grinned. ‘Thanks pop. I have looked to this moment for the whole summer.’ Robert put Tyrone back on his feets and smiled. ‘Good to hear. So, why aren’t you changed clothes? Then I make a cup of tea.’ Robert leaves the room and closes the door. Tyrone saw another overall hanging on his side of the door. He smiled and walk to his bed. He starts undress him and pick the overall. He put it on. Memories of when he was younger were flying inside his head. He shaked his head and walked downstairs. Robert was sitting on the kitchen table. Two cups of tea were standing in front of his. Tyrone sit down and Robert shove one of the cups to him. He smiled. ’There you go boy. Have a drink, and then we immediately can start with the apple trees.’ Tyrone smiled and blew in the tea. Robert turns himself and opens a door. Behind there, there was a fridge; Tyrone never knew it was there. The fridge was full of bottle of what looks like milk. Robert picked up one of the bottles and put it on the table. ’Here, try this.’ ’Whoa dad. I never knew you had cows.’ Robert smiled in a mysterious way. ‘Just try it boy. You should like it.’ Tyrone picked the bottle and put a little bit in his tea. He stirs his tea and takes a gulp. He immediately feels some warm feeling running across his body. And then there was that sound, like when your standing in a bubblegum factory and the gum was stretching out, only 1000 times harder. Tyrone starts to sweating and looked to Robert, who was only smiling. ‘Dad, what happen?’ Robert stood up, takes place behind his son and unbutton the buttons of his sons overall so his chest was visible, like with his. He placed his hands on his son’s chest, where two, big, meaty, juicy pecs were starting to form. Robert cups the two pecs and whisper: ‘Just relax boy. Your dad is right here, everything should be alright.’ Tyrone breathe heavily, but he knew he had to trust his dad. Robert always knew what the best was for him, so he knew what he was doing. Tyrone looked to his arms. They were growing, like balloons were under his skin. He yells: ‘Fuuuuuck’: when he cock erected and shoot a load, directly into his boxer. ’Hmm, yes son.’ Robert whisper in his ear, still rubbing the growing pecs of his son. ‘Feels the growing heat. I know it feels strange, I feel it to when it first starts with me. But when it’s done, you should feel great, powerful and mighty.’ Robert was right, with the growing, there was a feeling. A relaxed feeling, Tyrone start to lie against the back of his chair. He feels his father massage his pecs, it feels so good. He lay his hand on the had on his father. He looked up, directly in the eyes of his father. ’Thanks dad. I feel so good now. Like when I was young and you always protect me. But now I’m the one who protect his sons.’ Robert slowly kiss Tyrone on his lips, slowly putting his tough into his sons mouth. A French kiss of ten minutes was the thing that happen. Then, Robert let go. ‘What about we measure you?’ ’Sound great dad.’ Robert left the kitchen and came back with measure tape and a paper sheet. He measures his sons new muscles. Arms; 20 Inches, Waist; 32 inches, Tights; 27, Calves; 17,3. Then, the two came by the muscle they have left for dessert, the beautiful, round chest. Robert lays the measure tape around Tyrone and looked him into the eyes. ’Hmm, pretty good score boy. A perfect 55 inches.’ Tyrone wasn’t listening; he looked to the two pointy, silver dollar nipples. Robert saw it and softly strokes the nipples. ‘Something caught your eyes boy?’ Tyrone nodded. Robert takes the face of his son again and gave him a long, passional kiss. ’I got the perfect place for our first time. But first we must work.’ Tyrone nodded and wait for a moment, wondering if he can ask. ’Dad, I love your body.’: he stroke his fathers six-pack. ‘Can we please work in our boxers? I want to see as much from your perfect body as I can.’ Robert grins and takes of his overall, his cock slapping against his belly. ’I got a better idea, we work fully naked. Who care if someone see us. I got you now.’ Tyrone kisses his father in happiness and whisper: ‘Will you please undress me?’ Robert nodded and takes of the rest of the overall from his boy. He looked to the dick and the grapefruit-size balls of his son. He take the hand of his boy and whisper: ‘Come on boy. We’re going to work. I think I attack you with all my lust if I don’t get anything to do soon.’ Tyrone and Robert walked outside, knowing this was the beginning of something beautiful.
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